Time for mercy.

"There is punishment that the law imposes, and there is mercy that man gives.

The latter remains longer."

One winter evening there was silence on the street.

Not the peaceful silence, but the heavy one in which one feels

that somewhere a fate is being decided right now.

A light was burning in the house of the law.

Inside there were numbers, deadlines and paragraphs.

Everything was precise, everything was calculable, everything could be explained.

But outside there were not numbers, but people.

Tired looks, missed decisions, and a few mistakes that could no longer be undone.

One of them now had to pay on time.

Not in money — but in days.

Many days.

Someone listened to the story in silence.

He could not change the verdict.

He could not get the punishment.

He could not perform a miracle.

He just stood there, feeling sorry for the man.

And in that moment, something invisible was born.

Because the law can say how long a punishment lasts.

But it cannot say how long mercy lives in another person's heart.

The days will run out.

The doors will open one day.

Time will pass.

But that quiet compassion that someone felt when they could do nothing more — that does not pass.

It does not go behind bars.

It does not age.

It does not run out.

It moves on.

In another gesture, in another help, in another saved moment.

And maybe one day even those who are now only counting the days will understand this.

Silence does not forget.