⏱ ~3 min reading
Tarasik and his mother were returning from the pharmacy. The entrance smelled of fresh paint — the railings had recently been painted — and slightly wet leaves, because it was drizzling rain outside.
They called the elevator. The doors quietly opened, and Tarasik stepped inside. His mother followed him. And behind his mother was a woman with a gray umbrella and a package of bread in her hand.
The woman was not from their floor. Tarasyk had never seen her before. Her face was tired and her eyes were slightly red—as if she had been standing in the cold for a long time or had been upset about something for a long time.
The elevator slowly crept upward. The small square space became quiet. So quiet that Tarasik could hear a drop dripping from the woman's umbrella.
Cap.
Cap.
He felt uncomfortable being silent. He looked at the woman—she was looking at the floor. Tarasyk didn't know what to say. He was still young and didn't know how to start conversations with adults he didn't know.
Then he just smiled.
Just like that. The smile was small, but genuine — at the corners of the lips.
The woman looked up. At first she didn't seem to understand. She looked at Tarasyk, as if checking to see if he had really smiled at her. And then—as if someone inside her had turned on a small lamp—she smiled too. At first hesitantly. And then more broadly.
"What a sunny boy you are," she said quietly. "Thank you.".
Tarasyk didn't understand why. He didn't do anything. He just smiled.
The elevator stopped on the fourth floor. The woman nodded to them and got out. Before the doors closed, she looked back one more time and smiled—this time in a completely different way, as if she had brought something warm with her from the elevator.
When the door closed, Tarasik looked at his mother.
"Mom, why did she thank me? I didn't give her anything.".
Mom squatted down. She looked into his eyes—Mom's eyes were gray, like the sky before the first snow.
"And you gave it to her, son. You gave her a smile.".
— Is this a gift?
— Sometimes the biggest. We don't know what kind of day a person is having. Maybe someone is sick. Maybe she's tired. Maybe no one has smiled at her all day. And you took it and smiled. And she felt a little better.
Tarasyk thought for a moment. The elevator was already on their floor, but they didn't get out—Tarasyk wanted to question them.
— What if I smile and the person doesn't smile back?
"Smile anyway. Maybe the smile is hidden somewhere inside her and hasn't come out yet. But yours will find it.".
At home, his mother put on the kettle, and Tarasyk sat at the table and thought. He remembered how many people he saw in a day — in the yard, in kindergarten, in the store. He rarely smiled at anyone — he was shy. He thought that they didn't do that.
And it turns out they do. And that might be a little warm for someone.
The next day Tarasik went to kindergarten. Aunt Olya, the cleaner, was standing at the gate, sweeping up yellow leaves. Tarasik looked at her and smiled.
Aunt Olya raised her head, at first in surprise. Then she cleared her throat.
— Good afternoon, little one!
"Good afternoon," Tarasyk replied and walked on.
His chest felt warm, as if a small light bulb had turned on there. The same one he had turned on in the woman in the elevator yesterday.
Tarasyk understood the secret. When you smile at someone, a light bulb turns on in two hearts at the same time. In the one you smiled at. And in your own.
It was the best exchange he knew.
💡 A smile is the shortest language spoken by hearts.