A STORY MEASURED IN BUS STOPS
The city bus groans to a halt, a tired sigh of metal and air brakes. “Durbarmarg,” the automated voice announces. I know this stop by heart; it marks the beginning of my story. This is where I boarded for my first day of college, a skinny kid with a new backpack and a stomach full of nerves. The air smelled of exhaust and freshly brewed tea. My head was filled with dreams of a different life. That day, I sat by the window, watching the world rush by, a boy on the brink of everything. The next stop is always New Road. Here, the memory is tangled with rain and hurried footsteps. I was a young man then, chasing a job interview, my shoes slick on the pavement. I remember a girl with a red umbrella, her laughter a bright splash of color in the gray afternoon. We shared a fleeting glance, a silent conversation in the storm. I didn't get the job, but I’ve never forgotten her. My life took a different turn, but a small part of me still wonders about the path that could have been. The...
