**Diary Entry December 15th, 2023**
It was a biting winter morning, the kind where frost clung to the hedgerows like powdered sugar, and the air was so crisp it stung your cheeks. The sky hung heavy, as if holding its breath, making the world feel slower, quieter.
Albert ThompsonAl to mosthad been driving the bus for twenty years. These roads were as familiar as the back of his hand, every bend and pothole etched into his memory. Today, the bus was near emptyjust a couple of students glued to their phones, an old man fumbling with his newspaper, and a young couple dozing off against each other. The heater hummed softly as the bus rolled down the quiet country lane.
Then he saw her.
A woman stood by the roadside, not waving, just waiting. She wore a thin coat, entirely unfit for the weather, and cradled something bundled in her arms. At first, Al thought it might be a bag, but as he slowed, he realisedit was a child. A boy, wrapped tight in a scarf, his face pale and still.
“Blimey,” Al muttered under his breath. He rolled down the window. “You alright, love?”
The woman startled, as if surprised anyone would stop. She stepped closer, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Im waiting for a lift”
Al frowned. “A lift? In this weather?” He nearly laughedwhod be daft enough to drive past in this cold? But something in her eyes stopped him.
“The bus runs regular,” he said. “Why stand out here freezing?”
She didnt answer at first, just tightened her grip on the boy. “Hes poorly. Got worse last night. Ive no money for a cab, and the bus it wasnt coming.”
Al glanced at the child again. The boys shallow breaths fogged the air faintly. No time to think.
“Get in,” he said, jerking his head toward the door.
She climbed aboard carefully, as if afraid the boy might shatter. The warmth inside seemed to melt the ice from her coat, and she murmured a quiet thanks. The other passengers glanced up but said nothing. No one asked questions. No one needed to.
As the bus rolled on, the womanEmily, she told himspoke in fragments. A single mum, no family nearby, scraping by in a village with no proper chemist. The boy, Oliver, had been ill for days. Al listened, hands steady on the wheel. He knew this story. Knew how life could turn on you in a heartbeat.
Years ago, his own wife had fallen sick. A stranger in an old Rover had driven them to hospital through a snowstorm. Hed never forgotten that kindness.
When they reached the hospital, Al parked right at the entrance. “Go on,” he said. “Ill wait.”
Emily hesitated. “You dont have to”
“Course I do.”
Two hours passed before she returned, Oliver drowsy but steadier in her arms. The doctors had given him medicine. Hed be alright.
“Need a ride back?” Al asked.
She tried to refuse, but he wouldnt hear it. The bus was empty anyway.
The drive home was quiet. Oliver, awake now, watched Al with wide eyes. “Thank you, mister,” he whispered as they reached their stop.
Emily pressed a small bag into Als handseggs, milk, things from her garden. “For you,” she said. “Its not much, but”
Al waved her off, but she wouldnt take no for an answer.
Months later, he saw them again at the same stop. Emily smiled, Oliver hiding behind her coat. The boy peeked out. “Thanks, mister,” he said again.
Al drove off with a warmth in his chest no heater could match.
Funny thing, kindness. You never know when itll come back to you. But it always does.
