Every afternoon, the dog came to the same gate.
Nobody knew exactly when the habit had begun.
He would settle beside the old iron bars, place his chin on his front paws and watch the road.
People passed him. Some stopped to pat his head. Others called his name, though nobody was quite sure what it was.
He never followed them.
He simply waited.
There was something patient in his waiting, but not sad. He seemed to believe that someone was going to appear, and that believing was enough.
Rain came. Summer passed. The road was repaired. A new shop opened across the street.
Still, the dog returned to the gate.
One evening, an old man walking home stopped beside him.
“You’re still waiting?” he asked softly.
The dog looked up.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then the old man sat down beside him.
They remained there as the light slowly faded.
Perhaps the dog had been waiting for someone.
Perhaps the old man had been too.
Neither seemed to mind the silence.
Sometimes companionship does not begin with a conversation.
Sometimes it begins with two creatures quietly waiting beside the same gate.
All rights reserved by the author.
Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Writer | Author | Poet
Assam, India
