Today is Friday, which means I have to do the shopping. My pantry cries and my fridge begs for more food. I've also run out of cleaning products and shampoo. I've got a lot to do, but I'm not sure if I can buy everything in time or have to delay some purchases to tomorrow. Hopefully not—the supermarket is going to be packed like every Saturday.

My long list is ready, so off I go.

The bus is shockingly empty, so I take a seat at the back. I'm surprised to see not many people are using public transport today. There's no planned strike, and I don't think everyone's bedridden with the flu. There has to be more to it.

But this is not what I'm focused on. The shopping is more important now. I get off the bus and walk to the grocery store. When I arrive, I pick a shopping car and enter the shop.

I check out every item on the list, not leaving anything behind. I'm pleased to find everything—this spares me a second trip to another shop. I head to the counter, where a long line awaits me. I think I'll spend at least the next thirty minutes waiting. There are many people with full shopping carts in front of me.

I guess I've found out the reason why my bus to come here was empty. Most customers have come here in advance. Good for them. Shopping isn't a chore one wants to procrastinate unless they have no other choice than to do so.

While the queue gets longer behind me, while moving very slowly in front of me, I wonder what I can do to kill the time. I check the shopping list one more time; since I haven't forgotten anything, however, it only takes me three minutes. Meanwhile, the line moves a little bit, much to pleasure of mine and the lady in front of me.

At the same time, the young girl behind me clears her throat. As I push my shopping cart a little bit, I notice she's still trying to catch my attention. I turn to her and ask politely, "Excuse me, is there anything I can help you with?"

She smiles at me. "Oh, no, I just want someone to talk to. I'm so bored."

"I guess you don't like waiting, do you?"

"Well, usually I don't mind waiting, but today is different. I'm running painfully late to my appointment." She shakes her head. "Oh, I'm not supposed to tell you my business, but, if you're interested, I can still tell you."

"I can listen to you if you desire."

"It's nothing as serious. I have my regular check-up at the dentist's, but, unless the queue moves my magic, I'll have to tell my doctor I'll be around an hour late."

I almost shriek. "An hour? How is this possible?"

"My dentist works in another town." The girl's explanation, while perfectly reasonable, sounds disappointing to me. I steer clear from remarking it directly, of course.

"Oh, by the way, my name is Hazel Davenport. I don't think I've ever seen you in the surroundings."

"Braverly Lane. It's nice to meet you. By the way, I live in Baindale, five kilometers west from here." As soon as I mention my hometown, Hazel freezes.

I ask her, "Is everything okay?" In the mean time, the queue moves again. Now there are only three people in front of me. Hopefully, they're fast enough so that I can return home in a timely manner and Hazel can be off to her appointment at her dentist's.

"Oh... Baindale. That's where my ex lived. He was hit by a truck that lost control last year. He didn't survive." Oh, now I recall that accident. I knew the truck driver personally—through his wife. His passing greatly shocked me at the time.

"I'm deeply sorry for your loss."

"Don't worry. You couldn't have known." She suddenly switches up as she moves to another topic. "Do you think this line will be over as our turn comes?" Personally, I don't think so. More and more people have lined up behind Hazel. It looks like everyone comes here specifically on Saturdays.

I should've chosen a different day. Or, maybe, this is simply meant to happen. After all, I can't always control the course of actions. Or can I? This spiral of thoughts is proof that even a trivial event can trigger a chance for deep reflection.

At last, my turn comes. The cashier serving me doesn't seem like an amiable person, so I avoid interactions with them. I just bag my groceries, bag for them and leave after waving goodbye to Hazel.

She doesn't seem to notice as she's busy with her own stuff. Similarly, I'm so distracted that I accidentally bump on a man. He barely holds three bags full of groceries on his own. A fourth one has fallen on the pavement. "Oh, sorry! Let me help you pick this stuff up," I say.

He puts down the other three bags and jumps on to pick some of the stuff with me before I try to stop him. I mean, I knocked him down, so I should take care of picking up what fell on the ground.

Still, he's so gracious that he thanks me for the help. "What brought you here?" he asks.

"Oh, just grocery shopping and other stuff. A lot of stuff, I dare say," I answer, trying not to reveal too much. As much as he sounds like someone I can trust, I don't want to make a quick judgement just yet. I've got to know him better first.

He shrugs. "Interesting. By the way, are you from Colhill? You look like you've been there somehow."

Colhill? I don't think I've ever heard of it. My answer is, of course, denial. "No, no, I'm from Baindale. It's not far from here."

"Oh, okay. Sorry. It's just that I once met a woman in Colhill that looks kind of like you." It has to be a coincidence. I've never heard of that place as far as I know.

Fortunately for me, the stranger pivots to a new topic. "What do you think of casual encounters, madam? Like this one."

I scratch my head, trying to find a convincing answer for the question. "Well, they give me the opportunity to think of myself, my goals, my personal growth. It's a learning process, after all."

"You've made a great point. I mean, I bet you've had a lot of encounters in your life so far."

"Well, not really, but the ones I met in Baindale... They have left an important mark on me."

The stranger replies, "You can say that again! By the way, you will meet many people in your life." Well, I hope so. Having the chance to share my thoughts with others gives me comfort and closure. "Many will come and go, but some will leave footprints on your heart."

Before I can give my take on this topic, the mysterious man picks up his stuff and waves me goodbye, leaving me by the valet, which grows emptier by the minute. I wonder for a second who could leave a true footprint on my life. Maybe Julie? Who knows?

What I'm certain of is that it's already 2:30pm, and I've missed the bus to return home. I'm in for a longer wait...