I was waiting for a ride because I was going to a friend’s house, and somehow the minutes felt heavier than usual, stretching out longer than they needed to. Every time a tricycle approached, I straightened up a little, hoping it was the one meant for me. But each one either drove past completely full, or the driver didn’t even glance my way. One tricycle sped by with music blasting so loudly the ground seemed to vibrate for a moment, leaving me with a half-amused, half-irritated sigh.
I kept checking my phone over and over, even though the screen stayed completely empty. No messages. No notifications. Just the reflection of my own slightly bored face. I don’t know why I do that—maybe there’s always a tiny part of me hoping for a sign, some small confirmation that the person picking me up is really on the way, or that the world hasn’t forgotten about me sitting alone on that bench.
While waiting, I became unusually aware of the little details around me. The faint smell of gasoline lingering in the air. The soft humming coming from the electric lines above. The way the evening wind felt cool against my arms. Even the distant laughter of kids playing somewhere down the road. It was all so ordinary, yet in that moment, everything felt strangely vivid.
My thoughts drifted, as they always do when I have too much time to myself. I started thinking about seeing my friends again. It had been a while since we last hung out—long enough for life to get in the way and create that quiet, awkward uncertainty about whether things would still feel the same. A part of me wondered if they had changed, or if I had. But underneath the anxiety, there was this soft, hopeful feeling that maybe tonight would remind me of the version of myself that feels lighter, easier, more connected.
Then I heard it—the familiar rattling sound of a tricycle engine approaching from the distance. It grew louder and louder until finally it slowed down right in front of me. The driver looked at me with that casual, friendly expression that seemed to ask, “You’re the one waiting, right?”
Relief washed over me instantly. I stood up, brushed off my clothes even though there wasn’t much to clean, and stepped closer. The driver held the tricycle steady as I climbed in. The seat vibrated gently beneath me as the engine idled, and the warm afternoon air quickly mixed with the cool breeze flowing through the open sides.
When we started moving, the world outside began to shift—small shops passing by, neighbors chatting outside their homes, children running with unexplainable excitement, and the occasional dog chasing absolutely nothing. I watched everything roll past like a quiet little movie, the kind without dialogue but with emotions you still somehow understand.
There was something comforting about the ride. The steady hum of the engine. The slight sway of the tricycle each time we turned. The feeling of being in motion after waiting for so long. It was simple, but grounding.
As we finally turned into the street that led to my friend’s house, a gentle calm settled over me. I felt myself smiling—not the kind you force for pictures or conversations, but the kind that forms naturally when you finally feel a little lighter than before.
And in that moment, I thought,
“Maybe this night will turn out exactly the way I need it to.”