The engine of the auto-rickshaw roared like an untamed animal as it sped through the dusty streets of Kathmandu. Prakash, a jaded driver with grey hair and fatigued eyes, navigated the chaotic traffic with aplomb. His aged hands gripped the handlebars securely as his mind wandered through a lifetime’s worth of memories.

Prakash had spent the majority of his life transporting passengers to their destinations and observing the ebb and flow of life. He had witnessed gleeful, excited expressions, tearful farewells, and everything in between. Today was different, however. Today, Prakash would be the one leaving his cherished city.

As he navigated the maze-like streets, a young woman beckoned him from the roadside. She had a radiant smile and sparkling, inquisitive eyes. “Boudha Stupa, please,” she said with eagerness in her voice.

Prakash nodded and signalled for her to enter the vehicle. The young woman settled into the rear seat, her vivaciousness contagious. “First time in Nepal?” Prakash inquired in an attempt to initiate conversation.

“Yes,” she responded with wide-eyed enthusiasm. “I’ve always wanted to visit this gorgeous country. The Himalayas, the temples, and the culture are all utterly captivating.”

Prakash beamed as he recalled his own first encounters with the valley’s marvels. The auto-rickshaw sped forward, the breeze ruffling their hair as they descended deeper into the city's core.

As they approached the famous Boudha Stupa, the young woman uttered awestruck exclamations. Its prayer flags fluttered in the wind as the ancient structure stood tall and majestic. “It’s breathtaking,” she whispered with reverence in her voice.

Prakash observed her with a mixture of nostalgia and awe. He had witnessed innumerable tourists captivated by the beauty of Nepal, but there was something unique about this woman. In a world consumed by selfies and superficial experiences, her genuine appreciation for the country's grandeur was an increasingly rare quality.

Their conversation flowed like a mountain stream as they spent the afternoon investigating the Stupa and its surroundings. Prakash recounted his own travels, interweaving tales of spirituality and adventure. The young woman was captivated by his words and listened attentively.

As the sky turned orange and gold at dusk, Prakash knew it was time to say goodbye to his new friend. They returned to the rickshaw, whose seat bore evidence of numerous conversations and journeys.

The young woman exhaled, her irises tinged with melancholy. “I can’t believe my time in Nepal is coming to an end,” she said with a regretful tone.

Prakash was all too familiar with the bittersweet sensation. “Life is a series of comings and goings,” he whispered. “However, the memories we make along the way are forever etched in our hearts.”

He started the rickshaw’s engine, and it began to wheeze. They began their return just as streetlights began illuminating the streets. The atmosphere was thick with unsaid words.

As they approached the young woman’s hotel, she smiled thankfully at Prakash. “Thank you,” she said with genuine gratitude. “You’ve shown me the true soul of Nepal.”

Prakash’s eyes were filled with emotion. “It has been an honour,” he responded, his voice heavy.

She exited the conveyance, her gaze lingering momentarily on Prakash. “Goodbye,” she said with a tone of finality in her voice.

“Goodbye,” Prakash repeated in a scarcely audible whisper. Prakash felt a twinge of melancholy as the young woman disappeared into the hotel. It served as a reminder that his time as a driver was coming to an end.

The streets of Kathmandu were bustling with activity, but Prakash’s heart was sombre. It was time for him to retire and say goodbye to the chariot that had been his constant companion for decades. He felt a mixture of nostalgia and dread at the prospect of departing the streets he had traversed countless times.

With a melancholy heart, Prakash made his way to the auto-rickshaw depot, where he had spent so many years awaiting fares and conversing with fellow drivers. The area was bustling, with drivers conversing and preparing their vehicles for the upcoming day. Although it was a familiar scenario, it felt different today.

As Prakash parked his rickshaw for the last time, his coworkers approached with a mixture of sadness and admiration. “You’re a legend, Prakash,” one said while firmly grasping his hand. “We’ll miss you.”

As he embraced his companions, Prakash’s eyes swelled with tears. Their friendship had sustained him throughout the years, but he has to say goodbye.

Prakash was honoured with a retirement party, and the drivers congregated to celebrate his years of service. They reminisced, laughed, and shed a few tears. Prakash was overjoyed by the outpouring of affection from his coworkers, who presented him with a photo album documenting their time spent together on the streets of Kathmandu.

In the midst of the celebration, Prakash spotted the young woman he had brought to the Boudha Stupa earlier that day. She had arrived to bid him farewell, her eyes glistening with appreciation.

“I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye properly,” she said with a note of melancholy in her voice. “You made my visit to Nepal unforgettable. Thank you very much.”

Prakash beamed after being moved by her gesture. “You brought happiness to my last day as a driver,” he said warmly. “Thank you for reminding me of the beauty within the streets I’ve travelled countless times.”

As the night grew darker, Prakash stood in front of his dependable rickshaw, his loyal mount. He gently stroked the handlebars for the final time, a surge of emotion rising. It was time to relinquish the streets’ legacy to the next generation.

With a heavy sigh, Prakash gave the keys to a youthful driver who had demonstrated promise and commitment. The young man reverently accepted them, fully cognizant of the weight of responsibility that came with them.

Prakash observed as the new driver climbed behind the wheel, and the engine roared to life. He could almost hear the rickshaw telling its new owner tales of adventure and companionship.