"The Last Bus"
It was 10:30 PM when I realized I had missed the last bus home. The station was empty... or so I thought. Cold wind whistled through the deserted platforms. The flickering overhead light made shadows dance. I sighed and sat on the bench, pulling my jacket tighter. Then I heard it—a faint cough. Turning around, I spotted an old man in a faded coat sitting on the far bench, nearly hidden in the gloom. His eyes met mine, and he smiled faintly. I asked, trying to sound casual. He nodded. “Always do.” That answer felt odd. His voice was calm, almost too calm. “I’ve been waiting a long time.” The wind picked up, and a strange silence followed. I glanced at my phone—no signal. When I looked back, the man was gone. Then, headlights pierced the darkness. A bus slowly rolled in—old, silent, and oddly clean. Its sign read only one word: "Home." I hesitated but stepped on. The driver gave no greeting. As the doors shut, I turned to look back. The station was empty again. And in the reflection of the bus window, the old man was smiling beside me.
Comments
Post a Comment