Just Four Minutes

By Arusha Gomber (11MG) and Neeraja Janardhan (12K)

Sitting here in this beautiful restaurant, wearing the best outfit I can possibly afford without having to dip into my college fund, I smile as I glance at my watch. Four more minutes till seven o’clock. Four more minutes until my dreams come true.

Wishing the clock would tick faster, I lament over how four minutes seems like an eternity (thanks a bunch, Einstein!), before hastily consoling myself that in the grand scheme of things, these four minutes will mean nothing.

Wait! I see someone headed this way. Ooooooh Lord! has the time finally arrived, is this the time, why is this so hard to believe?

I just bend my head and start looking at my foot, drenched in enthusiasm and excitement. AHEM! AHEM! AHEM! I hear a voice from the side, my heart starts to pound, and my heartbeat is going 1,000 times faster than normal.
I look up and…

No way. No frigging way.

What I see makes my heart sink faster than the Titanic. I had expected the moon, but instead, had been given some of its dirt. Instead of seeing the man who had made half of me, the man who had done heroic things for this country, the man who I had been waiting to see all my life: my dear, beloved father, I see a familiar face.

Mum.

And she’s not alone. She’s with a woman, presumably a waitress, judging by her attire. She’s holding something that looks like an envelope in her hands. The envelope is thin, like the one which had contained my rejection letter from Harvard. I try to swallow the bad memories.

I glare at her, my blue eyes tinted with hostility.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Dad?”

The End.

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