It was a chilly November evening, and the wind howled like a lonely wolf outside the windows. Riya sat curled up on the sofa, her math homework scattered around her, half-finished. Her mother was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of dal, the smell of cumin and garlic warming their small house. The lights flickered once, then twice, but the power held steady.
Then came a knock.
It wasn’t a polite tap. It was firm, deliberate three knocks that echoed in the silence between them.
Riya’s mother froze. "Who could that be at this hour?" she murmured, wiping her hands on her apron.
Riya got up slowly, heart thudding in her chest. It was past 8 PM, and their house was on the edge of the village, close to the woods. They rarely had visitors, and certainly not after dark.
Her mother reached the door first. "Who is it?" she called, not opening it yet.
A man's voice replied, calm and clear. "I’m sorry to disturb you. My car broke down a few kilometers from here. There’s no signal, and I saw the light from your house. May I come in just to make a call?"
Riya and her mother exchanged a glance. They didn’t have a phone. Theirs had stopped working weeks ago.
"Wait here," her mother said cautiously. She turned back to Riya. “Get the torch and tell Nana.”
Riya ran to the back room where her grandfather, Nana, was reading his old newspaper with thick glasses. "There’s a man at the door, says he needs help," she whispered.
Nana put down the paper slowly, his eyes sharp. He grabbed his walking stick and followed her out.
Her mother had opened the door just a crack now. A tall man stood outside, dressed in a black overcoat, his face partly hidden under a woolen cap. He looked cold but calm, a suitcase in one hand.
"You don’t have a phone?" he asked, surprised.
"We don’t," her mother replied. "But you can sit for a while if you want. You must be freezing."
Nana stepped forward. “Wait. Before you come in what’s your name? Where are you headed?”
The man smiled, just a little. "My name is Arvind. I was on my way to Bhavnagar for work. I work with the railway department.”
Nana studied him for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Alright. Come in.”
The stranger stepped inside, wiping his shoes. He looked around the humble home, the flickering light bulb, the wooden furniture, the smell of dal.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “I promise I won’t be any trouble.”
Riya observed him closely. Something about him didn’t sit right. He was polite, yes, and didn’t seem dangerous. But there was a certain unease that crept into the room with him.
As her mother poured him some tea, the lights flickered again and then, the power went out.
Complete darkness.
Riya jumped. Her mother gasped. Nana remained still.
"Must be the wind," her mother said, feeling her way to the drawer for candles.
The stranger didn’t move. "I can help," he said, reaching into his coat.
Riya’s breath caught. Was it a gun? A knife?
But he pulled out a lighter and flicked it open, illuminating his face. That’s when Riya saw it his eyes weren’t calm anymore. They looked... haunted.
"You’re not with the railway, are you?" Nana said suddenly, his voice sharp.
The man’s hand trembled, just slightly.
"No," he admitted, voice low. "I was lying. I’m... I was a soldier. I left the army a year ago. Lost my home, my family. I haven’t slept indoors for three weeks. I wasn’t going to rob you I swear. I just needed warmth. A little kindness."
Silence.
The candle’s flame flickered as Riya’s mother lit it and placed it on the table. The room was bathed in a soft glow now, and the man’s face looked older, tired. Not dangerous just broken.
Nana stared at him for a long while. Then he sat down slowly.
"I was a soldier too, once. 1971," he said. "Lost my brother in that war."
The man Arvind looked down. “It stays with you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Nana replied. “It does.”
Riya’s mother set a plate of hot food in front of Arvind. “Eat,” she said gently.
And he did. He ate like a man who hadn’t had a proper meal in days. Between bites, he told them his story. How his wife and son had died in a car crash. How the grief had pushed him out of his job, his house, and into the streets.
Riya listened, feeling her fear melt away. The stranger was no longer a stranger. He was a man with a story, like anyone else.
When he finished eating, he looked up. "Thank you. For trusting me. I didn’t deserve it, but you gave it anyway."
Nana nodded. "Sometimes, a door is the only thing standing between someone’s end and someone’s beginning."
That night, Arvind slept on their old cot in the hallway. The next morning, the village mechanic helped fix his car. Before he left, Arvind pressed a small note into Riya’s hand.
It read: “Kindness is never wasted. You saved more than a man last night. You saved his hope.”
And with that, the stranger was gone.
But his story stayed etched in their hearts like candlelight in the dark.
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