From that day forward, our relationship was marked by silent respect. From then on, we didn’t talk much, but there was a quiet understanding. A new sense of purpose took hold of me. I started looking forward to the mornings. To the bus. To seeing what little miracles would happen between the first and last stop.
But all good things are temporary, and soon, she was gone again. But then, she stopped coming again. A week passed. Then two. Her absence felt heavy, and I realized I knew almost nothing about her. I even asked the driver. I asked the driver about her. He shrugged. “She’s here sometimes. Then she’s not. That lady’s like smoke.” Her absence started to bother me more than I expected. I wasn’t even sure I knew her name.
The Final Goodbye and a New Task
We sat in silence. She didn’t even look out the window like usual. Just stared at her lap, her fingers nervously tapping.
Then came the quiet and shocking admission. “I’m not coming back after today,” she said quietly.
I was startled. I turned to her. “Why?”
She gave a small smile. “Doesn’t matter. But I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?” I asked.
Her answer was a mirror of the note in the journal. “For looking.”
Then, as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone. Then she stood up, handed me an envelope, and got off at the next stop without another word.
