Story 30/11/2025 19:09

The dog greeted all the buses from the city for a month. But when they found out what happened…

Every morning at exactly 6:10 a.m., the old bus terminal at the edge of Ridgewood came alive.

Engines roared. Doors hissed open. Commuters poured out—tired factory workers, students half-asleep, vendors with crates of vegetables, businessmen with wrinkled suits and heavy eyes. And every single morning, without fail, a dog was already there.

He was a medium-sized brown mongrel with one white paw and a crooked ear. No collar. No owner in sight. He sat by the metal fence near Gate Three, tail wagging slowly, eyes fixed on the arriving buses from the city.

At first, people barely noticed him.

But after a week, they began to expect him.

After two weeks, he became part of the terminal.

After a month, everyone wondered why he never missed a single bus.

They called him Buddy.

1. The Dog Who Never Left

Buddy never chased food. He never barked. He never ran after other dogs. He just sat, day after day, rain or shine, cold or heat, watching the buses arrive from the city.

Each time a bus door opened, his tail wagged harder.

Each time passengers stepped down, his eyes searched every single face.

And every time the last passenger walked away, his tail slowly stilled.

Then he waited for the next bus.

The terminal workers tried feeding him. He accepted the food politely, always after the buses had passed. Some drivers patted his head. Some kids hugged him. Some people laughed and took photos.

“He’s waiting for his owner,” people said.

“Maybe the owner abandoned him.”

“Maybe he just likes buses.”

But old Mr. Harold, the retired ticket inspector, shook his head.

“That dog isn’t waiting for just anyone,” he said quietly. “He’s waiting for someone.”

2. The Girl Who Spoke to the Dog

Lena noticed Buddy on her first day working at the coffee stall outside Gate Three.

She was nineteen, freshly out of school, carrying more anxiety than confidence. She poured bad coffee for cheap pay and watched people pass her like rushing water.

On her third morning, she placed a leftover sandwich near the fence.

Buddy didn’t touch it.

Not until the last bus of the morning had left.

Then he ate.

That intrigued her.

On the fifth morning, she crouched beside him.

“Who are you waiting for?” she whispered.

Buddy tilted his head.

On the tenth morning, she brought a blanket.

On the twentieth morning, she learned his routine better than her own heartbeat.

“He checks every face,” she said to Mr. Harold. “Every single one.”

Mr. Harold adjusted his cap. “Then the one he’s waiting for hasn’t come yet.”

3. A Dog’s Memory

No one knew where Buddy had come from.

But Buddy remembered everything.

He remembered hands that were gentle.

He remembered a voice that called his name with warmth.

He remembered the smell of engine oil and peppermint.

He remembered sitting on a seat by the window.

He remembered a man who always said:

“Wait for me, boy. I’ll be right back.”

And Buddy always waited.

4. The Day Everything Changed

On the thirty-first morning, the buses arrived as usual.

But Buddy didn’t wag his tail this time.

He stood.

His entire body trembled.

A bus pulled in late — its paint scratched, windows dusty.

As the doors hissed open, passengers stepped out one by one.

Buddy’s breath caught.

Then—

He ran.

Not to a person.

But to the last seat near the back of the bus, pressing his nose violently against the glass, whining, scratching, crying in a way no one had ever heard before.

“Hey! Dog!” the driver shouted.

But Buddy didn’t listen.

Inside that seat, covered in dust, lay something no one had seen before.

A folded jacket.

Old.

Brown.

With a familiar smell.

Buddy howled.

Not a bark.

A funeral cry.

The terminal fell silent.

5. The Jacket

The driver, shaken, picked up the jacket.

Inside the pocket was an old bus ticket.

Date: one month ago.

Route: City → Ridgewood.

Name scribbled faintly in pen:

Thomas Reed.

Mr. Harold froze when he saw the name.

“I knew him,” he whispered.

“He drove Bus 312 for twenty years.”

Silence swallowed the terminal.

“What happened to him?” Lena asked.

Mr. Harold swallowed.

“He went missing… exactly one month ago.”

6. The Truth They Never Knew

Thomas Reed had been a quiet man.

Widowed.

No children.

Just a small house and one dog.

Buddy.

Every morning, Thomas took Bus 312 into the city. Buddy always rode with him for the first stop, then jumped off and waited at the terminal all day until Thomas returned in the evening.

One month ago, Thomas never returned.

That same day, Buddy appeared at the terminal alone.

Waiting.

Not understanding.

Just waiting.