The Last Bus Home

Chapter 1: Stranded in the City

It was the last week of December, and Lahore was wrapped in a blanket of cold fog. The streets shimmered under dim yellow lights, and the air carried a bitter chill that went straight to the bones. I had just finished a long day of job hunting. With no success and a near-empty wallet, I found myself at the city bus terminal, hoping to catch the last bus back to my village — a small place about 20 kilometers away.

But luck was not on my side. As I reached the counter, the man behind the glass shook his head and said, “Last bus left ten minutes ago.” My heart sank. I had only 70 rupees in my pocket, not enough for a taxi or a hotel room. I had no mobile phone credit and no one to call. The crowd began to thin as more people found their rides, and soon I was alone, sitting on a cold metal bench, unsure of what to do.

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Chapter 2: A Stranger Appears

Just when hopelessness began to take over, I heard the soft puttering sound of a rickshaw approaching. The vehicle pulled up near the terminal, and a man stepped out. He looked around and then walked toward the tea stall nearby. On his way, he noticed me sitting on the bench, hunched over with my hands stuffed in my sleeves.

He paused and asked, “Why are you sitting here at this hour, beta?”

I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I could trust him. But his voice had a calm, fatherly tone that made me feel safe. I explained my situation — how I had missed the last bus, had no money for a taxi, and no place to go.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, without asking for anything in return, he said, “Come, I’ll take you home.”

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Chapter 3: The Ride I Never Expected

I was speechless. “But uncle, I can’t pay you anything,” I said.

He smiled and replied, “I didn’t ask for money, did I?”

With nothing to lose, I sat in the rickshaw, still unsure if this was a blessing or a risk. As we drove through the foggy roads, we started talking. His name was Akram, and he was a rickshaw driver for over 20 years. He had three children — two daughters and a son — and worked day and night to provide for them.

“I know what it's like to be stuck,” he said. “When I was younger, I once spent a night on a bench like that. No one helped me. I promised myself if I ever saw someone in that position, I wouldn’t walk away.”

His words hit me deep. I had always believed kindness still existed in the world, but I had rarely seen it in such a raw and honest form.

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Chapter 4: Reaching Home

The journey took about 40 minutes. When we reached my village, the streets were quiet, and the fog was thicker. I guided him to the narrow lane where my house was. My mother, worried sick, was standing at the gate. The moment she saw me, she rushed over and hugged me tightly.

I turned to Akram and said, “Please wait — I’ll bring something for you, at least tea or dinner.”

But he shook his head. “No need. I have to get back. My kids will be waiting.”

I insisted, “Let me pay you back somehow. I can give you my watch or take your number to return the fare later.”

He looked at me, still smiling, and said something I’ll never forget:

“Beta, one day you’ll see someone who needs help. Don’t walk away. That will be my payment.”

And with that, he turned his rickshaw around and disappeared into the fog.

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Chapter 5: A Lesson Etched Forever

It’s been four years since that night. I never saw Akram again. But I’ve told this story to many — friends, family, and even strangers. Whenever I get the chance to help someone, I think of him. That one act of kindness changed not just my night, but my perspective on life.

I learned that true generosity asks for nothing in return. Sometimes, angels don’t have wings — they wear dusty clothes and drive old rickshaws.

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Moral of the Story:

Never underestimate the power of a small act of kindness. For someone else, it could mean everything. And sometimes, the most beautiful lessons come from the most unexpected people.