She awoke to the sound of air being rushed out of the breaks as the train came to a standstill - a hiss of a serpent erupting from the metallic belly. It startled her, she was unceremoniously expelled from the delicacy of her dozing and the heart flayed itself against the chest in a frantic bid for escape. She fumbled half-heartedly for her bag as she sprang to her feet, but did not remember that when she fell asleep, the book fell from her hand to the cabin floor. Kiva glanced at her watch, each tick reminding her of a ticking bomb. She rushed out the cabin, carried along by the tide of those exiting the train, each step a struggle against the weight of her drowsiness.
There was nothing more outside than a winter wind brushing against her cheeks, crisp and biting, which made all her senses jump as she was laboring to breathe. The place was alive with the sound of an early morning crowd - snatches of conversation, the shout of a merchant somewhere in the distance, the thudding of heavy wheels of a case - all to be compared to a city symphony which not only enlived but stunned all those who took part in it.
Kiva rushed from the station to her school, her feet an insipired march of determination over the frozen pavement. She was a medical student, intending to become an emergency pediatrician, but in the last while, every step felt like standing on a disintegrating ledge. She was under pressure, it seeped into her bones, announcing itself in battles that haunted her dreams. Her scholarship was precarious - one misstep and everything would come tumbling down, scattering her dreams like crystals across the window.
Kiva had returned home mindlessly tired after dropping off some documents to her mentor, her tiredness grew heavier with each step, fatigue wrapped its arms around her like the amorphous coat of an insomniac night on the train. She wanted to hit her bed and let the world sink just a bit. But the business of the day loomed too high to be avoided - there was one other thing, gently nudging at her, that was yet to be done: she had not returned her library book. Tomorrow was the deadline. This would not only stamp her as a delinquent scholar, it would cost her the scholarship and would stomp on her future as effectively as the guillotine. She put her hand in her bag, feeling for the cover. She wavered. The book was gone. Venomous fear slithered into her veins. Her bag tipped over and spilled onto the table, pens, notes, an ancient granola bar, and yet no book. The discovery became punctuated with physical compulsion, her knees gave way and she quailed to the floor and sobbed, her cheeks welling with tears of disappointment which ran down her cheeks, leaving cold lines across them, hopelessness weaving like a snare around her heart.
Giving up in a last and desperate attempt, she dialed the railway station, steadying her voice as she explained. The train was already on its way, carrying strangers and her lost hope. It was impossible for her to retrieve the book. Hanging up, she held her phone, crying hysterically as she could see behind her eyes images of her scolarship being destroyed in graphic and ruthless detail. She appealed to the library and made her case, but the answer there was nearly as cold as the day outside, a bureaucratic voice spoke: return the book by the end of tomorrow, or the mark will be entered in her record, and her scolarship will be revoked.
Faced with what appeared to be an almost inevitable defeat, Kiva sat still, and her world became no more than a cold floor and the sound of her own rough breath. The day was repeating in fragments in her mind - a moment of time, a step towards ruin. There was a uncertainty that besiged her will, paralyzing her determination, and resignation became heavy and inevitable. Losing the book was not only a step toward endangering her scholarship, it was also a threat to the breakdown of her whole future, one thread of hope breaking in another. She struggled against the wave of despair, as the usual victor, and finally she gave in to it, submitting to its outcomes and losing all hopes of a happy ending.
An hour before, at the railway station, a man in his late fourties, maybe fifties, was standing idly at the platform, his figure was outlined by the glare of the overhead lights.
When the all-clear signal was given by the conductor, Ray joined the others, getting on the train in a sort of nonchalance he had practiced a lot. His movements were short and weary, yet his eyes, though dark and drained, looked around his environment with an up-until-now mysterious interest. He discovered a vacant cabin, drove straight to the window, and sat down to gaze at the city's concrete jungle. Ray threw off his coat and hung it by the door before closing the door, shutting himself off from the outside world.
He slipped into his seat, and his foot was poking at something underneath - a hard, unanticipated something. He peered and saw the end of a book about halfway in the shadow under the bench. Ray picked up the book as if it were a fragile vase.
The title was a medical text, and as he browsed through the pages, he realized there were scribbled notes in the margins, the product of late-night research and feverish preparation. The last thing: a library label: Kiva Grady. One look at the return date sent his pulse racing, it was tomorrow. Ray was briefly taken back to his own college life, the stark panic of trying to get history finished on time, the fear of dropping a book, the utter relief of having a friend save him by finding and returning the book for him. Ray felt pity aching in his heart, he knew all too well what this book could mean. The library stood as a small detour, however, duty and memory poked him on. He decided to bring the book back to the library, hoping that this tiny gesture would improve the day of another human soul.
