Trapped on the Empty Asphalt

One morning, Maya woke before sunrise. The sky outside was still pale when she left home and headed toward the train station. She carried her backpack, engineering notes, a water bottle, and the usual list of things she needed to finish that day.

She arrived at the platform and checked the time. Then she saw the train leave. She had missed it by only a few minutes. Maya stared at the empty track, while her class would start soon.

She checked the timetable again. The next train would arrive later, but she had no choice. She sat down, opened her notes, and studied while she waited.

By the time she reached the university station, she was already late. She hurried toward campus. Near the entrance, another student was walking quickly in the same direction. Maya recognized him from one of her engineering subjects.

“Are you going to the structural class?”

“Yes.”

“What time does it start?”

He looked at his phone.

“Now.”

They both started running. They crossed the campus with their bags bouncing against their shoulders, rushed through the engineering building, and finally reached the classroom.

The lecture had already begun. They opened the door quietly, lowered their heads, and slipped into the nearest available seats. Maya tried not to laugh.

The lecturer looked at them for a moment and continued speaking. That experience repeated itself in different forms. The train was often delayed.

Sometimes Maya left home early and still arrived later than expected. Other times she stood on the platform looking at the minutes that disappear from the timetable.

She doesn’t want to be late. If a lecture started at nine, she wanted to be there before nine. Eventually, she decided to solve the problem herself.

Bought a bicycle.

From then on, many mornings began with Maya riding toward university. She cycled through Adelaide streets with her backpack secured behind her, sometimes passing buses and cars trapped in traffic. When she reached campus, she locked the bicycle near the building and walked into class.

The bicycle gave her more control over her time. But independence often comes with its own problems.

One evening, after spending hours studying at university, Maya began riding home. Something felt wrong. The bicycle became difficult to move. She stopped and looked down. The back tyre was almost flat.

She tried riding again. It was useless. The air was leaking quickly. Maya stood beside the road with one hand on the bicycle and looked at the distance ahead.

There was little she could do.

So she walked, and pushed the bicycle beside her through the streets, one slow block after another. The night grew darker. Cars passed. Streetlights reflected across the road. By the time she arrived home, she was exhausted.

That weekend, she took the bicycle to a repair shop. The mechanic replaced the damaged tube and checked the tyre. A few days later, Maya was riding again. She did not consider the incident important.

Problems happened.

You repaired what you could and kept moving.