Remaining Human
Mid-December in the town of Norley was biting and blustery. A thin dusting of snow barely softened the bleak pavements. The local bus station, with its ever-present draughts, felt like a relic from another era. The air reeked of cheap coffee from the café, antiseptic, and a faint sense of decay. Glass doors banged in the wind, letting in flurries of icy air and travellers with noses reddened by the cold.
Margaret hurried through the waiting room, casting anxious glances up at the station clock. She was only here in passinga short work trip to a neighbouring town had finished early, and now she had to get home with two changes ahead. This was the firstand most depressingstopover.
Her ticket was for the evening coach. Now, she had three hours to kill, the dank lethargy of the place seeping into even the lining of her expensive wool coat. She hadnt set foot in these parts for a decade; everything seemed shrunk, faded, slowed down, and impossibly far removed from her current life.
Her heels echoed sharply on the tiled floor. She looked out of place hereher stylish camel wool coat, perfectly coiffured hair still holding its shape despite the journey, and a leather satchel slung over her shoulder.
Her keen, assessing gaze flicked across the room: the kiosk attendant yawning over her mobile, an elderly couple quietly splitting a crusty roll, a man in a well-worn jacket staring off into nothing.
She could feel eyes on hernot hostile, simply confirming: outsider. And in her mind, she agreed. All she had to do was wait this out, pass through this strange limbo as though through a bad dream. By tomorrow, shed be safe in her cosy London flat, warm and bright, far from this chill that soaked into the bones and the provincial desolation shed hoped long behind her.
Just then, as she began to look for somewhere to sit, her path was blocked.
A man stood before her. He looked about sixtyperhaps a little older. His face was weather-beaten and unremarkable, one youd instantly forget. He wore an old but neatly darned coat, and held a flat cap in his hands, pulled off for the warmth inside. He hadnt deliberately waylaid her; he simply seemed to have materialised before her from the greyness of the room. He spoke, his voice quiet and oddly flat, lacking any inflection.
Excuse me Miss… Could you tell me where I might get a drink of water?
The question hung there, awkward and out of place, just like the man himself. Margaret automatically gesturedalmost without lookingtowards the kiosk where the yawning attendant sat. Plastic bottles of water gleamed behind the glass.
Over there. The kiosk, she answered curtly, starting to sidestep him. Annoyance pricked at her, sharp and petty. Get a drinkwho still said things like that? Couldnt he just see for himself?
He nodded, murmured almost inaudibly, Thank youbut didnt move. Instead, he stood, head bowed, as if summoning the strength just to take a few steps. That hesitation, that helplessness over so simple a thing, made Margaret slow, paused in mid-stride.
She looked again. Not at his clothes, not at his age, but truly saw him: beads of sweat standing on his temples, trickling down his cheek despite the cold room; his fingers clenching and unclenching around the cap; the strange pallor of his lips, the glassy absence in his unfocused eyes.
Something inside her shifted. Her hurry, her irritation, her sense of superiorityall crumpled and vanished in a heartbeat, as if her carefully curated world had suddenly split. No time to thinksome deep instinct took over.
Are you alright? she heard herself ask, her own voice unrecognisable: gentle, stripped of its usual iron edge. She didnt try to walk on by; instead, she took a step closer.
He raised his eyes to her. There was no pleaonly embarrassment and confusion.
Blood pressure, maybe… My heads spinning he whispered, eyelids fluttering as if just standing took absolute effort.
Without pausing, Margaret acted on pure impulse. She took his armcareful, yet firm.
Dont just standlets sit you down. Here, with me, her tone soft but commanding. She steered him to the nearest benchone shed intended to pass by a moment before.
Settling him onto the seat, she crouched before him, heedless of how she must look.
Lean back, try to breathe slowly. Take your time.
Then she leapt up and all but ran to the kiosk. She returned with a bottle of water and a flimsy plastic cup.
Here, sip this. Just small sips.
With her other hand, she dug a tissue from her coat pocket and dabbed his brow, never hesitating. Every atom of her was now tuned to this strangers ragged breathing, the frail pulse she could feel at his wrist.
Help, please! Her voice cut through the stagnant airnot a cry of fear, but an order. This man needs medical helpsomebody ring for an ambulance!
Suddenly, the old bus station came alive. The pensioners she’d spotted earlier were the first to respond: the woman hurried forward with heart tablets, while a dozing man at the back sprang up, tapping in 999 on his mobile. The kiosk attendant stepped out from behind the counter. Others moved closerthose anonymous faces that had melted into the background now formed a small, concerned community around the bench.
