The announcement that Flight 143 is delayed does not distract me from my phone as it burns a hole in my pocket. I can't bring myself to take it out. I feel it vibrating. If it's Leah, she's probably making sure I'm okay and I don't need sympathy from her.

I pull out my wallet from my trouser pocket and leave a tip on the table – it's out of habit; I have no idea if they accept tips here. I forget I'm not in America.

As I turn around, I see Brando outside the coffee shop, shaking his own wallet. I have to squint to make sure it's actually a wallet and not some thin piece of leather he might have found on the floor. I won't put it past him.

He looks disappointed. I feel something again, something I felt before for him, something I don't want other people feeling for me. I look over to his friend, alone on his table but with his phone to his ear. He's talking to someone and laughing.

I shouldn't meddle, so I walk to the exit and leave the coffee shop. It feels like I've been in there for hours. My legs are stiff and I have to stretch to feel the blood circulate.

Brando notices me as I walk out. He avoids my gaze. I look to the gate and contemplate whether I should just sit there or if I should make amends with this stranger. Sit alone or talk to someone? The decision is harder than I thought, even though I hate loneliness.

I decide to go for the latter. 'Hey, I want to apologize for before.'

Brando looks up at me as he pushes his wallet back into his pocket. He doesn't respond.

I continue when I realize I haven't given him enough of an apology. 'I shouldn't have overstepped. It's none of my business. So... I'm sorry.'

Brando is silent at first, but his face softens. 'It's fine. I shouldn't have been so sensitive. I get really defensive when I shouldn't. What you said was harmless and you may even have a point.'

I hear something faint – a rumbling. Brando looks to the floor.

'Still,' I continue, 'I should know when to shut my mouth. I do that a lot, just so you know. It's not just you I do that to. My sister hates me for all the times I've been a little too honest with her.'

'Your sister,' he says as the rumbling sound of his stomach adds a bit of background music to the scene. He's talking a little louder so I can't hear it. 'You have siblings.'

He's making small-talk to cover up the fact that his stomach is rumbling. Maybe that's why he was looking in his wallet, to see if he could afford food. Judging by the sadness that glosses his eyes, I'm going to say that he cannot.

'I do, do you fancy talking about it over some food? My treat, for being too... me before.'

This is completely unorthodox and way out of my comfort zone but I feel like being a good guy right now. I need the distraction from the vibrating of my phone – anything to divert me from reality.

'That's nice of you but I don't need you to buy me food,' he says as he turns around to walk away.

I stop him, perhaps a little too franticly. 'Don't go.'

He looks at me. What am I even saying? I don't need to have company that badly. He doesn't need to accept my apology. I don't owe him anything.

I let go but he doesn't walk away. He keeps his eyes on me and I have no idea what he's thinking. I feel so exposed and he doesn't even know me. But those big brown eyes see a lot more than I can even comprehend.

'Okay,' he says softly. 'Let's go eat.'

I'm not sure what convinced him but I'm happy he's changed his mind.

We walk alongside each other, passing stores where Brando would make a random comment every now and then about something in the window. We arrive at an Italian restaurant that looks pretty decent for it being sandwiched between a newsagent and a pet store.

'Does Italian food sound good?' I ask.

'Anything sounds good right now, to be honest,' he answers.

We walk in and a waitress greets us instantly. She flashes an overwhelming smile and asks, 'table for two?'

'Yeah,' I reply awkwardly. She instructs us to follow her and we do so, passing empty tables on our way to the back. She sets us up with a table right in the corner with a single rose right in the centre. A solitary candle burns next to it.

The waitress hands us two menus and leaves us. I can tell Brando is overwhelmed too. He places his backpack under his seat. 'This is pretty nice,' I comment.

He nods. 'Yeah, pretty romantic.' He winces as soon as he says it. I smirk.

'I can tell you're the kind of guy who puts his foot in it a lot.'

'What gives you that impression, I wonder?'

'Oh, I don't know... this is, what, the third time we've crossed paths?'

He looks impressed. 'You're keeping count.'

'Well...' I try to backtrack. 'It's not like counting up to three is hard.'

He gives me the eye – the eye that tells me he sees through my bullshit. 'Can I ask a question?'

I hesitate to respond. 'Sure.'

'Why did you ask me to go for food with you... be honest.'

