**Diary Entry**
The frosty morning air bit at my cheeks as I steered the bus along the quiet country road. The sky hadnt yet warmed, and a thin layer of frost glistened on the tarmac like scattered sugar. There was something crisp and still about mornings like this, as if the world had slowed just for a moment.
Ive driven these roads for twenty yearsknowing every bend, every pothole, like the back of my hand. Its never just a route; its part of me. That day, the bus was nearly empty. A couple of uni students, lost in their headphones, an old man fumbling with his newspaper, and a young pair dozing against each other in their thick coats. Routine.
Then I saw her.
A woman, standing by the roadside. Not waving, not trying to flag me downjust standing there, holding something bundled in her arms. I slowed, rolled down the window. “What are you doing out here in this cold?”
She hesitated, then stepped closer. “I need to get to the hospital,” she murmured. Her voice was quiet, frayed at the edges.
I could see it thenthe child in her arms. A boy, pale and too still, wrapped tightly in a scarf. She had no money for a taxi, no way to get help. Just waiting, hoping someone would stop.
I didnt think. Just opened the door.
The ride to the hospital was quiet. The other passengers glanced at her, but no one spoke. Some things dont need words. She sat near the heater, her frozen coat slowly thawing, her fingers trembling as she held her son.
Her name was Eleanor. No husband, no family nearbyjust her and the boy. Shed been managing alone, until the fever hit in the middle of the night.
When we reached A&E, I pulled up right at the entrance. “Go on,” I told her. “Ill wait.”
She looked stunned. “Youll wait?”
I shrugged. “Where else would I go?”
An hour passed. Then two. I drank tea from my flask, checked the bus, wiped the fogged-up windscreen. Memories crept intimes Id been the one needing help, years ago when my wife fell ill. A stranger had driven us through a snowstorm then. Funny how life circles back.
When Eleanor returned, relief softened her face. “They gave him medicine. Hell be alright.”
I nodded, feeling something unknot in my chest. “Good. Lets get you home.”
She protested, but I waved her off. “No sense making the lad suffer the cold again.”
The drive back was silent. The boy, awake now, watched me with wary eyes. Eleanor talked quietlyabout their village, how hard it was without a proper chemist, how the buses never ran when you needed them. I just listened. Sometimes thats all a person needs.
Months later, I saw her again at the same stop. She handed me a small bageggs, milk, things from her garden. “For you,” she said. “You helped us.”
The boy, hiding behind her, peeked out. “Thank you, mister,” he whispered.
Two words. That was all. But they warmed me more than any heater ever could.
Kindness comes back. Even when you least expect it.
