The bus was nearly empty when the driver snapped at an elderly woman without a ticket, demanding she get off. Frail and silent, she moved slowly toward the exit. Just before stepping into the snow, she said quietly, “I gave birth to people like you once. With love. And now I’m not even allowed to sit.”
The passengers, shaken, began leaving the bus one by one, leaving their tickets behind. The driver sat in silence, haunted by her words.
The next week, he spotted her again at a stop. He stepped off the bus and apologized. She smiled and replied, “Life teaches us all something. The important thing is to listen. And you — you listened.” From then on, he carried extra tokens for passengers in need, especially grandmothers.
Spring came. He never saw her again—until one day, he found her grave by a quiet cemetery. He left a bouquet of snowdrops and a sign in his bus:
“For those who have been forgotten. But who never forgot us.”
From then on, he drove with care and compassion, forever changed by a few quiet words that reminded him what it means to be human.
