One day, I sat at a bus station, feeling the weight of depression. An old man beside me seemed to sense it.

"What’s troubling you?" he asked gently.

"I see no meaning in life," I replied. "Not here, nor in any other life, if such a thing exists."

He chuckled softly. "Let me share a story," he said. "Perhaps you'll find meaning in this life—and maybe even in the next."

I nodded, and he began.

"I once lived on a twin-planet system. Both worlds were packed with billions of us. Every few days, they sent millions off on missions to escape the overcrowding. But only a few, after countless attempts, ever made it to the capsule in orbit. Most perished. I was one of the rare ones. After many failed attempts, I finally reached the capsule and embarked on a solitary nine-month journey through space. Alone, confined, unsure of what lay ahead.

I was one out of millions who made it here—to this world, so vast and spacious compared to the crowded planets I left behind. It’s a more comfortable place, much better than that tiny capsule. But now, it’s my turn to embark on another journey. Again, I’ll be alone, confined in a carriage. This time, though, I don’t know how long it will take."

He closed his eyes, a peaceful smile forming on his lips. Moments passed before I noticed he had stopped breathing.

He was gone.