Sometimes life hits so quietly that you don't even react.You just sit there, staring at a wall, letting thoughts pile up until they stop making sense.That was Karthik's condition that afternoon.
He had found a job—something to hold on to.But he still had nowhere to sleep.And the one person who had made him feel seen… remained someone he could never confess to.
He stepped out of the manager's room, shoulders heavy, expression dull.The old man at the reception noticed immediately. He always did.
"It's alright, son," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Life rarely gives us what we expect. You'll find something better than this."
Karthik smiled faintly."Wait here for a moment, uncle."
He walked out into the street. Goa was loud at this hour—vendors calling out prices, scooters weaving through narrow lanes, the smell of fried snacks mixing with salt in the air. He bought a few pieces of sweets from a roadside stall and hurried back.
Without a word, he hugged the old man.
"Open your mouth," Karthik said softly. "Your son got the job."
The old man laughed, surprised, then smiled in a way that felt older than time.
"Trouble me as much as you want, beta," he said. "There's no one else left to do it anyway."
The sky had begun to dim. Streetlights flickered on one by one.After a brief silence, the old man spoke again.
"It's late. Most places will shut soon. Why don't you come home and eat with us?"
Karthik didn't hesitate. He had nowhere else to go."Thank you," he said, and meant much more than the word could carry.
They walked together through quiet lanes, their footsteps matching. Kaka spoke about the hotel, about how things had changed, about how people came and left but buildings stayed. Somewhere between these small talks, Karthik finally introduced himself properly.
"My name is Faiz," the old man said."But everyone calls me Kaka."
They reached a modest apartment. The paint was peeling, the door slightly crooked.Kaka knocked.
An elderly woman opened it.
"Assalamu Alaikum," she said warmly.
"Wa Alaikum Assalam," Kaka replied.
Karthik stood there, unsure, hands folded awkwardly.
"This is my wife, Fizza," Kaka said. "Won't you invite him in?"
She smiled apologetically."Forgive me, beta. Come in, come in."
She rushed to the kitchen to prepare an extra plate.Karthik and Kaka sat on the floor. It was summer—the tiles were warm, comforting. The house smelled of spices and old memories. It wasn't perfect, but it felt safe.
"How many years has it been since we had a guest?" Fizza called out, excitement echoing in her voice.
Kaka chuckled."She loves feeding people. But guests stopped coming a long time ago."
Then his voice softened."It was the day our son left for university in Canada. So many of his friends came that day. The house felt full."
The room grew quiet.
"I hope he comes back someday," Kaka added.
Karthik looked at him and spoke gently, "Uncle… your son is sitting right here."
Kaka smiled. His eyes shimmered.
"Don't ever leave us," Fizza said as she entered with food and a bowl of sweets.
They ate together, sharing stories and laughter that felt borrowed yet sincere.
"So where will you stay tonight?" Kaka asked between bites.
"Here," Fizza said firmly. "There's space."
Karthik nodded. He was shown a small room—cracked walls, a dusty couch, a single window letting moonlight spill in.
That night, sleep didn't come easily.
Yet as he lay there, listening to distant sounds of the city, something shifted inside him. For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel completely alone.
In the quiet kindness of strangers, Karthik realized that good people still existed. And maybe—just maybe—love wasn't always loud or romantic. Sometimes, it arrived quietly…as a meal, a place to rest, and people who asked for nothing in return.
As his eyes slowly closed under the weight of the day, his phone vibrated softly.An unknown number.
So… how are you feeling now?