Where the bus stops — A short story

The streetlights bathed the bus stop as the man sat alone patiently waiting for a bus. Was he actually waiting for a bus? Maybe that’s what Ravi, a tea stall owner, had claimed in his own mind.

The sky was covered in dark and gray clouds. Slowly got dense. A few tiny drops made a soft sound as it hit the ground and rooftops. And then it started to rain.

It was 8 pm, one hour before Ravi usually returns home. One by one buses and rickshaws whizzed past, but that man sitting there showed no signal of catching any of them. More than half hours passed by, and this middle-aged man, Ravi, lost his patience.

“Hey, what’s the fuss? I’ve been watching you for a long while, many vehicles have stopped for you, why ain’t you getting in?” He walked by the bus stop and inquired.

The man startled, “Oh sorry to bother you mister, my home is only 300 meters away, I just came here for a walk, the rain was about to start, I saw the stand empty, thought to sit by myself.”

Ravi’s face started filling with a warm of good smiles.

“Hurry… hurry up, I think I got my next passenger.” The moment Ravi was about to say something, a rickshaw driver came by and shouted for a half-cup of tea.

He ran to the stall, offered the cup to the driver and replied, “Sometimes not everyone you see sitting at a bus stop is your passenger.”

The driver looked puzzled.

Ravi lifted his face to see the bus stop. It was empty. He glanced outside, the pitter-patter of raindrops gradually faded away. The rain stopped.