One Day,a Bad Time

One Day, a Bad Time

That morning was just like the day before. Sunlight filtered through the window slits, birds chirped outside, and the lingering scent of old rain still clung to the corners of the room. Yet, something about today felt different — as if everything inside was quietly falling apart.

Shubho’s mother once again burst into tears while making flatbreads. His father left silently in the morning. Words had disappeared from their household; only quiet understandings remained. Ever since Shubho lost his job a year ago, it was as if a heavy black cloud had slowly blanketed their home.

The day Shubho received the final news about his job, he had tried to hide it from his mother. But how long can you hide the truth? She noticed one day that Shubho spent the entire day in bed, eyes glued to his phone, but it never rang or sent any emails. Then began the nightmare of unemployment — one interview after another, rejection after rejection, harsh comments from relatives, avoiding old friends, and above all, losing faith in himself.

That morning, when Shubho woke up and looked in the mirror, he was startled. Dark circles under his eyes, messy hair, a blank face — he could hardly recognize himself. As he looked into the mirror, a question kept echoing in his head:

“Is this really me? I wasn’t like this!”

Outside, a pale sun was shining. Shubho sat on a bench in a small park near his house and walked slowly there. The bench was cold, but his head felt hot. An old man who was already in the park came and sat beside Shubho.

— “What are you thinking about, son? You seem very troubled.”

Shubho was a little startled but said, “Yeah, I mean… too much going on in my head. I just can't sort anything out.”

The old man smiled.

— “I too went through a very bad time once. Lost my father as a child. My mother raised me alone. And just when I got to college, I lost her too. I ended up on the streets. Back then, I thought life was over.”

Shubho looked at him in surprise.

The old man continued,

— “Then one day, a man gave me work in his shop. The pay was small, but I slowly regained confidence. Over time, I started studying again at night while working during the day. Slowly, I built a new life. Now, at this age, I understand — bad times are actually a door. A broken door — behind which light quietly waits.”

Shubho was silent for a while. Then he said,

— “But what if someone can’t open that door?”

The old man smiled softly.

— “Then someone has to come and hold your hand — like someone did for me. Maybe your door is jammed right now, but that doesn’t mean the key is lost.”

Shubho stayed quiet. After so long, someone had spoken to him openly, unconditionally, without judgment. The old man stood up.

— “Go home. Your mother might still be sitting with a cup of tea for you. Keep in mind that bad times always pass, just like the dawn does. Back home, Shubho really did find his mother sitting quietly, eyes red, but holding a cup of tea in her hand.

Shubho sat next to her as he slowly walked over. — “Ma, can I say something?”

— “What is it?”

— “Don’t cry anymore. I’ll try again. No matter how many times I fall, I’ll rise again. Just stay with me.”

His mother didn’t say anything. She simply placed her hand on Shubho’s head and wiped her tears.

That very night, Shubho sat down to update his old résumé. A small, but real, light had ignited within him. Two months later...

Shubho had now started working as a trainee developer at a small software company. The pay was low, but it was steady. A faint smile had returned to his mother’s face. One day, his father quietly placed a hand on his shoulder.

In the evenings, Shubho still visited that park sometimes. But he never found the old man again. He looked for him multiple times, but the man seemed to vanish into thin air. Who was he? How did he come?

He didn’t know.

He only knew this —

One day, bad times came.

But then they passed.

And once again, the sun had risen.

The End