Chapter -3:
… College …
I ring the bell and my mother opens the door. She doesn’t even let me get in before asking me how was my day. “It was great Mum, but just let me in first,” I tell her, frustrated. She finally lets me in and I throw my bag onto the couch like I have been since first grade. My mother got really sick of it that one time when I was in eighth grade, she almost threw my bag from the balcony. Those were some good times; I’ll never forget the look on her face.
I spent
an entire hour answering her questions before finally going upstairs to do my
homework. I know it’s weird to do your homework the first thing after you come
home but I can’t get it done otherwise. I don’t have much though. After that, I
sit and watch a movie. It finished after about two hours and I still had
nothing to do so I watched another movie. The day was pretty boring, to be honest.
I had nothing to look forward to. It seems twice as long for the very same
reason. Eventually, out of a fit of boredom (I think that happens to me way too
much) I picked up a notebook and began scribbling some story plots. I wouldn’t
say that I had the time of my life, but it was better than to just sit idle
nonetheless. I was mentally exhausted by the time I hit my bed at night. I just
hope to the Gods that tomorrow be more interesting than today. Cause I don’t
think I can handle another idle day. I bit of extra homework wouldn’t hurt
either. Man, if someone’s asking for extra homework, then it must be a really
boring day. I just hope that it doesn’t drive me crazy.
. . .
I’m lying
in bed, it’s a quarter to three in the morning, and I wake up to the sound of
my phone. Argh! I forgot to put it on silent! But I kind of glad I did.
It’s a text from my dad, saying he finished his last surgery and will be home
in five minutes. I get out of bed and rub my eyes. Why does my dad have to
always text me to open the door when he’s late?
I yawn as
I open the door. My father gets in and gives me a hug, “sorry for another late
night,” he says as he kisses my forehead. I close the door and walk to the dining
hall. I turn on the kitchen light, “so? How did it go?” my father sits down on a
chair by the table as I make him a cup of chai, “fairly well, it’ll take a will
for the fellow to completely recover, he’ll be hospitalized for a couple
weeks.” I set the vessel on the stove, “what was wrong with that guy?”
“He had an accident after which he had some internal
bleeding in his gut.”
“Poor guy,” I say, thinking of what it must be like,
to have internal bleeding in your gut. The chai’s ready, I hand my father his
cup and sit down across from him with mine.
Father
takes a sip of his tea, “don’t you have plans to go back to sleep?” I take a
sip and yawn, “I have to wake up in two hours anyway, might as well just use
this extra time to study for tests.” My father smiles, “I’ve always loved your passion
for what you love,” I bit my lip, “Well, someone once told me to find something
I loved and get addicted to it like it’s a drug.” My father gives a slight
laugh and sips down the rest of his chai.
My father
is in the bathroom, taking a shower. I’m climbing up the stairs to my room as
quietly as I possibly can. My mother and Will are still asleep, I don’t want to
wake them up. I’m still yawning as I open the door to my room. I’ll take a few
minutes for the chai to hit. I turn on the lights and make my bed. I then head
to the bathroom and take a shower. Surely that’ll help wake me up.
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