The old dog sat quietly at the bus stop, just like he had every evening for the past three months. His gray muzzle rested on his paws, and his tired eyes scanned each passing car, every bus that hissed to a stop. People came and went, but he never moved. He just waited.
A tattered blue collar still hung around his neck, and his fur was matted from rain and dust. Locals had started to notice him, some leaving food or a kind pat on the head. But he always returned to the same spot, right on the bench where his owner had last told him to “stay.”
Tonight, the wind carried a chill. A girl with a red scarf approached, holding a paper bag of groceries. She had seen the dog many times, always in the same place, always with the same sad, hopeful gaze.
She stopped in front of him and crouched down. The dog raised his head, eyes searching her face.
“You’re still waiting, aren’t you?” she whispered. “Still thinking he’s coming back.”
The dog gave a soft whine.
The girl blinked back tears. “I asked around. The man who left you here… he was old. Sick. He passed away weeks ago.”
The dog tilted his head, as if trying to understand.
She gently reached out and scratched behind his ears. “Don’t wait anymore, come home with me! Your owner isn’t coming back… but I will. I promise.”
The dog hesitated. The girl held out her hand. Her voice was soft but steady.
“I’ll feed you. Walk you. Love you. You won’t have to wait alone anymore.”
After a long pause, the dog slowly stood up. His legs trembled, but he took a shaky step forward… then another. The girl smiled, slipping her scarf off and tying it gently around his neck.
“Come on, old boy,” she said, leading him away from the bench. “Let’s go home.”
As they walked into the fading light, the dog didn’t look back.
