Arsen was still standing in front of the house, gazing at the little blue bike parked beside the fence. The bike looked simple, with slightly faded paint, a bell that no longer shone like it used to, and a saddle that appeared to have been repaired several times. But to Arsen, the little bike was more than just an old object.
The bike had been a gift from his grandfather when Arsen was still little.
"You still take care of that bike, Sen?" asked Raka, Arsen's friend, who had just arrived with a ball in his hand.
Arsen gave a small smile. "Yeah. Why?"
Raka walked over to the bike and grabbed its handlebars. "I thought you'd gotten bored with it. There are lots of newer, better bikes now."
Arsen slowly shook his head. "The new ones are better, but this one has a story."
Raka looked at Arsen's face, which had suddenly grown calmer. He knew how much his friend loved the little bike.
"Your grandpa gave it to you, right?" Raka asked.
"Yeah," Arsen replied. "On my tenth birthday, Grandpa came carrying this bike. I'd asked for a big bike, though. I was disappointed at first because it was so small."
Raka laughed. "And then?"
"Then Grandpa said, 'A big bike won't necessarily make you great. What matters is who's riding it.'"
Arsen ran his hand over the bike's dull bell. He still remembered his grandfather's voice when he said those words.
That morning, Arsen planned to ride his little bike around the village. He hadn't used it for several days because he'd been busy helping his father around the house. He wanted to clean the bike and see the narrow roads he used to travel with his grandfather.
"Come with me, Rak," Arsen said.
"Where are we going?"
"Just for a ride."
Raka nodded. "Sure. But don't speed. Your bike looks pretty old."
Arsen laughed. "It is old, but don't underestimate it."
The two of them began pedaling their bikes. Arsen rode his beloved little bike, while Raka brought his mountain bike, which looked much more modern.
Along the way, several little kids stared at Arsen's bike.
"Whose bike is that? It's so tiny," one of them said.
Arsen only smiled.
"I used to have a bike like that too," another child said.
Arsen wasn't embarrassed. In fact, he was happy that the bike could remind so many people of their childhoods.
They stopped near a small field at the edge of the village. Arsen used to play there with his grandfather all the time.
"You came here a lot?" Raka asked.
"Almost every afternoon."
"What did you do?"
"Learned how to ride a bike."
Raka looked at Arsen's bike and smiled. "So this bike witnessed you falling over and over?"
Arsen laughed. "It wasn't just a witness. It was the one that got me back up."
As they were talking, the sound of a little child crying suddenly came from behind the field. Arsen and Raka immediately turned around.
A little boy was sitting on the ground, clutching his knee. A small bike lay fallen beside him.
Arsen hurried over.
"What happened?" Arsen asked.
The boy wiped his eyes. "I fell. I want to learn how to ride a bike, but I'm scared."
Arsen looked at the boy's bike. It was almost the same size as his own bike had been back then.
"What's your name?"
"Fino."
Arsen helped Fino stand and lifted his bike.
"Don't be scared. Everyone who can ride a bike has fallen before."
"But I can't," Fino said softly.
Arsen smiled. "I used to say that too."
Fino looked at Arsen's bike. "You can ride that one?"
"I can. This bike was the one that taught me."
Arsen then helped Fino try again. He held the back of the bike while walking slowly.
"Hold the handlebars tight. Look ahead—don't keep staring at the wheel."
Fino tried pedaling. He was still wobbly at first, but a few seconds later, he began to keep his balance.
"I can do it!" Fino shouted happily.
Arsen and Raka laughed as they watched him.
"See? You just need to believe in yourself," Arsen said.
After trying several more times, Fino was finally able to ride farther without help.
Evening was falling when Arsen and Raka headed home. Throughout the ride, Arsen felt a little lighter.
"You know something, Sen?" Raka said.
"What?"
"Your bike may be small, but it turns out it can make other people happy."
Arsen smiled as he continued pedaling.
He had just realized that the little bike held more than memories of his grandfather. It also carried a new story every time he rode it.
That night, Arsen cleaned the bike with a soft cloth. He fixed the slightly loose bell and tightened the chain.
His father, watching from the doorway, smiled.
"You still love that bike so much."
Arsen nodded. "Yeah, Dad. It reminds me of so many things."
"Don't you want to buy a new bike?"
Arsen thought for a moment.
"Maybe someday I'll have a new bike. But I'll still keep this one."
His father walked over and patted Arsen on the shoulder.
"Good. Not everything is valuable because it costs a lot of money."
Arsen looked at the little bike one more time.
To him, the bike really was small. But the memories stored inside it were far greater than its size could ever suggest.