My desk shifts aren't always boring

I'm working the front desk at San Jacinto. Saturday desk shifts are the worst. Everyone is running around in the sunshine and I am stuck here in my little box (at this moment I am only 40 minutes into the shift, I am melodramatic).
A man staggers through the door, clearly straining under the weight of an end table that look very similar to the ones we have here. This isn't especially odd. People have been moving things in and out all day. It is around 90 degrees outside, and sweat is pouring down his face.
He walks up to the front desk and sets the table down. He must be in his late 20s, with a full beard, skinny jeans, and a beat-up pair of Tom's - today's prototypical look of a college graduate. He sighs before speaking.
"Hi," he reluctantly volunteers. For someone with such a straight forward look about him, he is being rather hesitant.
"I lived here in 2001. I know, a long time ago. When I moved out, I took this with me," he says as he gestures to the table. "Now - I'm here to return it. If you would like to escort me to the third floor study lounge I took it from, I will gladly put it back where it belongs."
At this point I can't help but laugh. His sudden assertion took me by surprise, and his matter-of-fact attitude seemed inappropriate for something as simple as undoing college shenanigans. I covered my mouth, ineffectively guarding body shaking giggles.
"Actually, you can just leave it here, we'll have someone take it up later," I say after regaining composure.
"Are you sure? Would that be convenient?" the man asks.
After reassuring him several times that it wouldn't be a problem, I opened the door behind the front desk and he brought the table inside.
"Any particular reason you want to bring it back now? Just out of curiosity," I questioned our bizarre re-gifter.
He didn't miss a beat.
"It doesn't belong to me."
But why the sudden conscience? He, at one point at least, had no moral qualms about claiming his souvenir.
For the second time since our encounter he sighed. Not a frustrated sigh. Maybe reminiscent. Maybe regret, but he must have detected my confusion.
"I've had a lot of shit going wrong in my life," he started. "I did a bunch of dumb shit in college, so I'm kind of trying to right my wrongs, if that makes any sense."
"Trying to balance karma, I get it."
He backed out of the space behind the front desk, glancing at the table again.
"Well, thanks Abby," he said, peeking at my name tag. "I'll see you later."
He started to leave and I began to think of the kind of days where I wanted to undo everything in my life, and how desperate and alone I felt. I also thought of the awkwardness of consoling strangers. Despite my generally non-obtrusive personality, I decided he probably needed some consolation. He put his hands on the the door.
"I hope everything starts to look up for you," I semi-shouted from behind the desk.
He turned to look at me with a half-smile, pausing for a moment.
"Me too."