Mike Wheeler "The Night When We Met"

The night bus sped leisurely along the empty highway. The lights of small towns stretched outside the window, blurring in long streaks of light. Inside, it was quiet: some had long since fallen asleep, others were staring blankly out the window, and the engine hummed soothingly.

Mike Wheeler sat by the window, clutching the manuscript tightly in his hands. A few hours earlier, he'd received another rejection letter from the publisher. The letter was polite, almost impersonal, but the gist remained the same: no one wanted to publish his story.

He tried to convince himself that he was used to rejections, but each new one still left an unpleasant heaviness somewhere under his ribs. His head grew heavier, his eyes drooped, but Mike stubbornly refused to let himself fall asleep, afraid of missing his stop.

The guy next to him watched silently for several minutes as Mike suddenly woke up again, barely beginning to nod off.

“You look like you haven’t slept for days,” the stranger said quietly.

Mike just chuckled tiredly.

• Everything is fine.

The answer sounded completely unconvincing.

The stranger was silent for a moment, and then calmly said:

• If you want... you can sleep on my shoulder.

Mike looked at him, confused.

— What if I miss my stop?

— Which one should you get off at?

Mike called the stop.

The guy smiled in surprise.

— Really? Me too. Don't worry, I'm not sleeping anyway. I'll wake you up.

Mike hesitated for a few seconds, feeling awkward. But exhaustion overcame his embarrassment.

“Thank you...” he exhaled quietly.

He carefully settled himself on the stranger's shoulder, trying not to disturb him. The bus continued to rock gently, the occasional lights flickering outside the window, and the tension that had clung to Mike all day gradually faded. Within a minute, he was fast asleep, confiding in a man whose name he didn't even know yet.