The park, a quiet moment.

"Sometimes it's not what we give that counts, but whether we stop for a moment next to each other."

It happened in a park, in winter, when the tree branches draw the sky bare, and the benches are cold, as if no one ever sits on them.

An old man was sitting on one of the benches. He wasn't homeless, just very lonely. He was holding an old pocket radio in his hand, but nothing was playing. He was just turning it, as if searching for a broadcast, or perhaps a voice from the past.

A young woman walked past him. She stopped, didn't hurry any further. She didn't ask if she could help. She just sat down next to him.

They didn't speak for a long time. The leaves rustled under their feet, a dove flew up, somewhere a dog barked.

Finally the man spoke:

- There used to be music here all the time.

The woman nodded.

- It still does now. Only more softly.

The man smiled. Not because he was happy, but because someone understood what he was thinking.

They didn't give each other anything.

They didn't exchange phone numbers.

They didn't promise to meet.

They just sat there for a while, the two of them in the same moment.

And sometimes that's the most you can give:

Not to let someone be alone with their silence.

Together.