It was just an ordinary day. I was getting ready for work and, as always, I was late. I kept blaming the alarm for not waking me up, even though I was the one who had turned it off in my sleep.
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Skipping breakfast out of sheer laziness, I hurried to the bus stop.
It was unusually crowded.
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I found myself standing beside a man who looked both bald and incredibly irritated. We were all mad; we were all late. Usually, the bus would have long been gone, leaving me behind.
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Perhaps today everyone was late, or perhaps the bus was the one running behind schedule. I wanted to ask someone, but everyone looked so intimidating that I just stood there like a statue.
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Suddenly, I caught a snippet of conversation. "Yeah, it got into an accident."
An accident? Were they talking about the bus or just gossiping?
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As the minutes ticked by, the crowd began to thin. Some walked, some hailed cabs, and there I was, standing alone with no idea what was happening. At times like these, I truly hated my social anxiety; if it wasn’t for that, I could have simply asked what was going on.
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I was planning to walk to my office, which was just a kilometer away, when I felt a light tap on my hand.
"Sir, please help me."
I looked down, confused. It was a kid, maybe ten years old. His clothes were beyond worn—he was likely homeless.
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"What do you want?" I asked. My voice came out cold, but he didn’t flinch. He was clearly used to it. He looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes.
"Sir, can you give me some money?" he asked.
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It was almost funny. He was asking for money from someone as broke as I was. I only had enough for the bus; that’s why I hadn’t taken a cab even though I was late.
"I don’t have any money," I managed to say.
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I watched as his face fell. I knew I should do something, but I didn't know what. I hated seeing that look on his face, even though he was a total stranger.
"Oh, okay then," he murmured, turning to walk away.
"Are you hungry?" I blurted out.
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He spun around instantly, nodding eagerly. Without a second thought, I opened my bag, took out my lunch, and handed it to him. I knew I had skipped breakfast. I knew I didn't have money to buy lunch later. But I couldn't bear to leave him there with nothing.
He took the container happily, a massive smile breaking across his face. "Thank you, sir!"
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I just nodded, but I felt something inside me—like my heart was melting. He ran off, and once again, I was alone.
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I checked my watch: 8:30 AM. I was thirty minutes late. Just as I started to walk, another bus pulled up. I climbed in, finding no seat, yet I felt strangely happy. As the bus moved, I thought about the kid. I usually found children annoying, but he wasn’t. It felt... great.
The next day, I was running to the stop again, only to see the bus leaving me behind as usual. I was cursing under my breath when I saw the boy running toward me.
"Good morning, sir! I was waiting for you."
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It felt strange—knowing someone had actually waited for me.
"Good morning," I replied. He just smiled, looking at me expectantly. I realized what he was waiting for. I handed him my lunch again, knowing I’d be going hungry for the day. He thanked me and ran off.
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As the days passed, I started packing an extra meal. Every day he waited, and every day I fed him. It's funny how it became a part of my routine. I never thought I’d bond with a kid, but I felt like he saw something in me—something beyond the coldness I showed the world.
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Then, one day, I arrived at the bus stop and he was nowhere to be found. I thought I might be early, but I wasn't. I waited until my bus came, my mind racing with worry. The following days were the same. A cold fear began to settle in when he didn't return.
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I didn’t know where he lived. I didn’t even know his name. To me, he was just the boy who waited for my food. I kept blaming myself for not asking, for not knowing more. I just prayed he was okay.
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It has been a few years since I last saw him. Yet, to this day, I still find myself looking for the kid who understood me more than anyone ever did.
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and then Add to home screen.