In Memory of a Gentle Soul

In the quiet rhythm of my daily work, especially in a city where language barriers and logistical issues can make even simple tasks feel overwhelming, I once found something rare: reliability in a stranger.

Months ago, I was struggling with a complicated delivery. A technical glitch disrupted the order, and I ended up coordinating directly with the driver. He messaged me on WhatsApp, and we sorted things out. When I met him in person, he struck me instantly - an older gentleman in a bowler hat, polite and composed. He carried himself with quiet dignity, and I felt, for the first time in a long time, that I could trust someone thoroughly with my work.

He spoke fluent English and always understood my often complicated delivery instructions, which made him my go-to person for pickups and drop-offs. And this wasn’t just about convenience. As someone who works with luxury items and brand activations, there’s a certain level of care and precision I need - and he gave me that without ever needing to be asked.

Two weeks ago, he helped me with something as small as a hand fan for an event. I said Assalamu Alaikum, but I didn’t ask how his Eid was, didn’t check in. I was in a rush. I wish I had taken a moment longer.

Then, just days later, I called him again: I needed a set of cards picked up and dropped off at a venue. A stranger answered his phone, confused. I asked for him by name. The voice on the other end said something I wasn’t prepared to hear: He passed away last night.

I asked again, certain I had misunderstood. But no - it was his number, his family, and they were at the hospital, waiting to bring his body home.

I was stunned. Not just because I had spoken to him so recently, but because I never realized how much I had come to rely on him - not just as a service provider, but as someone whose presence quietly eased the burden of my days.

We often talk about grief as something tied to deep relationships. But sometimes, it’s the people on the periphery of our lives - the kind, dependable souls who pass through it with grace and consistency - who leave a strange, aching silence when they go.

I didn’t know much about him. I didn’t even know his full story. But I knew he was kind, trustworthy, and did his work with dignity. And I am grateful to have crossed paths with him.

He reminded me that even brief encounters can leave lasting impressions. That trust, when offered without expectation, is a rare and beautiful thing. And that grief - even for a stranger - is still grief.

May he rest in peace. And may we never take the quiet blessings of everyday life for granted.