Not long ago I met a girl called Nicole. She was from Switzerland and had travelled to India for the first time. We met per chance, when she took a trip to Yercaud and told me a very interesting story.

Back in Switzerland, Nicole had this hobby of going hiking over the hills.

One Friday, she takes her bicycle, cycles it up the foothills for as long as two hours,

parks her bike, locks it with a chain and begins her trek.

Image by Zhivko Dimitrov from Pixabay 

She hikes up to the cliff, camps in a tent all night and early next morning, she’s beings to climb down to where she had parked her bike.

Only to find, that it was missing. Somebody had stolen her bike and now she had no way home.

Nicole knew the fastest way back home was to catch a train and get there in no time. She was tired, her backpack was heavy and the sky looked gloomy. She caught a bus to the nearest station. She got in line to buy a ticket but suddenly, she changed her mind.

She said ‘Screw it, I’m gonna walk home.‘ and in the middle of October, on a cold windy day,

Nicole, the brave, began to walk home.

She was in the middle of a field when something unusual happened.

She was a good deal further than half way when it suddenly started to rain.

It was nearly mid-day, the sky was filled with a colour that would only show you that you’re lost.

A man was riding on a motorbike, swiftly towards her, he saw her, nodded his head and rode past her.

Nicole turned around to look at him but he didn’t stop and out of the blue, in the middle of a field, sixty miles away from home guess what she found?

Her bike.

Her bicycle.

Overjoyed, she picked it up and began to ride away.


I could have caught the train back home,

or taken the bus too,

but no,

I decided to walk back,

to get drenched,

only to turn around and look at that man.

And suddenly I find my bike there,

the bike that was lost, that was stolen.

Sitting there,

like it was waiting for me in the field.

Strange world.

When everything still seems to screw up with you, somehow, everything suddenly seems to fall into place, like magic, like this perfect harmony that can never go wrong. Like I was meant to walk back and find my bike. 

And that’s the story of how Nicole found her bike on a Saturday morning.

Now if you’d ask me, I’d tell you how Nicole had come to India to tell me this story and how it was meant to be. 

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