I shook my head. “This is too much.”
“It’s not enough,” he replied. “But it’s something. If it helps, keep it. If not, donate it. I just needed to let it go.”
When we landed, we stood side by side in the terminal. He extended a hand—I shook it.
“Thank you,” he said, “for giving me a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” I replied, “for the seat.”
We parted ways. I watched him disappear into the crowd.
Outside, the autumn air was crisp. I stood still, watching people rush past.
Half the money went to a mental health fund we supported. The other half bought laptops for kids at a shelter. It felt right.
Two weeks later, I received a handwritten letter. Inside was a photo—him teaching kids to code at a community center, smiling, surrounded by students.
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