I opened it gently. Inside was a faded photograph of a young woman holding a baby, and tucked behind it, a tiny handwritten note: “Thank you. Years ago, someone gave up their seat for me when I carried my child.”
Tears filled my eyes as I stared at the locket, feeling a lump rise in my throat. I didn’t know her story, yet somehow I felt deeply connected to it — as though her past kindness had circled its way back through time and found me.
As the bus rolled onward, I sat there with the locket in my palm, realizing that compassion never disappears; it simply finds new hearts to live in. That day, I made a quiet promise to myself: to keep passing that light forward, one small, human act at a time.
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