He wants to go deep. I can't do that without at least some kind of alcohol in my system. 'Mind if I order some wine first?'

'Wine?!'

'You don't like wine?'

'No, I love wine. I'm just surprised, it's like, four o'clock.'

'Is that not a normal time to drink?'

He shrugs. 'I guess it is.'

'Do you have a preference?'

'Oh, you choose.'

'Is white okay?'

His face relaxes. 'I'm so glad you said that.'

I smile as the waitress approaches us. I order the most expensive white wine on the menu – I need it – and she brings it to the table quickly, which isn't surprising considering we're the only two in here.

She pours us two full glasses and leaves us.

'Cheers,' I say and raise my glass. 'To good wine.'

He raises his glass. 'To good company.' We clink glasses together and take a sip. We both pull a face. It's not that great, but it will do.

'You think I'm good company?'

'So far, so good,' he says. 'And I promise, I will pay you back for this. I'm not a charity case. I really do appreciate this.'

I wave my hand. 'Don't worry about it. It's nice to have someone to talk to, I guess, before boarding the plane – especially since it's been delayed.'

'I hope it doesn't last too long.'

'Maybe another hour. Even if the snow stops, they will need to clear the runway.'

'I just want to get home. I wish I could just skip the plane journey altogether.'

I take another drink of wine. It gets better the more I drown my mouth in it. 'You really don't like flying, huh?'

'I hate it, but it's the only way I can escape home. I want to see every corner of the world. I have these big ideas of where I want to live my life and what I want to do with it that, unfortunately, planes are a necessary evil.'

'Flying isn't so bad,' I say.

'I bet you don't travel economy, sandwiched in between a snoring man on your left and a cranky lady on your right.'

'It can't be that bad.' It sounds awful but I don't want to admit that.

'I'm pretty sure the lady was touching herself under her blanket too...'

'Ew!' I laugh. 'That's disgusting. I shouldn't be laughing.'

'You shouldn't,' he says despite his own giggles. 'It's not always the best at the back of the plane.'

'I guess you get what you pay for.'

'I guess, but I've also met some really nice people too. It's not all bad all the time.' He takes a thoughtful sip of his wine like he's recollecting a memory he doesn't want to share.

'Tell me more about your plans,' I say, genuinely interested. I like to know that people have ambitions, a purpose that gets them through this difficult thing we call life. 'I recall you mentioning volunteering?'

He begins to tell me as the waitress returns. He slides in and out of conversation fluently by acknowledging the waitress with his eyes. I find it odd, though I try it when she turns to me. I speak to her directly about what I want. She's smiling. I've never known a waitress to smile before, but then again, I've never looked.

She promises that our orders will be ready quickly before leaving. Brando and I look at each other and I feel a little awkward again now she's gone.

I remember what it is we were talking about. 'So, volunteering? That sounds like fun.' My voice doesn't sell the lie but he doesn't pick up on it – or if he does, he's good at hiding it.

'It would be weird to say it's fun, like it's just a silly hobby to do when you're bored. I didn't do it because I thought it would be fun – quite the opposite, actually. I knew it would be a challenge and that's what made me decide to spend three months away from home. I have been to places before on vacation but you know when you crave doing something other than sitting around sunbathing?'

I shake my head. 'Not really. My life is busy enough. It would be nice to have a break like that.'

'Well not for me. I can do that at home. Maybe not sunbathe, it's not that warm. But I wanted, sorry, want to make a difference. Nothing else matters to me as much as that, and being in Cambodia made me feel like my life had some kind of meaning. It will be nice to go home but I'm dying to go back and see all those families again, the kids...'

I do love kids, but it will break my heart if he tells me a sob story that involves children. 'You seem happy so you must have helped.'

'The team I worked with went to an orphanage for a couple of weeks,' he begins, a smile consuming his face. A spark lights up his eyes and they turn a bright hazel as he speaks. 'And the kids there were so strong, so amazing. We built a jungle gym for them, but we did it in the glen and none of the kids were allowed down there so it wouldn't ruin the surprise.'

'It took you two weeks to build a jungle gym?'

'Well it wasn't a professionally built one but it looked so amazing. It was safe to play on, at least. We made swings, a slide, monkey bars, even a little castle section to connect it all together. It looked so fantastic, we were so proud of how it turned out – I still am proud.'

