A seat on the move: The gratification and hope of an extra person

For illustrative purposes only.
I tried to look away, but her expression followed me: a mixture of gratitude, sadness, and exhaustion, all at once. When the tram screeched to a halt at its stop, she stood up, looked at me again with those unfathomable eyes, and disappeared into the misty rain outside. I assumed that was the end: a fleeting act of kindness between strangers, until I felt something cold and damp inside my bag. My heart skipped a beat.

With trembling fingers, I pulled out a small bundle of cloth, soaked from the rain.
Inside lay a fragile wooden carving of a mother with her child in her arms, its edges worn smooth by time, but clearly cherished. A scrap of paper fluttered beside it: “Thank you for your kindness. I have nothing more to offer. This amulet belonged to my grandmother. May it protect you and your child.”

My eyes filled with tears as I understood why he had watched me so intently: he didn’t just need to rest, he wanted to leave me an indescribable gift. I pressed the carving to my belly, murmuring to my inner self that kindness always matters, even when the world turns away. That tram ride in the rain became more than just a fleeting memory; it became a lesson. A seat, a gesture, the offering of a stranger, and suddenly, hope felt stronger than weariness