Dark chocolate is good for the body but avoided for its bite - like kindness in a crowded world.

In 2014, Jagadeesh finally flew international business class - a chance for comfort and sleep on a nine‑hour flight. Departure was at 3:00 a.m.; he hoped, half-jokingly, that no one would snore loudly - a worry he secretly shared.

Airlines do plenty to make passengers feel special: priority boarding, welcome champagne, and little luxuries that signal status. With baggage stowed and pillows set, Jagadeesh waited to say his customary take-off prayer before trying to sleep. For a moment he felt he had “arrived,” then turned to smile at his neighbour and received a cold look.

He thought of successful meetings and a pork schnitzel he’d been craving at Schnitzelplatz in Heidelberg - a small comfort he looked forward to.

After boarding, a flight attendant asked if Jagadeesh would give up his seat so a passenger could sit with a friend — the cold-faced neighbor. Annoyed that they hadn’t asked him directly, he agreed anyway. He tended to favour others’ comfort over his own; this cost him little and might make someone else’s trip easier. “It’s not like the train incident,” he told himself.

Years earlier, on an overnight train, he’d swapped seats so one passenger could be with family. At 3:00 a.m., awakened by shoving and insults he couldn’t understand, Jagadeesh discovered the other ticket was valid only until the previous station. He had to move his luggage back in the night. His charity had backfired.

This time, though, the context felt different: a direct flight shouldn’t cause trouble. Still, as he passed the passenger who had asked, there was no eye contact, no thanks. His shoulders sagged; a quiet bitterness crept in. “Is this how successful people behave? Self over selfless?” he wondered. The flight attendant saw his expression, came over, and quietly thanked him.

No sooner had he settled than another passenger approached.

He hesitated, then moved again. The attendant thanked him once more, and he found himself in a window seat he didn’t want. “Maybe it’ll count in Chitragupta’s ledger of good deeds,” he thought, half-amused.

As the plane began its descent into Frankfurt, Jagadeesh slept briefly and woke to clear skies outside. Just before landing, she returned with a small bag of chocolates and a warm smile - unexpected recognition that left him searching for an occasion that wasn’t there.

She handed him the chocolates and told the cabin how touched she’d been - moving seats in business class twice without complaint had stood out. Her gratitude felt sincere. Surrounded by passengers who smiled at him with appreciation, Jagadeesh felt embarrassed and unprepared for recognition.

Walking through the jet bridge with the chocolates, he weighed the moment. Had he done something admirable, or had he just been taken advantage of? The attendant’s praise was real, yet he worried that his kindness might be a disadvantage in a fast-paced world. Perhaps being too nice put him out of step with modern values - and perhaps that was also his quiet distinction.

He realised kindness was like dark chocolate: good for you, often avoided, and not always sweet.