I look down at the table. 'You should be proud, they must have been so happy.'

'The day came to unveil it, so we brought the kids to the glen and we had the jungle gym covered with sheets. They were so excited and we were excited, and we couldn't wait any longer so we pulled off the sheet...'

A slight pause and his eyes shine. Water is trapped under his eyelids.

I try to fill in the blank. '...And they ran to it and loved it?'

Brando looks at me. 'They had no idea what it was. They looked at it with these confused faces. They looked at the swings and the slide and the monkey bars... and they didn't move. One of them asked us what it was. When I was three, I knew what a slide was and how to swing from monkey bars. Imagine being a child and not knowing what a jungle gym is?'

Brando's face confuses me. He's smiling, but he's about to cry too. The roof of my mouth feels heavy now. I compose myself before asking, 'what happened next?'

'My entire team ran to the jungle gym and we started playing on it. The kids watched us for, like, ten seconds before they ran after us. They started to play on the castle and the monkey bars, though we had to stay with them constantly because they kept falling off, but they were having so much fun. They were being kids and that's something they very rarely got to do, and now they can be kids all the time. We gave that to them and that feeling, that realization that I've done something that will have a lasting impression on them – it's indescribable. I want to feel that forever. I want to feel like I'm making a difference and doing some good in the world.'

He wipes his eyes before the tears can escape them. I bite the inside of my lips to keep them together. I've never heard a story like it before. I've never met anyone who's doing something that selfless before.

'I'm sorry,' he says with a broken voice. 'I didn't mean to drag the conversation down, but that's what I did while I was there, and more.'

'I shouldn't have asked,' I said with a laugh, which in turn makes him laugh.

'I also got to see a lot of temples and the country is just absolutely beautiful if you're willing to look,' he comments. Then he shakes his head. 'Enough talk about me, what about you? What are your plans?'

'I...'

It's so unbelievably hard to follow that. How do I tell him what I want to do with my life without sounding like a selfish douchebag?

'Well, I guess I want to further my career. My dad likes to give me the jobs he doesn't want to do himself, so I've been trying to gain his respect by going where he tells me without a single complaint. I mean, that's what I wanted to do...'

I fiddle with my mobile phone, remembering the message that came through in the café as I was talking to Brando for the first time at the table. I continue, 'I don't really know what I'm going to do now.'

'What do you mean?'

I can't tell him. I haven't even told my sister.

'Nothing, I guess I'm just going through a quarter-life crisis right now.'

Brando tries to speak with wine in his mouth. 'Oh yeah, those actually exist. I haven't had mine yet, though. I'm waiting patiently for it to happen.'

The food arrives and Brando digs straight in. I watch him for a moment – it's not that he's eating unattractively, it's just he's eating so fast he's sure to finish his bowl before I even start.

'I see you were hungry...'

He stops eating. 'Oh, sorry. Yeah I shouldn't have spent my last coins on a gingerbread latte but it is the season...'

'It's November – it's way too early to call it 'the season'.'

'That's exactly what the Grinch would say,' he says jokingly.

Maybe I am the Grinch. I shrug and take my first bite of the pasta. It's edible.

'Do you even like Christmas?' he asks, noticing my shrug.

'Well,' I begin, unsure of how to say it without sounding blasphemous. 'I don't really celebrate Christmas anymore.'

'Oh, religious thing?'

'Nope, a choice thing.'

I hear his fork drop to the table. The sound of the clatter goes right through me and I look up at him.

I continue. 'I just... have bad memories at Christmas so I made an adult decision to not give in to consumerism anymore.'

'But it's such a magical time...' Brando stops himself from talking. 'I get it. You shouldn't have to celebrate it if you don't want to.'

'Thanks for understanding.' I don't need his approval but I'm glad he isn't probing for explanations. I have my reasons and I'm nowhere near ready to share them with a stranger.

Maybe I shouldn't call him a stranger anymore. I'm buying him lunch. I bought him wine. Technically, this is a date.

As I think that, I look up at the boy sitting across from me. He eats his pasta slowly now and chews gratefully. He sees me looking at him and smiles.

'I really appreciate this,' he says.

I look at my own bowl and return to eating. I can't see him but his face is pictured clearly in my mind's eye. He's definitely not a stranger to me now. A date doesn't sound like the worst idea.