Taxi

The rain was coming down in sheets, blurring the neon signs of the city into long, glowing streaks of red and blue. Elias pulled his collar up, shivering. He had just finished a double shift at the library, and all he wanted was his bed. But the buses had stopped running an hour ago.

He climbed into the back seat, which smelled faintly of old leather and peppermint. The driver was an older man with silver hair and a cap pulled low over his eyes. He didn’t ask for an address. "Long night?" the driver asked, his voice like gravel. "The longest," Elias sighed. "I'm heading to 42nd and—"

They talked for hours. By the time they walked out together, the rain had stopped. Elias looked toward the curb, but the yellow cab was gone. Only a small, peppermint-scented card lay on the ground where the car had been parked. The rain was coming down in sheets, blurring

"I know where you’re going," the driver interrupted softly. Elias froze. "I haven't told you yet."

Elias looked at the driver, then back at the woman. A strange feeling of recognition washed over him. He remembered this bakery from his childhood; he hadn't been here in twenty years. But the buses had stopped running an hour ago

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes were kind but incredibly tired. "Most people think they choose their destination. But sometimes, the cab chooses for them."

Elias realized then that he hadn't paid a fare. But as he looked at Sarah, who was smiling for the first time in months, he knew the ride was worth more than any amount of money. He didn’t ask for an address

"That’s Sarah," the driver said. "She’s celebrating her first birthday without her father. He used to drive this cab."