The Man Who Vanished at the Bus Stop:

It was just another midnight at the bus stop. The air was heavy with the scent of rain, the streetlight above flickered as if struggling to stay alive, and the crowd around me seemed as ordinary as ever. Students with backpacks, office workers scrolling through their phones, and a few faces staring blankly into the distance. Nothing in that moment suggested it would turn into a story I would never forget.

Among the small crowd stood someone I had never seen before. He looked to be in his forties, dressed simply in a faded shirt and carrying a small black bag. His posture was tense, his eyes darting around as though he was waiting for someone—or perhaps hiding from them. I noticed him because he seemed out of place. Everyone else was either distracted or bored, but he was alert, restless, and strangely unsettled.

At first, I thought nothing of it. People are often nervous, especially in public places. But then he glanced at me. It wasn’t casual; it was sharp, deliberate, almost as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. I looked away quickly, uncomfortable, yet curiosity kept me watching his movements.

Minutes passed. The bus still hadn’t arrived. The man checked his watch repeatedly, muttered something under his breath, and then stepped aside as though answering a call. I didn’t hear his phone ring, but he raised it to his ear anyway. His lips moved, whispering words I couldn’t catch.

And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

I don’t mean he walked away. I don’t mean he boarded a bus. I mean he vanished. One moment he was there, standing a few feet away, and the next moment the space was empty. No one else seemed to notice. The crowd continued scrolling, yawning, waiting. I froze, staring at the spot where he had been.

I scanned the area. No car had stopped. No alley was nearby. No bus had pulled in. There was no way he could have disappeared without someone seeing. My heart raced as I tried to make sense of it.

Then I noticed something. The small black bag he had been holding was still there, resting against the bench. I hesitated. Should I pick it up? Should I call the police? My mind spun with possibilities. What if it was dangerous? What if it held the answer to his disappearance?

I stepped closer, my hands trembling. The bag was surprisingly light. Against my better judgment, I opened it. Inside was a single notebook. Its pages were filled with hurried handwriting, fragments of sentences, and strange symbols. One line stood out:

“If you see me, don’t follow.”

I slammed the notebook shut, my pulse pounding. What did it mean? Was he running from someone? Was he warning me? Or was it all part of something larger that I couldn’t understand?

The bus finally arrived, its brakes screeching against the wet street. People boarded casually, unaware of the mystery that had just unfolded. I climbed on too, clutching the bag, my mind replaying the moment again and again.

Days have passed since that midnight, but I can’t stop thinking about him—the man who vanished at the bus stop. I never saw his face again. I never found answers in the notebook, only more questions. And sometimes, when I wait at that same stop, I catch myself glancing at the empty space beside me, half-expecting him to return.

But he never does.

Days have passed since that midnight, yet the image of him refuses to fade. I never saw his face again, never uncovered the truth hidden in that notebook—only more questions that echo in silence. And sometimes, when I wait at that same stop, I find myself glancing at the empty space beside me, half‑expecting him to return.

But the night holds its secrets tightly, and the man who vanished remains only a shadow in memory—like rain on glass, present for a moment, gone forever, leaving behind nothing but the ache of wonder.