He Sent a Paper Boat Every Evening — Until One Day, It Came Back to Him
Some messages return. Every evening, just before the sun disappeared behind the lake, an old man quietly arrived at the water’s edge. Passersby barely noticed him. Some whispered that he was lonely. Some thought he was strange. But no one knew why he came — he was waiting. He sat on the same wooden bench, reaching into his coat pocket for a small piece of paper. Slowly, deliberately, he folded it into a paper boat. Every fold mattered — because it carried a memory. Once the boat was ready, he walked to the water, knelt, and whispered words only he could hear. Then he let it drift away. Day after day. Season after season. One evening, a curious boy approached. “Why do you do this every day?” he asked. The old man didn’t look up. “My son loved paper boats,” he said softly. “He believed boats could travel to places people can’t.” The boy sat beside him, listening. “What happened to him?” The old man swallowed hard. “He left one morning… never came back. An accident, th...