Later, sitting in my car, I stared out at the parking lot, watching as people came and went, each immersed in their own lives, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that had just unfolded inside my head. I reached for my phone again, hesitating before dialing the number I knew by heart. “Hello?” his voice came through, familiar yet distant.
“We need to talk,” I said, trying to keep my tone steady. “It’s about the results.” There was a pause on the other end, the kind that stretches time and makes every second feel like an hour. “I see,” he finally replied, his voice betraying no emotion.
We arranged to meet later that evening. As I drove home, my mind replayed the events of the morning, searching for a different outcome, a different reality. But each time, I came back to the same conclusion. The truth was there, undeniable and unyielding. It was a reality I couldn’t escape, no matter how much I wished I could.
The house was quiet when I entered, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall. I set the folder down on the kitchen table, its presence a reminder of the conversation that awaited. I busied myself making tea, the ritual bringing a semblance of normalcy to an otherwise surreal day. As the kettle boiled, I checked my watch, counting down the minutes until our meeting.
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