When I returned home from the shops, I noticed a man sitting on the bench outside my blocka face I’d never seen before. He was holding an old brown envelope, clutching it tightly in his hands.
As soon as I approached, he looked straight at me.
Are you Emma?
I stopped in my tracks, the shopping bag knocking gently against my knee.
Yes Why do you ask?
He rose slowly to his feet. He looked to be around fifty, his hair flecked with grey and his eyes deeply tired.
Ive been trying to find you for two days.
My heart skipped a beat.
Why?
He handed me the envelope.
This belongs with you.
The envelope felt surprisingly heavy. I opened it carefully. Inside, there was an old photograph. It was of me, much younger. I was standing at a bus stop, a book in my hand and a rucksack over my shoulder. I recognised the dayit was nearly twenty years ago.
How did you get this? I asked.
The man gave a sad smile.
From my brother.
My stomach tightened.
But I dont have a brother.
No not yours.
He motioned at the photograph.
My brother took it.
I sat down on the bench, suddenly feeling lightheaded.
Why?
Because, back then, he was in love with you.
We fell silent. From the street, I could hear the hum of traffic and the faint bark of a dog.
I dont ever remember seeing him I said quietly.
You did see him.
When?
He sat beside me.
He stood at that bus stop every morning.
I tried to recall. Chilly mornings. People clutching takeaway coffees. Buses coming and going.
Was there a man in a dark jacket with a camera? he asked.
Suddenly, I remembered. There was always a man, standing slightly apart from the group. Sometimes he read the newspaper, sometimes just watched the crowd.
Yes I whispered.
He nodded.
That was him.
I glanced at the photograph again.
Why are you giving this to me now?
He was silent for a moment.
Because my brother passed away last week.
I gripped the photo tightly.
And he left this?
Yes.
He pulled out something else from the envelopea small note. I unfolded it. The handwriting was neat, careful.
“If you ever find her, tell her she was the most beautiful thing I saw every morning.”
Tears stung my eyes.
Sometimes, we walk past people who change our livesin ways we never know, and sometimes never remember. I looked at the man beside me.
Why did he never speak to me?
He smiled, sadness woven through it.
He thought you looked so happy, he didnt want to trouble you.
We sat quietly. I held the photograph, trying to remember his facebut I couldnt. Sometimes, the strangest feeling is realising you were someones cherished memory without ever knowing.
Tell me honestly
If you found out that someone had thought of you for years, without telling youwould you want to have known sooner?
Sometimes, the most profound connections are invisible, and we may never realise just how much we mean to the people who pass quietly in and out of our lives.