Margaret stayed kneeling, talking quietly and steadily to the man, holding his cold hand in her own. At that moment, she wasn’t a high-flying executive, nor a misplaced outsider. She was simply a person standing alongside another in need. And surprisingly, that was enough. More than enough.
Then, in the sudden hush, new sounds tore through the spacea short ambulance siren, a bang as the doors were thrown open. Two people entered, breathing clouds of December chill and wearing NHS blue jackets marked with red crosses.
Their arrival acted like a signal; the ad-hoc crowd dissolved into a respectful corridor. Margaret, still kneeling, looked up. Her gaze met that of the paramedica professional, weary-faced woman.
Whats happened? she asked, sinking to one knee beside the man, her movements brisk and efficient.
Margaret reported as crisply as she would in a boardroom, though her voice now held only exhaustion and relief.
He felt faint, dizzy, sweating heavilysaid it might be his blood pressure. We gave him water and heart tablets. He seems stable now.
While she spoke, the other medic slipped a blood pressure cuff onto the man’s arm, checking his pupils with a pocket torch. He could whisper his name, age, and the medications he took.
The paramedic nodded at Margaret.
You handled that well. The water was the right move. Well get him checked over at hospital. Hell probably need a drip.
She helped the man to his feet. He stood shakily, leaning on the paramedics arm, and looked about as though searching for Margaret. Their eyes met.
Thank you, my dear, he said gruffly, with a genuine gratitude that brought a lump to the throat. You… you may have saved my life.
Margaret couldnt find words for reply. She only nodded as a strange emptiness overtook where the adrenaline had burned moments before. She watched them guide him outthrough the wide doors where the white ambulance waited. A gust of icy air swept through, and someone nearby muttered, Close that! Its a draft!
The door slammed. The siren wailed once more and faded into the distance. The station gradually returned to its usual torpor, passengers sifting away to benches, moving with their familiar, weary slowness.
Margaret stood unmoving, staring at her hands. Red marks showed where shed gripped the strap of her satchel. Her perfect hair was ruined, her coat wrinkled and smeared from crouching on the floor.
She made her way to the ladies room, running her hands under freezing tap water. The cracked mirror reflected smudged makeup, tired eyes, tangled haira face she barely recognised. Not polished by success, but raw, honest, streaked with anxiety, empathy, and fatigue.
She patted her face dry, avoiding her own gaze, and slowly returned to the waiting area. Her coach wouldnt leave for more than an hour.
At the same kiosk, Margaret bought a bottle of waterfor herself, this time. She drank, and it was perfectly ordinary, maybe even a touch too cold. Yet in that moment it felt precious. Not just refreshment, but a symbol: a bond between people, forged the moment one truly saw another not as a problem or background, but as a fellow human.
The faces of those whod helped, so unspectacular and anxious, stuck with her as she sipped. Margaret realised she had never seen truer expressions. They were real, completely alive. And as she caught her reflection in the grimy bus-station window, in her rumpled coat with a weary look, she feltmaybe for the first time in yearsutterly real herself. Not an image, not a résumé, but someone capable of hearing the silence behind anothers words and answering it.
She returned to her bench, setting the water beside her. The old sluggish atmosphere returned, but she saw it anew. The kiosk attendant now brewed a cup of tea for the old woman with the cane. A man helped a young mother carry her pushchair over the threshold. Such small thingstogether, they painted a picture not of bleakness, but of quiet, unspoken solidarity.
Margaret checked her phonea work chat notification about an issue in the reports. It would have seemed crucial only hours ago. With calm, she typed: Move to tomorrow. Itll keep. She put the phone away.
Today, she recalled a simple, nearly forgotten truth. Masks are for the worldmasks of professionalism, of composure, even the mask of untouchability. They belong to the stages of life. You may have to wear them. But its dangerous if, in wearing them too long, you forget what lies beneath. Or worse, if you believe you are always only the mask.
Today, in that cold draught, Margarets mask cracked, and through the gap something realher ability to fear for another, to kneel on a dirty floor and not care what she looked like, to be, if only for a brief moment, just a woman who helpedbroke through into the light.
Being human isnt about rejecting all masks. Its about remembering whats behind themand sometimes, as today, letting that vulnerable, living self step forward. At the end of the day, its that simple humanitythe willingness to reach out a handthat matters most.
