The smell of bread.

A small bakery stood on the outskirts of town.

It wasn't big, it wasn't modern, but every morning it gave off a strange smell that you could recognize from afar.

People went there not only for the fresh bread, but also because it somehow made the morning warmer.

The bakery was run by an old woman.

She wasn't rich, but there was always something on the shelf that she didn't sell—but put aside.

"It goes to whoever didn't get to it today." - she used to say.

One cold morning, a little girl stood in front of the window.

She pressed her nose to the glass and watched the baker put the bread on the rack.

She didn't dare to go in, she just stood there silently.

The woman noticed her.

She went over and opened the door softly.

- Come in, little girl. It's cold.

The girl hesitated, then went in.

"I don't have any money…" she said softly.

The woman smiled.

"It's okay. We don't charge for the warm air."

Then she took a loaf of bread off the grill,

spread a slice with butter, and handed it to the child.

"Eat. This is your breakfast today."

The girl sat in the corner and ate slowly.

The bread was warm, and she felt strangely safe.

When she was done, she went to the woman and said only:

"Thank you. One day I'll give something like this to someone."

The woman smiled.

"Then do it.

Because goodness is not bread that we eat.

Goodness is leaven that must be passed on.

Years later, when the bakery had closed, a new shop opened in its place.

The owner was a young woman—and above the entrance hung a sign:

"The bread of goodness—every slice is left over for someone."

Lesson

Goodness is not a possession or an intention, but a movement that lives on in others.

He who gives does not lose — he only lights a new flame.

And this flame will never go out as long as there is someone who believes that the world does not live by bread, but by the warmth that we can give.