Today, I picked up a passenger—a music teacher from a primary school.

At first, she selected a quiet ride.

So I respected that.

No talking.

Just driving.

But after a while…

we started speaking.

And somehow, it just flowed.

It wasn’t forced.

It wasn’t heavy.

Just… easy.

She shared a bit about her life.

She learned piano—up to diploma level.

Her brother learned the violin.

Both of them were trained from young.

But their parents had a condition:

They had to do well in school.

So they did.

Now, she’s a music teacher in a primary school.

And her brother is a violin teacher.

Somewhere along the ride…

A piece started playing from my playlist.

Schindler’s List.

Honestly, I don’t even know why it was there.

I probably added it by mistake—

it should have been in another playlist.

But I let it play.

And when it played…

She recognised it immediately.

She smiled and said

she used to play that piece with her brother.

She on the piano.

Him on the violin.

That moment…

felt different.

Not because of the music alone.

But because of her.

Her presence.

She was calm.

Composed.

Not rushed.

Even the way she spoke…

steady and grounded.

And I realised something quietly.

If I had more passengers like this…

I could drive all day.

Because it’s not the driving that’s tiring.

It’s the stress.

The constant pushing.

The unpredictability.

The feeling of always needing to survive.

But in that moment…

Everything slowed down.

And more than that…

I noticed something about myself.

I liked who I was in that moment.

Calm.

Present.

At ease.

Not fighting.

Not rushing.

Just… being.