The Weight of Kindness

Kindness had always been second nature. Giving, helping, offering—never asking for anything in return. It felt right. It felt good. Until it didn't.

It started subtly. A call only when something was needed. A smile that faded once the favor was granted. "You're such a good person," they'd say, but the words felt hollow, like a script read without meaning.

One day, exhaustion set in. The kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones, not from doing too much, but from realizing too late. Used. Not cherished, not valued—just a convenient presence.

So kindness paused. Silence answered the requests. Absence filled the spaces once occupied by selfless acts. And in that void, something unexpected emerged.

Those who had only taken disappeared. But in their place, a few stayed. Not because they needed, but because they saw. Because they cared.

And for the first time, kindness became a choice, not a currency.