Then, at last, the driver cleared his throat.
"You're quite strange," he said, a playful note beneath his calm voice. "Who leaves this area at this hour?"
The question floated between them, light but deliberate.
He turned slightly, studying the driver's profile. "You're strange too. If you know no one wants to leave this area at this time, why do you keep driving this road?"
The driver blinked, then burst into a short laugh. "Ah… you're right. I'm the strange one."
His laughter lingered, easy and bright, like it had been waiting for an excuse to exist. From a business perspective, it made no sense. Fuel was not cheap. Maintenance was not cheap. Operating a route with almost no passengers was the fastest way to sink into debt. Yet every day, at the most inconvenient hours, he kept the engine running.
"Look," the passenger continued, leaning back into the seat. "So far, I'm your only customer. You've been driving for quite a while already. Can my meager ticket price even cover the fuel for this trip? Aren't you going bankrupt?"
The driver waved a hand dismissively. "It's fine. I have another business in the city. I need to go there anyway. The passengers are just a bonus."
The van rolled westward. Silence returned, though this time it felt lighter—less oppressive, almost companionable. They seemed to search for a new thread to pull.
Then the driver snapped his fingers softly. "Ah. You didn't answer my question. Why were you there?"
He looked out through the windshield, eyes unfocused, as if something invisible hovered just beyond the glass. "I finished everything. This might be the last time I set foot there."
The words came gently, but they carried weight. The building behind him, the scorched afternoon, the waiting—none of it was accidental. It was an ending.
"Oh," the driver replied, unsure how to follow that confession. The engine filled the pause.
"So what will you do after this?" the driver asked after a moment.
"To be honest… I don't know." His voice softened. "Maybe I'll just survive. Or… have fun. I'm not sure."
He laughed faintly at himself, though it did not quite reach his eyes.
The driver's expression shifted. The playfulness drained away, replaced by something intent, almost troubled. His gaze fixed on the horizon as though he were trying to recall a memory he had once had but could no longer fully grasp.
"I wish I could do what I love for the rest of my life," the passenger continued, his thoughts spilling out now. "The one thing I truly enjoy. But I keep wondering… is that the right way to live? Am I allowed to choose that kind of life?"
The driver fell silent, abandoning whatever he had been about to say. His eyes remained fixed on the road, but it was clear he was no longer seeing the highway. He was searching for something else—some buried fragment of memory that refused to surface.
Beside him, the passenger continued speaking, unaware of the storm gathering only inches away.
"I keep wondering how my family would react to that decision," he said, staring ahead at the wavering horizon. "What if they don't like it? And what about the neighbors… society in general? What if they don't approve?" He let out a dry laugh. "But I love it, though. I really do. Maybe I should just live the rest of my life as a recluse. Stay away from society altogether. Maybe I don't belong there."
The driver's jaw tightened. His teeth pressed together, a subtle tension forming along his cheek. Something in those words had struck a hidden chord. Almost there, he thought. Almost.
The passenger leaned his head against the seat, voice drifting into speculation. "But then again… what if I can't survive that long in my own self-imposed obscurity? Maybe I'd have to come back from time to time. Resupply. Make enough to sustain myself. Then retreat again to my comfortable, lonely cave."
The driver inhaled slowly. The passenger kept talking, unaware that he was walking across someone else's buried landscape.
"I just don't know what the proper way to live is," he said softly. "Everyone acts like there's a correct answer. Like there's a path you're supposed to follow. But what if the path you want… doesn't look respectable?"
"Alright. Stop" the driver shouted.
The van screeched to a halt.
Tires protested against hot asphalt. The sudden silence after the engine cut off felt enormous, as though the entire highway had inhaled sharply.
The passenger stared at the driver, stunned. "What—?"
The driver had already stepped out, moving quickly toward the back of the vehicle. Heat rushed in through the open door. The passenger's heart pounded. The empty highway now seemed less peaceful and more theatrical, like a stage waiting for its reveal.
What is happening?
The driver opened the rear hatch and rummaged through something unseen. Metal clinked. Paper shifted. Seconds stretched into suspense.
Then the driver returned, face composed but glowing with a peculiar brightness.
He slid back into the seat and handed over several thick bundles of documents.
"You've got to love this job," the driver said, eyes sparkling now. "It's far better than doing nothing and waiting for your own death in the dirt."
The passenger stared at the papers in his hands. Official stamps. Signatures. Forms half-filled but ready. Opportunities disguised as bureaucracy.