The Elevator

I was waiting for the elevator.

The usual kind of waiting where the body stands in one place and the mind wanders somewhere else entirely.

That was when I noticed them.

A girl and a younger boy stood a few feet away. Their clothes looked worn from use. The girl’s hair was untidy, and the boy’s jeans hung loosely around him.

They were not begging.

They were simply standing there.

After a while, the girl gathered enough courage to speak.

She pointed towards the metro café nearby and asked if I could buy them something to eat.

I checked my wallet.

There was a twenty-rupee note folded in one corner.

I handed it to her.

Just then, the elevator arrived.

As the doors opened, I stepped inside and looked back.

The boy was already doing his calculations, trying to figure out what twenty rupees could buy.

The girl remained where she was.

Then both of them began waving.

Not out of excitement. Not out of obligation.

Just a simple gesture of gratitude.

The doors slowly closed between us.

I waved back.

For the rest of the evening, I carried an unfamiliar feeling with me.

It wasn’t pride.

It wasn’t satisfaction.

It felt lighter than both.

For a brief moment, standing between one floor and another, I felt closer to happiness than I had in a long time.