Red Bean Pastry

Beneath an old bus stop sign, every evening as dusk settled, a blind elderly man would stand quietly, holding two steaming red bean pastries. Passersby all assumed he was waiting for family, until one day, an office worker who took the same bus couldn't help but ask, "Grandpa, who are you waiting for every day?" The old man smiled faintly, his rough hands caressing the pastries as he softly replied, "For a little girl who helps me cross the street every day. She loves red bean pastries the most. Though I can't see what she looks like, I remember her voice." At this, an auntie who often queued there, her eyes welling up, stepped forward and gently told the old man, "Uncle, that little girl... moved abroad three years ago. She was worried you'd be lonely, and before she left, she specifically asked us to take turns helping you cross the street whenever we saw you here." The old man paused for a moment, then tears streamed down from his sightless eyes. He didn't turn to leave but placed the red bean pastries into the auntie's hand, smiling, "Thank you all. Actually, I found out two years ago. I stand here every day not to wait for her, but to let her know I'm doing well. And... I want to keep passing on this warmth to everyone who helps me cross the street." In the cool autumn breeze, the aroma of the red bean pastries remained warm, quietly warming everyone in the city.