Every night at exactly midnight, an old train crossed a desert in Morocco.
It had only three carriages and carried very few passengers.
One evening, a young traveler named Sami boarded the train without knowing where it was going.
The conductor checked his ticket and smiled.
“Where are you headed?”
“I don’t know,” Sami answered.
“Then perhaps this is the right train.”
The train moved slowly into the desert.
Outside the window, the moon illuminated endless golden dunes.
Sami eventually fell asleep.
When he woke, the train had stopped.
Outside was a small station surrounded by lanterns.
There was no town.
No road.
No other train.
Only a little café with an elderly woman sitting outside.
She offered Sami tea.
“You have been traveling a long time,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“Everyone who arrives here has been.”
Sami looked around.
For the first time in years, he felt peaceful.
He realized he had spent his life rushing from one destination to another, always worrying about what came next.
The woman pointed toward the horizon.
“Sometimes,” she said, “you must stop traveling to discover where you truly belong.”
At sunrise, Sami returned to the station.
The train was waiting.
When he boarded, he found his original ticket in his pocket.
But now there was a new destination printed on it.
