The Bus Stop Secret

It was raining in that annoying sideways way, the kind where umbrellas are basically useless. Everyone at the bus stop looked miserable, collars pulled up, eyes on the ground.

Then a kid maybe seven started balancing on the curb, arms out like an acrobat. He slipped, caught himself, and grinned like he’d just won an Olympic medal. Without thinking, I smiled.

Across from me, a woman in a red scarf smiled too. Our eyes met for just a second, like we were sharing a tiny secret about how the kid had just rescued the morning. The bus came. We never spoke. But that smile stayed with me all day.