Nobody paid attention to the forgotten elderly woman, until a young Black teen gently clasped her hand. She turned out to be a billionaire…

«‘But I think I missed the bus, or maybe it missed me.’ Her laugh was small and brittle, like glass threatening to crack. Andre nodded slowly. «‘Where do you live? Maybe I can help you get there.’ She looked down at her purse, then rummaged through it without purpose.

A handkerchief came out, a lipstick with no cap. Coins, buttons, a bus transfer from two days ago. But no address.

Andre’s heart tightened a little. Then something caught his eye, a delicate silver chain around her neck, and at the end of it a small oval pendant resting against her coat. He leaned closer, squinting.

There, engraved in elegant cursive on the back of the charm, were the words, Evelyn Rose, Forty-Eight, Oak Hill Drive, North Side. His breath caught. Oak Hill.

He knew the area. Way out past the edge of town, nearly two hours away by bike, and most of it uphill. For a moment, Andre’s mind went to the clock again.

He would miss the delivery. He would lose his room. He would sleep in the cold to-night.

But as he looked into Evelyn’s eyes, soft and clouded with age, and saw the childlike trust beginning to form simply because he had stopped to ask, he knew he couldn’t walk away. Some choices weigh more than others. Even if they don’t make sense on paper, he forced a smile.

That’s a bit far, but I think we can make it, he said, gently helping her to the back rack of his bike. He tied his spare scarf around the seat and wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. Hold on tight, all right? We’ll go slow.

She chuckled, dazed but grateful, and said, You remind me of someone. My grandson, he used to wear shoes like those, always scuffed, always proud. Andre didn’t correct her.

He just nodded and began to pedal, slowly at first, then more steadily as they left the town lights behind. The sky turned lavender, then gray, and then darker still. The road sloped, bent and stretched endlessly, but Andre kept going, every turn of the pedal echoing with a sense of purpose.

Behind him, Evelyn hummed a tune, sometimes trailing off, sometimes pausing to ask where they were, then forgetting the answer minutes later. He answered every time as if it were new. We’re getting closer, don’t worry, just over the next hill…