The warm sunlight of a lazy Sunday morning cast a gentle glow over the bustling streets. Amidst
the vibrant chaos, a young man named Peter sat alone on a worn bench at a bus stop. His
eyes, a deep shade of brown, seemed to hold a world of sorrow as he gazed out at the passing
crowd.
For 12 long hours, Peter had waited, his heart aching with every passing face. Each stranger's
footsteps sparked a glimmer of hope, only to be extinguished by the realization that they were
not the one he was searching for.
As the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the city, Peter rose from the bench, his
slender frame unfolding from the worn wooden slats. With a heavy heart, he began his walk
home, the silence of the evening a stark contrast to the cacophony of the day.
As he approached his small, unassuming house, a soft voice called out, "You again went to the
bus stop." Peter's eyes narrowed slightly as he turned to face Rika, his neighbor and childhood
friend.
Rika's curious gaze met Peter's, her eyes sparkling with a mix of concern and intrigue. "You
never said why," she pressed, her voice laced with a gentle urgency. "Why do you go to that bus
stop every time you're free, waiting for hours? Are you waiting for someone, or do you want to
go somewhere? I don't understand."
Peter's silence was palpable, a heavy blanket that wrapped around the pair, suffocating the air
from the conversation. Finally, he took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "Listen,
Rika, no matter how many times you ask me, I can't tell you some things in my life."
With that, Peter turned and slipped into his house, leaving Rika standing alone in the fading
light. But Rika's concern and affection for Peter wouldn't let her give up. She called out, "Okay,
then, here, take this. You must be hungry, and it's already late for you to cook your own meal."
Peter's gratitude was evident as he accepted the offering, their fingers touching briefly in the
exchange. As they parted ways, Rika's eyes lingered on Peter's retreating form, her heart
aching with a mix of love, concern, and frustration.
Peter's life had been a testament to resilience, a young orphan who had navigated the harsh
streets of the city, emerging stronger and more determined with each passing day. Rika had
watched him grow, her admiration and affection blossoming into something more profound.
Yet, she had never mustered the courage to confess her feelings, fearing rejection and the
potential loss of their friendship. As she walked back to her own house, Rika couldn't shake the
feeling that she was losing Peter, that the secrets he kept hidden would forever remain a barrier
between them. The scorching sun beat down on Peter's construction site, the smell of sweat and concrete
hanging heavy in the air. Peter's hands moved with precision, his muscles honed from years of
physical labor. But in an instant, chaos erupted. A coworker's foot slipped, and a metal rod came
crashing down on Peter's leg.
A blood-curdling scream pierced the air as Peter's world went dark. The next thing he knew, he
was lying in a hospital bed, his leg wrapped in a thick bandage. Four days passed in a blur of
pain and medication.
Then, on an ordinary morning, Peter's phone shattered the silence. He hesitated, wondering
who could be calling. "Hello?" he said, his voice laced with a mix of curiosity and caution.
"Is it Peter?" a woman's voice asked, her tone hesitant.
"Yes, who are you?" Peter replied, his mind racing with possibilities.
"I moved into your street a few days ago," the woman explained. "My house is six houses from
yours. I want to talk to you about something important. Can you come to my house, please?"
Peter's confusion deepened, but he agreed to visit. As he walked to the mysterious woman's
house, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The house loomed before him, its
grandeur a stark contrast to his own humble abode.
With a sense of trepidation, Peter stepped inside. The woman stood before him, her eyes
locked on his. And then, it hit him – a face he had thought was lost forever, a face he had waited
for at the bus stop all these years.
Tears streamed down Peter's face as he whispered, "Mother, mom... Is that really you?"
The woman's eyes welled up with tears, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, my son. You've
grown big, Sanny. How are you?" Liya, Peter's mother, stood before him, her presence raising
more questions than answers. Why had she come back after all these years? What did she
want from Peter now?