On the bus (life story)
As I wrap up my lesson at 7:57 PM, thereās a sense of satisfaction seeing my studentsā positive attitude. I leave my classroom with a big smile and catch sight of four colleagues chatting nearby. āGuys, I gotta go,ā I say, only to have one of them playfully mimic me, hinting at my āmarried manā status. We all laugh, and I head downstairs.
Outside, a sharp cold hits me, bone-deep. Winter already? How did I lose track of time? Just yesterday, it felt like the leaves were still falling. And thenāI notice itās snowing. I reach for my phone, ready to tell my wife about the first snow of the season, only to see sheās already texted, just as excited.
Thereās a different kind of happiness in this moment. This year, the first snow comes as a married man. Iāve always dreamed of sharing moments like these with my wife, and I quietly say, āAlhamdulillah.ā
I approach the bus station just as Bus 69 appears. I start running, praying for steady footing on the icy sidewalk. Reaching the bus, I see the doors close just before me. Raising my hand, I gesture hopefully at the driver. Just as I start debating whether to wait for the next one or take a taxi, the doors open. A police officer waves me on with a warm smile, despite the bus being packed.
As I squeeze inside, Iām struck by the officerās kindness. In my mind, Iād always seen police as stern or unapproachable figures, something instilled from childhood, perhaps by society itself. But here he was, making room and speaking kindly.
Finally on board, I start jotting down these moments, turning them into a story for my channel. Time flies, and soon I hear the driver calling out the station, snapping me back to the cold reality of my stop. Stepping off, I finish my last lines before sending the post, thinking that one day, when I finally own a car, Iāll remember these cold nights, racing for the bus and cherishing the journey.
It was a good day.
13.11.2024
šChilanzar, Tashkent
@otaboyevblog