The Boy with the Bicycle

Andre was eighteen, thin as a rail, and alone in the world. His parents had died when he was small, leaving him only a faded photograph and an old bicycle that had become his livelihood. Every day, he pedaled across the city, delivering parcels for a small shop in exchange for a few coins and a place to sleep.

That morning, the shop owner warned him:
“Andre, this client is important. If you don’t deliver on time, I’ll have no choice but to rent your room to someone else.”

Andre nodded. He clutched the package, adjusted the rusty handlebars, and sped off through the crowded streets.

Halfway down the road, he noticed an old woman sitting on the curb. Her gray hair was tangled, her clothes dusty, her hands trembling as she tried to read a scrap of paper. People passed by without stopping.

Andre slowed. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

Her eyes filled with relief. “I… I’m lost. They dropped me here. I don’t know how to get home.”

Andre hesitated. If he stopped, he’d be late. And if he was late, he’d lose the only roof over his head. He looked at the parcel in his bag, then at the woman, who could have been anyone’s grandmother.

Finally, he took a breath. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

The journey was long, his legs burning as he pedaled the old bicycle with the frail woman clinging to the back. By the time he reached her neighborhood—far from his route—the sun was already dipping low.

He handed the package late. The customer complained. The shop owner scowled.
“That’s it, Andre. You’re out. Pack your things.”

That night, Andre sat on the steps of the closed shop, hugging his bag to his chest. He had nowhere to go. Hunger gnawed at him, but he whispered to himself, “At least she got home safely.”

Two days later, a black car stopped in front of the shop. Out stepped the very same old woman, this time in a neat coat, her hair brushed, her eyes sharp with recognition. Beside her stood two men in suits.

She approached Andre.
“You’re the boy,” she said softly. “The one with the bicycle.”

Andre blinked in surprise. “Ma’am… you’re alright?”

She smiled. “Because of you. You carried me home when no one else would. My name is Evelyn Carter.”

The shop owner, overhearing, paled. Everyone in the city knew that name. Evelyn Carter was one of the wealthiest women alive, a philanthropist whose fortune could buy half the streets around them.

Evelyn looked at Andre with warmth. “I’ve lived long enough to know money can’t buy kindness. What you did… it was priceless.”

Andre lowered his head. “I only did what was right, ma’am.”

She studied his torn shoes, his hollow cheeks, the bicycle leaning against the wall like a tired friend. Then she made her decision.
“Come with me, Andre. I’d like to give you a chance—a home, an education, a future.”

Andre’s throat tightened. For a moment he wanted to accept, to throw himself into the safety of her offer. But then he thought of his parents, of the lessons they had left him: dignity, hard work, the belief that one’s worth is proven in actions, not in gifts.

He shook his head gently. “Thank you… but I can’t take advantage. I’ll find my own way. That’s what my father would have wanted.”

Evelyn did not argue. She only placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then let me walk beside you. Not to give you everything, but to remind you that family is not only blood—it is the bond we choose.”

Weeks turned into months. Evelyn visited often. She arranged for Andre to work at a courier company with proper wages, and secretly paid the fees for night classes so he could study. She never imposed, never treated him like charity—only like a grandson she had found too late.

Andre, in turn, repaired her garden, read books aloud to her when her eyesight failed, and kept riding his old bicycle, though Evelyn offered him cars and chauffeurs.

One spring evening, as they sat in her yard, Evelyn asked, “Do you ever regret helping me that day?”

Andre smiled, the setting sun painting his face gold. “If I hadn’t, I’d still have a roof, but no family. Now… I have both.”

Evelyn squeezed his hand. For the first time in years, she felt truly at home.