Kirill sliced the meat automatically, guiding the heavy knife across the cutting board with steady confidence. The blade slipped through the fibers with ease, the fat separating effortlessly; his movements were precise and habitual. It was just another ordinary day: the buzz of customers’ voices, the ring of the cash register, the smell of fresh meat—which he had long since stopped noticing.
But something drew his attention.
A small, hunched figure stood by the counter. It was an elderly woman wearing an old, worn coat that was no longer able to protect her from the cold. Her headscarf had slipped slightly, revealing wrinkled cheeks, and her shoulders quivered—whether from a mild chill or from nerves. In her hands, she clutched a battered plastic bag where loose change jingled softly.
She’d been staring at the display for a while, but Kirill noticed right away that her gaze wasn’t focused on the juicy cuts of meat that typically sold first, nor on the prime cut or appetizing steaks. She was looking at the bones.
Those same bones people usually buy for their pets—to add a bit of variety to the animals’ meager meals.
Kirill slowed his knife, carefully watching her. He didn’t even notice the moment the knife slipped from his grip, falling onto the cutting board.
The old woman was muttering to herself, making mental calculations:
— If I make soup stock… Maybe it’ll last three days… Yes, that should do it…
She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, as though this were a normal situation she dealt with every day.
Kirill wiped his hands on his apron and approached her slowly, feeling a tightness in his chest.
— Grandma, who are you getting bones for? Do you have a dog? — he asked, trying to sound casual.
She jolted, as though she hadn’t expected anyone to notice her. For a moment, shame flickered in her eyes, then she lowered her gaze.
— Dog? Cat? Ah, no, my dear… — she replied quietly, with a hint of bitter amusement. — I just need something to feed myself… There’s still a week until my pension, so I’m figuring out how to stretch what little I have.
She said it without complaint—just stating the facts she had come to accept.
Kirill clenched his teeth as he looked at her trembling fingers, clutching a bag filled with coins. His eyes darted to the display, where neatly arranged cuts of fresh meat were ready to sell. He knew how much they cost. He knew they were beyond her reach.
He decided right then.
Kirill quickly grabbed a whole chicken, wrapped it in thick paper, and added a generous portion of fresh ground meat—the kind that always sold out fast. He carefully placed everything in a bag, checked the closure to be sure it was secure, and then offered it to her over the counter.
— Here you are, Grandma, — he said.
She froze in place, clearly unable to believe what she was seeing. She looked from Kirill to the bag, as if trying to decide whether it was real or a figment of her imagination.
— Son, I don’t have that kind of money… — she whispered, glancing anxiously at her little bag of coins.
Kirill smiled, shaking his head:
— Who said anything about money? It’s for you.
But she backed away, clutching her hands to her chest.
— No, no… That’s not right… I’ll pay you back later… — she said, her voice trembling with embarrassment.
Kirill studied her face, feeling a pang in his chest.
— Please, take it, — he repeated gently, nudging the bag a bit closer. — It’s from the heart.
Cautiously, she took the bag, holding it as though it might disappear at any moment. Her thin fingers trembled more noticeably as she gripped the gift.
Tears shimmered in her eyes.
— You… you’re depriving yourself… — she murmured, looking at him with gratitude and concern. — Why do you do this?
Kirill just shrugged, smiling:
— I’ve got plenty, Grandma. Look, I even ended up with an extra piece of meat. Take it and make some soup. At least once this week, let it be warm and filling.
Her hands shook a bit more as she accepted the bag. She paused, then said quietly:
— Thank you, dear boy… Thank you so much…
She went silent, as though considering her next words. Then, suddenly, she took a step forward and hugged him tightly, like a mother embracing her own son.
— Thank you, my dear… — she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. — May life repay you a hundredfold…
Kirill felt a warmth spreading inside him, dissolving any leftover awkwardness.
— It’s nothing, really… — he mumbled, pulling away. — It’s just a chicken.
But the old woman knew: this was more than just meat. It was a gesture of empathy and care.
The next day, Kirill went on with his work as usual. Customers came and went, yet something felt different in the air. He could almost sense a change on his skin. People looked at him in a new light—with a special warmth, gentle smiles. It was as if a subtle aura of gratitude had filled the store.
At first, he dismissed it as coincidence, but then a middle-aged woman—one of the regulars—came up to him, a basket of vegetables in her arms.
— Is it true you helped an old lady yesterday? — she asked, leaning in so only he could hear. — Gave her groceries free of charge?
Kirill stiffened. He hadn’t expected anyone to notice, let alone bring it up.
— Well… yes, — he said hesitantly, scratching the back of his head. — Just a small gesture…
The woman smiled, genuine admiration in her eyes.
— She’s well known around here. A widow, tiny pension, lives alone… You’re a good man, Kirill. Such a kind heart.
He tried to wave it off, feeling embarrassed.
— No, really… It was nothing at all.
But the woman had already paid for her vegetables, nodded to him, and left the shop, leaving him with a pleasant glow inside.
A few hours later, when Kirill had almost forgotten their conversation, Vasilyich—the vendor from the neighboring stall—came in. He was a big man with kindly wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
— Kirill, heard you helped out that old lady, — he said, setting two homemade pies on the counter. — Pass on our best wishes. These are for you.
Kirill blinked in surprise, not even managing to protest. Vasilyich patted him on the shoulder and was already on his way out.
— Hey, you can’t just…! — Kirill called after him, but the man waved him off, leaving the young butcher standing there with two fragrant pies.
Kirill smirked, setting them in the fridge. “What a turn of events,” he thought, feeling a gentle warmth flow through his chest.
The next day, a similar thing happened, only with a slight twist.
A young woman with soft features and a pale headscarf came through the checkout line. She picked up a few products, paid, and then, as if casually, placed a chocolate bar beside the register.
— Just because, — she said with a small smile, giving him a friendly wink. — For you.
Kirill froze, staring at her in surprise. Only yesterday, he had made a small, spontaneous choice, never imagining any repercussions—and now it seemed as though those around him were starting a chain reaction of kindness. He picked up the chocolate bar, turned it over in his hands, and a smile spread across his face.
“Good deeds really do come back to you,” he thought, feeling a wonderful lightness within.
A week passed. Once again, the old lady arrived at the store, the same time as before. Kirill spotted her right away. She walked with more assurance this time, though still carefully. The timidity in her gaze was gone, replaced by a quiet dignity.
Coming up to the counter, she pulled several neatly folded bills from her pocket.
— Here, dear boy, — she said, looking him straight in the eye. — I got my pension, and I want to pay for that chicken.
Kirill froze, glancing at the money, then back at her.
— Grandma, that’s not necessary… — he said, pushing the bills back. — It was my decision—it wasn’t a big deal…
She shook her head firmly.
— No, my dear. That wasn’t charity; it was pure kindness. And kindness must be repaid with kindness.
She opened her bag and took out a small bundle. Unwrapping it, she revealed a pair of warm, neatly knitted socks.
— These are for you, — she said, holding them out. — So your feet stay warm.
He took the gift gently. The socks were soft and thick, with a charming pattern. Running his fingers over the stitches, he felt their warmth spread not only to his hands, but to his heart.
— Grandma… — he managed to utter, his voice thick with gratitude as he looked at her.
She smiled, her face crinkling with deep lines that somehow made her look even kinder.
— Wear them in good health, son, — she said, turning and walking slowly toward the door.
Kirill watched until she disappeared outside. A strange, tight feeling gripped his chest—though it wasn’t sadness but something bright and comforting. Once again, he looked at the socks, clenching them in his hands.
And he realized: no fancy fleece blanket could ever warm him as deeply as this simple, love-filled gift.