The start was as usual. It took nearly fifteen minutes for Jay to reach the shop. The fog wasn’t as dense as the meteorology department had predicted and little flakes of sunshine floated to the window of his shop making the frost sprinkled on the pane glitter. Delhi winters were different. There was warmth in the chill.
Jay remembered the first day in the city; he had stepped out of the diesel smelling rickety bus at the old bus station and was greeted by the aroma of the ginger chai from the tea stall nearby. It was the end of his life as a village boy as the hullabaloo of the big city engulfed him. He spent many mornings after that musing about the past at the same tea stall.
He tried his first cigarette and nursed his first heart break t the stall. Coincidentally, it was the same day. First day of the New Year, when he sat with a cigarette and cutting chai, pining for his girlfriend, who ditched him and married the boss. He watched the travellers getting off buses, tired, excited, rusted… wondering about all the setbacks he faced in the city and ended up at the tea stall.
It was late afternoon, when the real estate agent walked in to take the handover of his shop. Jay glanced at his own reflection in the glass, the silver hair, a little belly, hanging trousers, indicators that he had reached the winter of life. But there was still time, he said to himself as he walked towards the tea stall, near the old bus stand. Over the years he realised, the place was about new beginnings for him, not the End.
Prompt:Start a story with The and close with End.