When I got back from the shop, there was a man sitting on the bench outside my building, someone Id never seen before. He was clutching an old brown envelope in his hands. The moment I walked closer, he looked right at me.
“Are you Emily?” he asked.
I stopped in my tracks. The shopping bag tapped my knee.
“Yes… why?” I replied.
He stood up slowly. He looked about fifty, a touch of grey in his hair and tired eyes.
“Ive been searching for you for two days,” he said quietly.
My heart gave a little jolt.
“Why?”
He held the envelope out to me. “This should belong to you.”
The envelope was heavy as I took it. I opened it with care. Inside was an old photograph.
It was me.
Much younger, standing at a bus stop, a book in my hand and a rucksack over my shoulder. I remembered that dayit was nearly twenty years ago.
“Where did this come from?” I asked.
The man gave a sad, gentle smile. “From my brother.”
My stomach knotted.
“I dont have a brother,” I said.
“No… not yours,” he replied, nodding towards the photo. “My brother took the picture of you.”
I sat down on the bench, feeling dizzy all of a sudden.
“Why?”
“Because he was in love with you back then.”
Silence settled. From the street came the hum of cars and the distant bark of a dog.
“I never met him,” I said quietly.
“You did,” he said.
“When?”
He sat down beside me.
“He was there every morning at that bus stop.”
I tried to remember. Those chilly mornings. People holding takeaway coffee cups. Buses coming and going.
“Was there a man with a dark jacket and a camera?” he prompted.
Suddenly, it came back to me. A man who always stood a little away from everyone else. Sometimes he was reading the paper. Sometimes just watching the people passing by.
“Yes…” I whispered.
He nodded. “That was him.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Why are you giving me this now?”
He paused for a moment. “Because my brother passed away last week.”
I gripped the photo tighter.
“And he left this?” I managed.
He pulled a small note from the envelope.
I unfolded it. The handwriting was neat and careful.
“If you ever find her, tell her she was the most beautiful thing I saw every morning.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Sometimes you walk past people who change your life, never even realising, never remembering them.
I glanced over at the man beside me. “Why did he never speak to me?”
He smiled sadly. “He always thought you looked too happy. He didnt want to trouble you.”
Silence fell again.
I held the photograph and tried to remember his face, but I couldnt.
And sometimes the strangest feeling is realising you were someones memory… without ever knowing it.
Tell me honestly if you found out someone thought about you for years and never told you, would you want to know sooner?
