That morning, the sun had just appeared behind the trees when Arsen left the house carrying his beloved little bike. The dark-blue bike already looked a little old, but to Arsen, it was more than an ordinary object. Every tiny scratch on its frame held a story.
Arsen gently rubbed the bike's handlebars and smiled.
"You're still strong, right? Today, we're going farther," Arsen said softly.
The morning breeze blew gently. Birds chirped from the yard. Arsen climbed onto his bike and began pedaling slowly along the little road in front of his house.
For the past few days, Arsen had often been thinking about what his grandfather had said about the bike. His grandfather had once told him that the little bike wasn't just for riding around. It was also for finding all the things that couldn't be seen by simply staying at home.
At first, Arsen hadn't really understood what he meant. To Arsen, a bike was just something to play with and use to go wherever he wanted. But the more often he rode it, the more interesting things happened to him.
At the end of the road, Arsen saw his friend Farel standing near a large tree with a bag in his hands.
"Arsen!" Farel shouted.
Arsen squeezed the brakes and stopped.
"What's up, Rel? You're here this early," Arsen asked.
Farel smiled and held up the bag.
"I'm coming with you. I heard you're going to the hill behind the village."
Arsen looked surprised.
"Who told you?"
"Your younger sibling mentioned it yesterday. They said you were curious about the old road your grandfather once told you about."
Arsen chuckled.
"They really do like telling other people everything."
Farel walked over to Arsen's bike and examined the back.
"Your bike's still holding up, huh? Even after all this time."
Arsen nodded.
"Yeah. Grandpa used to take care of it. He said this bike had been on a lot of journeys."
"Whose journeys?"
Arsen was quiet for a moment.
"That's what I want to find out."
They continued on together. The road to the hill wasn't easy. Some sections were rocky and covered in loose dirt. Still, Arsen's little bike kept moving along just fine.
When they crossed a small wooden bridge, Arsen stopped.
"I came through here when I was little," he said.
Farel looked beneath the bridge.
"There's a little stream. How do you remember that?"
"I fell here once."
Farel laughed.
"Off this bike?"
Arsen laughed too.
"Yeah. I cried because I thought my bike was broken. But Grandpa just laughed and said the little scars on the bike were proof that we'd once been brave enough to try."
They continued on again.
Before long, they reached an area filled with trees. The place looked deserted. The only sound was the wind moving through the leaves.
Arsen got off his bike.
"This is the place."
Farel looked around.
"What place?"
Arsen opened the little bag he had brought. From inside, he took an old photograph that belonged to his grandfather.
In the photograph, a little boy stood holding the same bike.
"That's my grandfather when he was little," Arsen said.
Farel moved closer.
"So this bike has been around that long?"
"Yeah. But I don't know why Grandpa kept it all this time."
Arsen slowly walked around the area. His eyes searched for something that might be hidden.
Suddenly, he spotted a large stone with a small mark on its surface.
"Rel, look."
Farel came closer.
"What is it?"
Arsen brushed the dust off the stone. Beneath it was a carving shaped like a small circle, almost like a bike wheel.
Arsen's heart began to pound.
"This has to be connected."
They searched around the stone. A few minutes later, Farel found a small wooden box half-buried in the dirt.
"Arsen, I found something."
Arsen hurried over.
They slowly opened the box. Inside was a little book that had been hidden there for a long time.
Arsen carefully picked it up.
A name was written on the first page.
"Ardi."
Arsen fell silent.
"That's my grandfather's name."
They began reading the book. It turned out to be a record of Arsen's grandfather's journeys when he was young, made with the same bike.
Every page described places he had visited, people he had met, and experiences he had never forgotten.
But one page made Arsen stop.
It described a place he had never heard of before.
"A secret place behind the hill..."
Farel looked at Arsen's face.
"Do you want to find it?"
Arsen slowly closed the book.
"I want to know why Grandpa hid this story."
They sat beneath a tree for a while, gazing at the little bike.
Arsen felt something changing inside him. Until now, he had seen the bike as nothing more than a gift from his grandfather. Now he was beginning to realize that it carried so many memories and stories.
In the late afternoon, Arsen and Farel headed home. The sun was beginning to sink, and the sky turned orange.
When he got home, Arsen went straight to his grandfather, who was sitting on the porch.
"Grandpa."
His grandfather turned toward him.
"Yes, Ren?"
Arsen placed the old book on the table.
"I found this."
His grandfather's face filled with surprise.
"You found that book?"
Arsen nodded.
"Why didn't you ever tell me about any of this?"
His grandfather smiled faintly.
"Because I wanted you to find it on your own."
"But why?"
His grandfather looked at the little bike in the yard.
"Because the most valuable journeys aren't the ones other people tell you about. The most valuable journeys are the ones you experience yourself."
Arsen fell silent as he listened.
His grandfather continued.
"That bike has been with me through so many things. Now it's time for it to go with you as you make new stories."
Arsen smiled.
He looked at his little bike with a different feeling. That simple object held so many stories after all.
That night, Arsen opened his grandfather's journal again. He read page after page, imagining the places he had never visited.
A growing curiosity stirred in his heart.
There were still so many roads he hadn't traveled.
So many stories he hadn't discovered.
And the little bike was still waiting for its next journey.