Saigon flooded, and everyone was trying to get home

The water reached his knees and the engine died. He tried the starter a few times — a cough, then nothing. His shirt clung to his back, his shoes were full of water, and the road home felt longer than ever.

He pushed the bike, blaming himself the whole way: why me, why today. When his arms got tired he looked up, and saw the whole street pushing bikes too. No one complained. Everyone was just quietly wheeling toward their own home. It was never his bad luck alone.

The next morning he arrived late, shoes still wet. His boss asked why he was late. He had a whole apology ready, even after wading through the flood to get there. His boss just smiled: I pushed my bike in too. The question was never a reproach.

That night he ordered dinner. After more than an hour, hungry, he had a complaint typed and waiting. Then the doorbell rang. The delivery man stood there soaked to the chest, holding out the bag, apologising for being late. He had only been waiting. The other man was the one wading.

On a flooded day, everyone is trying. Saying thank you is the part I can do.

Next time it pours, will you notice who is trying beside you?