The lamp in the snow.

"The greatest darkness is not the cold, but when no one lights a light for the other."

It was night when the cold settled over the city.

Not the sharp kind that just touches your face,

but the kind that quietly crawls under your coat and stays there.

The streets were empty.

Lights were burning behind the windows of the houses, teas were steaming, people were hiding under blankets.

But a man stood outside the gate, holding an old enamel lamp.

He was in no hurry.

He wasn't looking for anyone.

He just stood there, as if listening.

He listened to what others couldn't hear: the uncertainty of footsteps, the sighs hiding in the wind, the hope silenced in the cold.

Suddenly he saw a figure in the snowfall.

He didn't ask.

He didn't complain.

He just walked forward, his head bowed, as if the ground were warmer than the sky.

The man raised the lamp.

It didn't blind the other, it just gave a little light to the path.

He didn't say anything.

The stranger stopped.

He looked up.

And in his eyes was that recognition that can't be taught:

"Someone sees."

It wasn't a rescue.

It wasn't a great deed.

Just a lamp in the snow.

A sign that you're not alone.

That you haven't disappeared into this world without a trace.

The man didn't ask.

He didn't interrogate.

He didn't promise.

He just held the light for a moment until the other started walking again.

Then he turned off the lamp and went back inside the gate.

But whoever saw that light was no longer the same person who had come in the dark.

Because there are cold days when it is not a warm coat that matters most, but someone who can light a light inside us for a moment.

And this light does not burn like fire.

But it awakens the heart.

If today just one lamp lights up on someone's path,

this night will not have been in vain.