London: Terror Threat Level Reduced

I nervously board the tube train. It’s only been two days since the London tube bombing, and I’m on edge.

As the train leaves the station, I glance at my fellow passengers. They are uneasy too, eyes darting around the carriage like birds alert for predators.

At the next station, the doors slide open and a large man boards. He carries a bulky cardboard box, cream in colour, without a logo or decoration. It is roughly six inches deep and two feet square. He holds it carefully, as if it contains something fragile or valuable.

He sits in the empty seat next to me, the box balanced on his lap. The train moves slowly out of the station.

Within seconds, he begins fiddling with the edge of the box. He looks apprehensive. Anxiety spreads through the carriage. Passengers shift uncomfortably, eyes darting more rapidly.

My gaze is fixed on the box. I watch his fingers work at the tape holding the lid in place.

Finally, he opens it. A tray of fresh cream cakes is revealed.

He turns to me, smiles, and asks if I would like one. I accept. Then he offers the others a cake. A few join me.

In an instant, the tension evaporates. Distrust fades. For a short while, belief in human kindness is restored