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."
The car turned down a street Elias didn’t recognize—a narrow cobblestone alley lined with shops that looked decades out of date. Before Elias could protest, the taxi slowed to a crawl. Outside the window was a small, brightly lit bakery. Through the glass, Elias saw a woman sitting alone at a table, a single cupcake with a candle in front of her. She looked devastated.
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—" The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror
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.
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. But sometimes, the cab chooses for them
Just as he was about to give up and start the long walk home, a yellow cab drifted out of the gloom like a ghost. Its "VACANT" sign flickered with a warm, steady light. Elias waved, and the car pulled over with a gentle hiss of tires on wet asphalt.
"I know where you’re going," the driver interrupted softly. Elias froze. "I haven't told you yet." Through the glass, Elias saw a woman sitting
"That’s Sarah," the driver said. "She’s celebrating her first birthday without her father. He used to drive this cab."