The elderly woman, just like always, entered the store at exactly seven in the morning. It was the time when the 24-hour store was still empty — only night shift workers and the occasional sleepless passerby came in at that hour.
She always came right on schedule — every Tuesday and Friday. Everyone knew her visit would be quiet and unnoticeable, like the morning mist hiding the city from the sun.
“There’s our grandma again,” yawned the cashier, who seemed like she never smiled.
“So what?” asked the new stock boy.
“Nothing special,” the cashier replied indifferently. “She’ll stand around looking at price tags for half an hour, then grab half a loaf of bread. Sometimes tea, if she has any money left. We get lots like her in here.”
The elderly woman moved slowly between the shelves, her bent fingers sorting coins in an old purse.
When she reached the dairy section, she paused. She stared at the bottles of milk for a long time, but never reached out to take one.
“Are you looking for something?” asked a store clerk.
“I’m just looking, son,” she mumbled, clutching her purse. “These prices… I haven’t bought milk in a while. Thought maybe today…” She trailed off and slowly walked toward the bread section.
Approaching the register with a loaf of bread, she began rummaging in her purse again. She wasn’t in a hurry, carefully counting each coin.
“Sweetie,” she suddenly said, addressing the cashier, “could you buy me some milk… I don’t have anything left… My pension’s been delayed — they promised it’ll come Monday. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
But the cashier didn’t even look up. She quickly scanned the bread and swept the coins into the register.
“This isn’t a charity,” she said coldly, in the tone everyone had grown used to. “We hear stories like this every day. No pension, lost cards… Just go already.”
The old woman’s shoulders sank even lower, and avoiding eye contact, she took her bread and headed toward the exit.
But just as she reached the door, a young woman, holding her own shopping basket, approached the register. She had seen the interaction, her eyes narrowing at the coldness from the cashier. With a sudden, determined step, she moved to the counter, cutting through the apathetic atmosphere like a knife.
“Excuse me, but I think you’ve missed something here,” the young woman said to the cashier, her voice calm but firm. She took out her wallet and pulled out the exact amount for the milk.
The cashier looked up, surprised. “What’s this?”
The young woman handed the money to the cashier and turned her gaze toward the elderly woman, who was standing near the door, her hunched figure silhouetted in the morning light.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, her voice carrying a warmth that felt like sunlight after a long, cold night. Without waiting for a response, she walked out of the store.
The elderly woman stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what was happening. The young woman approached her with a small smile.
“Here you go,” she said gently, handing her a full bottle of milk. “You don’t have to worry about it.”
The old woman’s eyes widened, her wrinkled hands shaking slightly as she reached for the bottle. “You… you’re helping me?”
“Of course,” the young woman replied. “Sometimes all it takes is a little kindness.”
The elderly woman, who had grown so used to the coldness of the world, could only whisper, “Thank you… Thank you so much.”
The young woman gave a soft nod, her eyes reflecting an understanding far beyond her years. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and with that, she turned and walked back toward the store, leaving the elderly woman to stand, milk in hand, a tear slipping down her cheek.
As she left, the cashier, who had witnessed the exchange, stood frozen in place. For the first time that morning, a feeling stirred within her, something unfamiliar. It was like a faint glimmer of something she had forgotten existed: empathy.