When I got back from the supermarket, there was a man sitting on the bench in front of my building, someone Id never seen before. He was holding an old brown envelope in his hands.
As soon as I approached, he looked up at me.
“Are you Emily?” he asked.
I stopped, the shopping bag bumping softly against my knee.
“Yes… Why?” I replied.
He stood up slowly. He looked to be about fifty, greying hair and tired eyes.
“Ive been looking for you for two days,” he said.
My heart tightened.
“Why?”
He held out the envelope.
“This belongs with you.”
The envelope was heavy. I opened it carefully. Inside was an old photograph. In it, I was much younger, standing at a bus stop, a book in my hand and a rucksack on my shoulder. I remembered the day; it was nearly twenty years ago.
“How do you have this?” I asked.
He gave me a sad smile.
“From my brother.”
My stomach twisted.
“I dont have a brother.”
“No… not yours.” He gestured to the photo. “My brother took this picture of you.”
I sat down on the bench; suddenly I felt dizzy.
“Why?”
“Because he was in love with you then.”
Silence fell. The distant rumble of cars on the street and the faint bark of a dog drifted in.
“Ive never seen him,” I said quietly.
“You have. Every morning, at that bus stop.”
He sat beside me.
“Do you remember a man with a dark jacket and a camera?” he asked.
And then I did. A man who always stood a bit off to the side. Sometimes reading the newspaper, sometimes just watching people.
“Yes…” I whispered.
He nodded. “That was him.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Why are you giving me this now?”
He was silent for a moment.
“My brother passed away last week.”
I clenched the photo.
“And he left this?”
“Yes.”
He took something else from the envelopea small note. I unfolded it. The handwriting was careful.
“If you ever find her, tell her she was the most beautiful thing I saw every morning.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Sometimes we walk past people who change our lives, without ever knowing, without remembering them.
I looked at the man next to me.
“Why didnt he ever speak to me?”
He smiled sadly.
“He thought you were too happy to bother.”
The silence lingered. I held the photograph and tried to recall his face, but couldnt.
And sometimes the strangest feeling is realising you were someones memory, without ever knowing.
Tell me honestly… If you learned someone had thought about you for years, never saying a word, would you have wanted to know sooner?
