I hurriedly purchased a ticket for the earliest overnight train and found myself standing for a grueling 14 hours.
The details of enduring that lengthy ride blur together—the narrow aisle cramped with passengers, the air thick with the scent of various foods, the low murmur of others sleeping soundly, all while I stared out at the pitch-black sky, silently urging the train to speed up even more.
When we finally arrived, my legs were so numb that I bolted home without a moment's hesitation.
By the time I reached, I was too late—the hospital had already handled everything.
"Had to go off to study, huh? Missed seeing your mom one last time," Dad said, his voice thick with grief.
The following day, I helped Dad host the wake. I watched as people gorged themselves, clinking glasses, all smiles.
Some were Mom's kin, others her old buddies.
Eventually, Dad nudged me to mingle. "Come on, help me out here."
"I'm not playing host to these folks. They're your guests," I retorted.
"When will you ever grow up?" he sighed.
Why should I entertain these people? They were here for the spread, not to mourn.
It was a bitter irony. What's the point of it all, really?
I shed no tears at the funeral. Was I just cold-hearted? Perhaps.
A fortnight later, back at school, my days fell back into the old, aimless routine.
Classes, jobs—just going through the motions.
I've never been one for grand dreams or ambitions. All I've ever wanted—the kind of warmth I've craved—seems forever out of reach.
So, I take life one day at a time.
In my junior year, our school set us up with internships. I landed a gig as an executive assistant at a corporate firm, thanks to my major in administrative management.
I'm naturally reserved, and this job demanded top-notch communication and interpersonal skills. About a month in, I was struggling. The office politics, the cutthroat atmosphere—I was done. I thought about quitting.
One evening, I dropped my resignation letter on the CEO's desk, planning to just not show up and head back to my part-time job at the local café instead.
I figured I'd deal with the fallout later.
The next morning, Mr. Brown, the CEO, called me up.