The evening was heavy with silence when I was driving my car through the narrow lanes of my neighborhood. There I noticed that my neighbor was walking alone. His shoulders were bent as though carrying an invisible weight. I slowed down, rolled down the window, and offered him a lift. He hesitated, then came in. I felt that his face was sad. I tried to lighten the mood, I offered him a glass of whiskey that I had kept in my car. He declined politely, saying he was busy and he's to go, but I insisted, hoping the warmth of the drink might ease whatever burden he was carrying. He looked as though he wanted to speak, but I interrupted him.
An hour passed before he finally spoke. His voice was quiet, almost apologetic. He told that his wife had sent him out to buy vegetables for the dinner, and now it was too late as the shops might have been closed.
I carried him to nearby shops but they were closed. I sent him his home. I could hear loud voice of a woman shouting on someone. I don't think it was coming from his home. I tried my best to help him. So, it can't be my mistake.
