50

The next soul stood by a weathered delivery van, its sides marked with dirt from countless roads traveled. The back was still half-filled with neatly stacked packages, each one representing someone's anticipation — a long-awaited gift, a necessity, or maybe just a little piece of happiness ordered on a whim. The soul leaned against the van, gazing at the city skyline in the fading light.

The Angel of Death appeared nearby, watching quietly.

"You never stopped moving," the Angel said gently. "Rain, heat, traffic — none of it mattered. You kept going to bring people what they needed."

The soul chuckled softly, though there was weariness in the sound. "Yeah… people saw the packages, not the person delivering them. Just another van. Another guy in a uniform. No one really looked twice."

The Angel stepped closer, voice steady and warm. "They may not have seen you, but they felt the joy and relief you brought. The birthday present that made it just in time. The medicine that arrived before the pain got worse. The groceries that showed up when someone couldn't leave their home. You were more than just a driver. You were a bridge between people and the things that mattered to them."

The soul's expression softened, memories flickering behind tired eyes. "I liked seeing people smile when they got their packages. Even if they never looked at me, that part… it felt good."

The Angel nodded. "Sometimes, the greatest kindness is done without recognition. You made life a little easier for so many — one delivery at a time."

The soul sighed, the weight of endless miles and hurried schedules easing from their shoulders. "I guess… that's enough."

"It is," the Angel reassured, extending a hand. "Come on. You've earned your rest."

The soul took the Angel's hand, stepping away from the van and the roads left behind. And somewhere, a doorbell chimed, a package waited on a doorstep, and a child's voice shouted with joy, "It's here!" — a final echo of the quiet, unnoticed work that had touched so many lives.