He sat with his notes on his makeshift desk in the green room, just like he liked it – A pile of handwritten papers. ‘Mr. President, it’s time for your keynote in 5,’ the organizer politely informed him and then left clacking her heels in the corridor. He looked up in the lit up mirror. He saw a defeated father. A tear drop stained the ink on the paper, ironically on the word ‘timing’. He peeked at his phone again and read the message that he received a minute back- ‘Sir, I am sorry to inform you that your daughter’s body has been found.’
He stacked the pile on the desk, clutching them in his wrinkled hands, a little shaky today. Read the title aloud, ‘Let us fight for hope!’, looked up at the mirror again and said, ‘You can do this!’ He gulped down that sentence with excruciating pain, stood up, took a long sigh, straightened his jacket and walked up to the stage. The President left the room, the father sat back.
Alka Sharma. All rights reserved.