Ana hadn’t expected her afternoon to be anything more than ordinary. She had taken a short detour—two train stops farther than usual—to pick up a sandwich from a bakery she loved. As she sat on a bench outside a small shop, waiting for her boyfriend, Arman, she balanced the sandwich on her lap, ready to enjoy a quiet moment of nostalgia from her graduate school days.
But life had something else planned.
An elderly woman slipped onto the bench beside her. She moved carefully, as though she didn’t want to disturb anyone, her coat missing a button and her hands folded tightly in her lap. When her eyes drifted to Ana’s sandwich, there was no demand in her look, only a quiet longing.
Catching her gaze, Ana smiled. The woman returned the gesture, but her words carried a weight that made Ana’s chest tighten.
“You look exactly like my granddaughter,” she whispered.
The woman explained that her granddaughter had passed away two years earlier, and since then, she had been living in quiet grief. Moved by her story, Ana split her sandwich in half and offered it. The woman’s eyes filled with tears as she accepted, though she hesitated when Ana insisted on buying her groceries.
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