The Last Bus Home

The rain poured relentlessly that night, blurring the streetlights into long, golden ribbons across the wet asphalt. The small town looked half-asleep, its shops shuttered, the smell of drenched earth mixing with the faint aroma of chai from a distant stall.

Arjun stood alone at the bus stop, clutching a worn-out folder to his chest a folder that had carried his dreams for two long, unkind years. Inside were copies of his degree, certificates, and resumes, each stamped with rejection or left unanswered. The paper had grown soft at the edges, like his patience.

He had graduated at the top of his design class. His professors had called him “brilliant,” “original,” “promising.” But the world outside college didn’t care for such words. Every interview seemed to end with the same polite smile and phrase: “We’ll get back to you.”

No one ever did.

His mother had sold her wedding bangles to help him move to the city for college. Now, he could barely afford her medicine. Her voice echoed in his mind, calm but filled with faith:

“Don’t give up before the miracle happens, beta. God tests those He plans to bless.”

Arjun wanted to believe her. But as the cold rain seeped into his worn shoes, faith felt like a luxury he could no longer afford.

The bus stop’s flickering light buzzed above him. The schedule board said the last bus to his neighborhood would leave in five minutes. His wallet held just enough for one ticket and a small meal a choice between hunger or home.

He stared at the passing headlights, wondering if life was mocking him always rushing by, never stopping.

As he pondered, a frail voice interrupted.

“Son, do you know when the next bus to City Center comes?”

Arjun turned. Beside him stood an elderly man in a soaked gray coat, his trembling hand clutching an umbrella that had long given up its purpose. His face carried both fatigue and worry.

“Not tonight, sir,” Arjun replied. “That was the last one.”

The man’s face fell. “Oh dear. My granddaughter’s in the hospital. The doctor said I should come as soon as possible… but I missed the earlier bus.”

Arjun hesitated. He could almost hear his own heartbeat the sound of his last ticket crumpling in his pocket. He looked at the man again, at the desperation in his eyes, and without another thought, he pulled out the ticket and handed it over.

“Take it,” Arjun said quietly. “You need it more than I do.”

The man blinked in disbelief. “No, no… I can’t take that. What about you?”

Arjun forced a weak smile. “I’ll walk. It’s not that far.”

The man looked at him for a long moment, as if searching his soul. Then he placed a hand on Arjun’s shoulder. “You’ve just given away more than a ticket, young man. You’ve given me time something I can never repay. Please, wait here.”

Before Arjun could respond, the old man shuffled to the corner, took out his phone, and made a call. The rain softened into a drizzle. Minutes later, the man returned, his expression lighter.

“I can’t take your kindness without returning it somehow,” he said. “My son runs a small design company. He’s been searching for someone with fresh ideas and a good heart both of which I see in you. Can you come to his office tomorrow?”

Arjun stared at him, stunned. “Are you serious?”

The man chuckled. “I wouldn’t joke about that. Come by at ten. I’ll make sure he expects you.”

He handed Arjun a business card water-stained but legible and climbed aboard the bus as it pulled in. Through the fogged window, he gave a small wave. Arjun stood under the flickering light, clutching the card like a lifeline. For the first time in months, the rain didn’t feel cold.

The next morning, Arjun woke early. His only formal shirt had a missing button, which he sewed carefully. His shoes, though cracked, gleamed after a quick polish. He rehearsed his introduction all the way to the address written on the card Sharma & Co. Design Studio.

It wasn’t a grand office, just a modest space above a stationery store, but to Arjun, it looked like possibility. The receptionist smiled when he mentioned the old man’s name. “You must be the young man my boss’s father was talking about. He said you helped him last night.”

Arjun nodded nervously. Moments later, he was ushered into a glass-walled room where Mr. Sharma the man’s son sat reviewing designs on a tablet.

“So you’re Arjun,” the man said, standing to shake his hand. “My father rarely praises anyone. When he said a stranger gave up his last bus ticket to help him, I knew I had to meet you.”

He gestured for Arjun to sit. “Let me see your portfolio.”

Arjun handed over his worn folder, half-expecting another polite rejection. But as Mr. Sharma flipped through his sketches, his eyes brightened. “You drew these by hand? The concepts are brilliant simple but meaningful.”

By the end of the meeting, Mr. Sharma smiled. “How soon can you start?”

Arjun’s throat tightened. “Tomorrow?”

“Perfect,” the man replied, shaking his hand again. “Welcome aboard.”

That evening, Arjun returned home drenched in joy instead of rain. His mother was shelling peas near the window. When he handed her the appointment letter, her eyes welled up. “I told you,” she whispered, “miracles come when you least expect them.”

A week later, Arjun received his first paycheck enough to buy groceries, clear small debts, and surprise his mother with a pair of new shoes.

One night, as he stood by the window, watching another rainstorm roll in, he smiled at the memory of that bus stop the flickering light, the soaked stranger, the decision that changed everything.

He whispered softly, “I didn’t miss the bus. I was just waiting for the right one.”

The city outside glowed with possibility. The rain no longer symbolized failure it felt like renewal, washing away the weight of yesterday and whispering promises for tomorrow.

Moral:

When you choose kindness even in despair, the universe finds a way to return it tenfold.