The railroad car came to a halt at the place to which Ray was bound. He gathered his things, shrugged on his coat and went out onto the frozen platform. The night air in the city was fresh, with the smell of rain and exhaust. As he got out, he noticed the conductor looking at him and nodding as he wished a pleasant New Year - a brief act of fraternity in the anonymity of transportation.
Ray made his way through the station and out into the city, book tucked safely under his arm.
His phone buzzed - his partner's name flashing on the screen. She reminded him, not without irritation, that he was supposed to be home from work already. He explained the detour, hoping she'd understand, but her response was clipped with impatience. Ray shrugged it off, attributing her mood to her pregnancy. Priorities sometimes collided, he thought, but tonight he wanted to believe in the quiet significance of a good deed. He continued making his way towards the library, where he found it closed, but the after-hours box was working. He scanned the book, Kiva's library tag, and finally his own library card so he could open the box and put the book in together with her tag. Upon finishing he started making his way home. When he arrived home, he went to bed satisfied with himself, thinking of the good deed he had done today.
The next morning, as Kiva woke up in desparation, she dragged herself out of bed, making herself breakfast and coffee. Her movements were slow and defeated as she made her way to her balcony as per her morning routine. Once there she sat down and looked out into the bustling city that surrounded her. As the morning unfolded, her phone buzzed with a message from the library: the book return had been confirmed. Kiva stared into her phone in disbelief and upon opening the full library report, she read that it had been returned to the after-hours box using the library card of one Raymond MacTavish. Kiva wrote the name down with a sigh of relief, hoping to one day find this Raymond and pay him back for his kindness. And with that, her education went on, and Ray continued living his mundane life, soon forgetting his own act of kindness.
Years passed, Kiva finished her education and started work, she was now an emergency room doctor specializing in pediatrics. She enjoyed her job and loved helping others, especially children. The clock just about struck midnight, and Christmas Eve became Christmas. The night was rather cold and snowy, and snowplows had not yet passed, the road was perfect for car accidents. The emergency room surely felt it, people kept coming almost constantly. Kiva was in her office, right now she was only occasionally called to assist with patients since there were no children admitted right now.
Hours passed, morning was around the corner and Kiva was somewhat mentally preparing to go home. There was a snowstorm picking up, getting home would be quite the challange, she thought to herself, before her thoughts were abruptly ended by the sound of her work phone buzzing to life. She picked it up and was notified that there would be a child car accident victim arriving soon. She bolted up from her chair and exited her office, moving to the emergency bay where nurses were already preparing themselves for the incoming ambulance.
Kiva made her way to the entrance and waited as the incoming sirens moved closer. An eerie silence overtook the hallway, only to be interrupted by sirens outside the building. The door slid open, and the patient was rolled in. The staff was briefed on the incident and informed that the father was in the waiting room. Kiva moved to the side of the little girl and started treating her.
After hours of treatment, Kiva picked up the patient's chart and made her way to the waiting room to inform the father of the child's status. As she walked towards the waiting room, she read the father's name, 'Raymond Mactavish'. The name rang a bell, but she couldn't connect it to a face or a place. The door in front of her slid open and she stepped into the waiting room. Everyone looked at her as if hope itself just walked into the room, in reality, they were waiting to see whose name she'd call out, both hoping it was and wasn't theirs, depending on what kind of news she brought. Kiva took a deep breath and called for the father, who jolted up from his chair and approached her, his heart racing.
"How is she? Will she be alright?" - Ray spoke with hope and despair in his voice, his eyes looked red, as if he'd been crying the whole night.
"There is no reason for any concern, Mr.MacTavish. Your daughter is expected to make a full recovery. I understand that her injuries looked scary at first sight, but it was nothing more than a few lacerations. We patched those up, and she should be heading home tomorrow morning. We'd like to keep her for observation, but as I stated before, there is little reason for worry." - As Kiva spoke, she slightly squinted, trying to connect the man's name and his face to a certain memory, but she found little success. She let it go for now, focusing on her job.
"Thank you, doctor, really. How can I ever repay you..." - Ray also recognized her surname, but since he couldn't place it anywhere, he shrugged it off as something he'd read in the papers.
"No need to repay me, I'm just doing my job. I'll leave you to it now if you don't have any questions. A nurse will come soon and take you to your daughter." - Kiva nodded reassuringly to Ray before taking a step back.
"Alright, and again, thank you doctor!"
Kiva left the waiting room, then the hospital, and went home. Upon arriving home she sat down on her couch and started watching television, but something kept popping back into her mind, it was the man's name and surname, she couldn't help herself and went digging through her house for a connection to him, she thought he might have been a professor or someone form her college and as she dug through her papers from school a small folded paper fell out of one of the books. Kiva bent down, picked it up, and unfolded it. It wrote "Raymond MacTavish, after-hours box." In that moment, it dawned on her, and she smiled, satisfied with herself...
"I guess all good deeds really do get rewarded..."