“Not exactly.”
“Then what do you mean?”
Malik watched the final freight car pass.
“I guess I like knowing there are roads I haven’t traveled yet.”
The elderly man grew quiet.
He had spent much of his life traveling those roads.
He had crossed mountains in winter, ridden through deserts under a burning sun, and watched small settlements become busy towns.
But somewhere along the way, he had forgotten what it felt like to look at the world with hope.
Now a sixteen-year-old boy with an empty stomach and an old food cart was reminding him.
“That’s a good way to think about it,” he said.
Malik smiled faintly.
“I’d like to work on trains someday.”
“As a conductor?”
“Maybe.
But I’d rather help build them.”
The man raised his eyebrows.
“Build them?”
“Engines.
Wheels.
Bridges.
Things like that.”
“Have you studied machines?”
“Only what I can find in books.”
“Do you have drawings?”
Malik hesitated.
“A few.”
“May I see them?”
The request surprised him.
Most adults listened politely when he mentioned his drawings, then changed the subject.
He reached beneath the cart and took out his worn school notebook.
Several pages were bent, and the cover had been repaired with brown paper.
He opened it carefully.
The elderly man accepted the book and examined the first sketch.
It showed the axle of Malik’s food cart, with notes about how the wheel might be strengthened.
The next drawing showed a simple steam engine.
Then came a plan for a small wooden bridge.
The old man turned the pages slowly.
“Did you make these yourself?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who taught you how to draw them?”
“Nobody, really.
I watch things and try to understand how they work.”
The elderly man studied the bridge drawing.
“This support is interesting.”
Malik leaned closer.
“I wasn’t sure if it would hold enough weight.”
“Why did you place it here?”
“Because the pressure would be stronger near the middle.”
The man looked up.
“And how did you know that?”
“I watched them repair the bridge outside town.”
The elderly man smiled.
“Observation is a good teacher.”
“My schoolteacher says I should study engineering.”
“Your schoolteacher sounds wise.”
Malik gave a small laugh.
“She is.”
“Why haven’t you pursued it?”
The question was gentle.
Malik looked down.
“I have a family to help.”
The old man waited.
“My father passed away a few years ago.
It’s just my mother, my little sister, and me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“Does your mother work?”
“Every day.”
“Doing what?”
“She sews, washes clothes, and takes whatever work people bring her.”
“And you sell meals.”
“Yes, sir.”
The old man closed the notebook carefully.
“You must be very proud of her.”
Malik nodded immediately.
“She’s the strongest person I know.”
Something moved across the old man’s expression.
He looked away for a moment, toward the long stretch of road leading out of town.
“My wife was like that,” he said quietly.
Malik waited.
“She could find something worth smiling about on the worst day of the year.”
“Does she still live with you?”
The old man shook his head.
“No.
I lost her some years ago.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
The elderly man gave a small nod.
“For a long time, I thought that if I kept myself busy enough, I wouldn’t notice how quiet the house had become.”
He looked down at the blanket across his knees.
“It didn’t work.”
Malik knew something about quiet houses.
After his father died, there had been evenings when the sound of the kettle boiling felt too loud because nobody wanted to speak.
He looked at the elderly man.
“Do you have anyone at home?”
“People who help me, yes.”
“That’s not quite what I meant.”
The man smiled sadly.
“I know.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Malik said, “My mama always says a house doesn’t have to be big to feel empty.”
The old man’s eyes softened.
“Your mother sounds like someone I would like to meet.”
“She’d probably tell you to eat more.”
The elderly man laughed again.
“And she would be right.”
The afternoon began slipping toward evening.
The market grew quieter, and several vendors started packing their wagons.
Malik knew he should return home soon.
He still had to wash the cooking pot, buy supplies, and help Clara with her reading before finishing his schoolwork.
Yet he felt reluctant to end the conversation.
The old man seemed to enjoy talking to him too.
“Tell me something,” the elderly man said.
“If money were no problem, what would you do?”
Malik looked toward the mountains.
It was such a large question that he hardly knew how to answer.
“I’d make sure my mother didn’t have to work so hard.”
“And after that?”
“I’d buy Clara new schoolbooks.”
“After that?”
“Fix the cart.”
The man smiled.
“And after all those things?”
Malik hesitated.