Rakesh sits on the edge of the cracked pavement, his shoulders hunched forward and his backpack slouched beside him. Dust motes dance in the amber light as he gazes at his worn sneakers, tracing idle patterns in the dirt with his toe. The world around him feels paused, holding its breath as he fights back the sting behind his eyes.

Rakesh remembers his father’s gentle laughter echoing down this same road, the way they used to race each other home. Now, the absence is a heavy ache pressing in his chest. "Why did you have to go so soon, Papa?" he whispers, voice trembling.

A motorbike slows to a stop beside Rakesh, and a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a weathered face removes his helmet. He kneels beside Rakesh, concern softening his features. Mr. Sharma, a local shopkeeper known for his gentle demeanor, says "It’s getting late, beta. Are you alright out here all alone?"

Rakesh hesitates before answering, his voice quiet. "I just...miss him a lot. I keep waiting for him to come back, but he never will." Mr. Sharma sits beside him, not saying anything at first, letting the silence fill with the comfort of presence.

Mr. Sharma places a reassuring hand on Rakesh's shoulder. "Sometimes, the people we love stay with us in ways we don't expect. Your father is in your laughter, in the way you ride your bicycle, in every step you take on this road," he says softly. Rakesh nods, tears finally falling but mixing with the rain, making them less lonely.

Mr. Sharma pushes the bicycle gently, and Rakesh walks beside him, the weight in his chest easing just a little. "Thank you for finding me," he murmurs, voice steadier now. And as they disappear into the night, the road feels less empty, the sorrow softened by companionship and hope.