I first saw him at the station. He was sitting next to a bench, as if trying to become invisible. There was no expectation in his eyes, there was reconciliation with fate and silence. He didn’t look around, he only looked in the direction where the train had left a few hours earlier.

I am retired, I live in the country, in a house built by my father. An old tiled kitchen, an apple tree outside the window, a garden and silence – that’s my whole life since my wife left. My son and his family live in the city, he rarely comes home. My peace is the garden and the radio. It would have stayed that way if not for the broken generator – the greenhouse needed power, so I went to the city.

I had to wait almost two hours for the return train. I bought myself a roll, a new coffee machine – sometimes you have to pamper yourself – and sat down on the bench. Then I noticed that someone was lying under the bench. It was an old dog – with a gray muzzle, torn ears and a tired look.

A woman sat next to me, noticing my interest and quietly saying:

“He came here this morning. The family—man, woman, children—got on the train. And he stayed. It looks like he was with them. He ran after the train, jumped, barked… And then he jumped straight onto the tracks. It’s a good thing the policeman managed to stop him.

“He’s… alive?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

“Barely, barely. But he hasn’t left since then. He sits and waits.”

The woman left. And I stayed. He looked at me—and there was so much longing in those eyes that I couldn’t pass him by indifferently. I didn’t take him right away—I hoped someone would come back for him. But I thought about him all night.

The next morning I came back. He was sitting in exactly the same place. I brought food, water, an old blanket, and carefully placed the bowl in front of him. He sniffed suspiciously—and began to eat. Slowly, as if he didn’t believe it.

— Will you come with me? — I asked quietly.

He simply came and sat down next to me. And stayed.

I named him Ciszek. I don’t know why, it just fit. He didn’t protest. As if his name didn’t matter to him — all that mattered was that someone was there and didn’t leave.

From the very first days he became my shadow. He followed me everywhere: into the house, into the garden, into the shed. When I closed the door, he sat on the threshold. He ate calmly, slept alertly — always listening. In the morning he went out to the gate and looked into the distance for a long time.

Then he started howling. Not like a bad dog, but quietly, mournfully, as if he was talking to someone who was far away.

After a week I took him to the vet. It turned out that he was about ten years old, had a weak heart, aching joints, and had once had a broken paw. Apparently, life had not been kind to him.

But he came alive at home. After a month he barked for the first time — when the postman came. Then he began to greet me at the gate. He ate with appetite. Sometimes he would simply lay his head on my lap and breathe quietly. I would stroke his back and think how good it was that we had found each other.

In the evenings we would sit on the porch. Me — with tea, him — at my feet. Silence, fresh air, the chirping of insects. Peace.

“You see, Ciszek,” I said, “we have our true history. No rush, but with warmth.”

One day my son arrived with his family. The grandchildren were running around the yard. One of them approached the dog:

“Grandpa, who is that?”

“That’s Ciszek. My friend.”

“Whose was he before?”

I fell silent for a moment and replied:

“That doesn’t matter anymore. The important thing is that he’s with us now.”

Sometimes at night Ciszek listens for the sounds of a distant train. He walks up to the gate, stands, looks, and then comes back. No more anxiety – just asking: “Maybe?…” I sit down next to him and quietly say:

• You’re home. Everything’s fine. We’re together.

A year has passed. He’s older, he can’t hear so well anymore. But he still waits for me by the door every morning. And I think more and more often – maybe it wasn’t him waiting for me, but me waiting for him. Because it’s warm with him at home. Simply because he’s next to me. And that’s what true happiness is.