As the frail grandmother continued her painstaking journey toward the exit, a small blur of color darted through the crowded supermarket aisle. A young girl, no older than seven or eight, emerged from behind a towering stack of cereal boxes. Her eyes were wide, not with fear, but with compassion. Her curly hair bobbed with each determined step as she made her way toward the elderly woman.
“Grandma, do you need help?” the little girl asked softly, her voice just a whisper against the hum of the supermarket. For a moment, the grandmother paused, blinking through the pain and blurred vision. The unexpected kindness in the child’s eyes was like a cool breeze on a scorching day.
The girl glanced around, searching for any sign of her own parents, but they were busy comparing prices on a different aisle. Determined, she turned back to the old woman and gently reached out a small, yet surprisingly firm hand. The grandmother hesitated, then grasped the child’s hand, feeling a surprising strength in that tiny grip.
