I was seven months pregnant when it happened.
The bus was packed.
Hot.
Loud.
No one wanted to move.
No one wanted to look up.
Then she got on.
An old woman.
Small.
Fragile.
Holding onto the rail like it might disappear.
No one stood.
Not one person.
I don’t know why—
Maybe it was instinct.
Maybe it was how my mom raised me.
But I stood up.
“You can take my seat,” I said.
She looked at me.
Longer than expected.
Like she was studying something.
“You’re sure?” she asked softly.
I nodded.
She sat down slowly.
Carefully.
Still watching me.
The whole ride—
I could feel it.
