Tuesday mornings in the city moved at a gentler pace than Mondays. There was no urgency in the footsteps of commuters, no frantic phone calls echoing through alleyways. It was quiet in the way Jihoon appreciated—a kind of calm tucked between the leftover drowsiness of the early week and the beginning buzz of midweek momentum.
He stepped out of his apartment just after 9 a.m., dressed simply with a folded book under his arm and Hodu lazily watching him from the window. She didn't even meow this time—just blinked slowly, tail curling like a ribbon around her paws as if to say, "I'll be here when you get back."
Jihoon smiled and waved to her. "Don't cause chaos while I'm gone."
He headed toward the nearby subway station, passing a group of elderly men already enjoying their card games in the park and a high school student sprinting past with a half-eaten toast in hand. The sky above was soft and cloud-streaked, the kind of morning that promised nothing too extreme—just quiet hours and maybe a little breeze.
Inside the subway station, Jihoon took the stairs instead of the escalator, enjoying the feel of movement in his legs. The hum of the train arriving filled the corridor, and he slipped inside just as the doors began to close.
The subway wasn't packed, but it wasn't empty either. Jihoon found himself in a semi-full car—people spaced out, either on their phones, dozing with earbuds in, or staring at the passing blur of tunnels through the windows. The seats were mostly occupied, but there was room to stand comfortably. Jihoon took his usual spot near the center pole, resting his tote bag at his feet and wrapping one hand loosely around the cool metal rail.
He wasn't headed anywhere in a rush—just a personal errand and perhaps a detour to his favorite tea shop later. These small, aimless outings had become part of his healing routine.
As the train pulled away from the station, Jihoon's eyes wandered. He wasn't trying to people-watch, but sometimes you just noticed things. That was when she entered at the next stop.
A woman, maybe in her mid-fifties, stepped into the car with measured steps. She wore a faded beige sunhat, the kind often worn for sun protection, not fashion. In one arm, she held a bouquet of bright yellow chrysanthemums, wrapped delicately in paper. In her other hand, she gripped the pole gently, trying not to squish the flowers against her body.
She scanned the car quickly—eyes passing over each row of seats—but none were vacant. She remained where she was, standing near the door.
Jihoon's gaze lingered. Something about her posture caught his attention. The subtle tremble in her hand. The way her legs braced just slightly with every lurch of the train. She didn't look unwell—but she looked... tired. Not just physically, but emotionally.
Then he noticed the small white envelope peeking out from the bouquet. It was sealed. Simple. The kind people brought to cemeteries.
He looked around. People remained glued to their screens. One man stared blankly at the floor. Another leaned into his shoulder, half-asleep. Then, just as the train slowed at the next station, one of the seated passengers stood and exited.
A seat was now available.
Before Jihoon could move, a teenager in a hoodie immediately slid into the spot. Quick, smooth, and oblivious to the woman still standing nearby. She didn't protest. She just adjusted her grip on the pole and kept her eyes forward.
Jihoon exhaled quietly and stepped forward.
He approached the teen carefully, crouching slightly so his voice didn't carry across the car.
"Hey," he said softly. "Sorry to bother you, but would you mind giving up your seat for that woman?"
The boy looked up, confused. "Huh?"
Jihoon gave a small nod in her direction. "She's holding funeral flowers. Might be visiting someone important today. Thought a seat might help."
The boy followed his gaze. He seemed to hesitate, then nodded slowly. He stood up without complaint and moved toward the opposite end of the car, leaning casually against the door with his hands in his pockets.
Jihoon gave him a thankful nod and turned to the woman.
"Ma'am," he said gently. "Please, have a seat."
She blinked, surprised. Then she noticed the empty seat and the boy who had just vacated it. Slowly, almost cautiously, she walked over and sat down.
"Thank you… young man," she said quietly, her voice warm and worn.
Jihoon smiled and returned to his spot near the pole.
She adjusted the bouquet in her lap, holding it like something fragile and irreplaceable. Her fingers curled tightly around the stems, her eyes fixed on the subway floor—but she looked more at ease now. Not relaxed. Not happy. But steadier.
Ding!
[Kindness Opportunity Completed!]
Reward: 38,000 KRW
Jihoon didn't expect anything. He didn't need recognition. He simply leaned against the rail again, eyes returning to the soft tunnel lights flickering past.
Two stops later, he glanced over just as she prepared to leave. As the doors opened, she looked at him one more time.
A nod.
Just a small one. Quiet. But full.
And then she was gone.
Back on the platform, Jihoon stepped out into a bright patch of sunlight breaking through the clouds. The wind was cool, and the scent of spring lingered in the air.
His phone buzzed gently in his pocket.
[Daily Kindness Reflection]
"Some days, kindness is offering someone a moment to gather themselves before facing something heavier than the world will ever see."
Jihoon tapped the message once to reread it, then slipped the phone back into his coat.
Yeah.
That sounded about right.
One small act at a time.
End of Chapter 52
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