It was 2 a.m. on a moonlit highway, the kind of lonely stretch where time slows and sound seems to disappear.
My wife, **Amrita**, and I were driving home from a friend’s party when our old sedan coughed twice and gave up for good. No cell phones. No passing cars. Just silence, the faint hiss of cooling metal, and the stars burning above us.
An hour crawled by before we saw headlights cresting the hill. A battered **Toyota Corolla** slowed, then stopped. Out stepped a young man in a faded college sweatshirt. He looked tired but kind.
“Need a lift?” he asked, voice steady and calm.
We offered him gas money, but he shook his head. “Happy to help,” he said with a smile.
“Need a lift?” he asked, voice steady and calm.
We offered him gas money, but he shook his head. “Happy to help,” he said with a smile.
