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THE WAVING HAND
A man who would roughly be of 50 years of age, passing by the way back to home. It was September. The weather was neither too hot nor too cold but there was a feeling that winter is moving forward to touch the days in a strange way.
At the main road, at the edge of the University of Hampshire, a young boy who seemed to be in his teens with decent dressing was waving his hand.
"Sir! ....... I wanna go to my hostel in the Lavigne Street at Satellite Town, will you drop me there?" he said in somehow shameful or shy tone.
The man stopped the motorbike, he did not passed away like everyone because he was different, he was choosed by the strange power to make the boy reach his destination and that strange power turned on his ego in a way that he was not able to say a 'no' or pass away like he had heard nothing.
...
At the main road, at the edge of the University of Hampshire, a young boy who seemed to be in his teens with decent dressing was waving his hand.
"Sir! ....... I wanna go to my hostel in the Lavigne Street at Satellite Town, will you drop me there?" he said in somehow shameful or shy tone.
The man stopped the motorbike, he did not passed away like everyone because he was different, he was choosed by the strange power to make the boy reach his destination and that strange power turned on his ego in a way that he was not able to say a 'no' or pass away like he had heard nothing.
...
