Driver

Another workday for Azriel started before the city had fully woken up. He loved this early morning: the grayish, dim light, the empty, enchanting streets, the wet asphalt from yesterday’s rain reflecting the first rays of sunlight. Work started exactly at eight in the morning and ended only when it got dark, or sometimes dragged on until nearly dawn. There would be plenty of passengers, as always — tired faces, standard routes, rare tips, and endless “careful, take your time.” But while the city had yet to fill with its usual hum, Azriel cruised through the nearly deserted streets. Sleepy houses with closed blinds, rare passersby bundled up in their jackets, and traffic lights blinking red, then green. He had almost passed the intersection when he noticed a girl who looked about fifteen or sixteen. She was standing at the curb, waving her arm energetically — as if she was afraid no one would see her in the morning twilight. Azriel slowed down, turned on his blinker, and stopped smoothly right next to her. The girl opened the door and slid into the seat with a light sigh of relief. She smelled of cheap shampoo and something else — either cookies or bitter tea. She gave him the address in a quiet, slightly raspy voice and fastened her seatbelt. Azriel pulled away. A special kind of silence settled in the car, the kind that happens when two strangers haven’t yet decided whether they should talk to each other. “You’re very beautiful,” he said calmly, glancing briefly in the rearview mirror. “Have you noticed?” The girl blinked in surprise. Her cheeks flushed a little, as if she wasn’t used to compliments and didn’t quite know how to react to them. “What? No…” she looked away toward the window, then back at him. “To be honest, I’ve never really thought about it. Anyway, I don’t have that big of a social circle to even consider something like that. Besides, you’re the first person to tell me that.” She said this without any bitterness, more like she was stating a fact, as if she were talking about the weather or how cottage cheese had gone up in price at the stores. “Maybe it’s because of your family,” Azriel suggested, smoothly turning onto the next street. The girl sighed, and there was something too grown-up, too heavy in that sigh for someone her age. “You guessed it… My mom died when I was very little. I barely remember her. Just sometimes — the smell of her perfume or some tune she used to hum while walking with me. And my father…” she paused for a second, choosing her words. “My father barely pays any attention to me. We live in the same house, but it’s like we’re in different worlds.” Azriel pressed the gas pedal a little harder. The car picked up speed, merging softly into the left lane. The morning city was starting to wake up — store signs lit up, a couple of trucks rumbled past. “I feel sorry for you,” he said, and there was genuine empathy in his voice. “You know, I never had a family at all.” The girl turned her whole body toward him. Her eyes widened. “Oh, that’s terrible!” she exhaled. “No one at all?” “No one,” Azriel replied shortly, without going into details. A pause followed. The girl touched the edge of her jacket for some reason, as if checking to see if the buttons were still there. “What were you doing out on the street so early?” he asked, steering the conversation back to calmer waters. “I needed to visit my grandmother.” The girl perked up a little. “My father doesn’t really like her, to be honest. He says she’s too strange or something like that. So I go to see her alone.” “Is she sick?” “Yes, very badly. The doctors say she only has a few years left.” The girl was quiet for a moment, then gave a humorless laugh. “To be honest, I was in such a hurry that when I was crossing the road, I almost got hit by a car.” She smiled nervously, and in that smile, there was something childlike, despite all her forced maturity. “I need to stop by the pharmacy to pick up her medicine.” She hesitated, then added more quietly: “I hope I have enough money.” “Is something wrong?” Azriel asked, though he already suspected. “My father doesn’t give me much,” she admitted. “Sometimes I have to choose between buying bread or getting some new thing.” “We’re here,” Azriel said, stopping gently at the curb. He turned off the engine. Outside, sparrows could be heard chirping on the ledge of an old, slightly sagging building. “How much do I owe you?” the girl asked, already digging through her pocket. “Nothing at all,” he replied simply. “Go on, run to your grandmother.” The girl froze for a second. Then she smiled widely — so brightly for the first time all morning. That smile made her look like an ordinary child, not a little adult used to hardship. “Thank you so much!” she said sincerely, and hopping out of the car, she almost ran toward the pharmacy, swinging her bag.