He stood there for a long time, silent. The trees whispered above, the sunlight filtering through the branches.
The next morning, a small bouquet of snowdrops lay on the front seat of his bus. He had gathered them himself.
Next to it, he placed a cardboard sign he had cut out by hand:
“For those who have been forgotten. But who never forgot us.”
Passengers read the sign in silence. Some smiled.
Some left a coin on the seat. And the driver simply continued on his way. Slower, more carefully.
Sometimes he stopped a little earlier — so that a grandmother could catch up.
Because now he understood: Every grandmother is somebody’s mother. Every smile is someone’s thank you. And every “just a few words” — can change someone’s life.
