It wasn't a business card. It was a faded photograph of a younger version of the driver, holding a baby girl in front of that very bakery.
"I know where you’re going," the driver interrupted softly. Elias froze. "I haven't told you yet." It wasn't a business card
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 froze
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. "Most people think they choose their destination
The car turned down a street Elias didn’t recognize—a narrow cobblestone alley lined with shops that looked decades out of date.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.
"Go on," the driver urged. "She’s waiting for a sign that she’s not alone."
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.