Fond Of This Bond

13. The Junior One

And here I am, asking the same old question. Why me?

I was avoiding this situation since Monday, but guess what, I can't any longer. I've already entered Thursday and Mrs. Watson announced that we have to submit our project work next week which leaves me with no other option than to get started with it.

It's not like I didn't give it a shot on my own. In fact, on Monday I had fully convinced myself that yes I can do it, considering the fact that it would be way easier than having another interaction with him.

But, no.

It's just too much work for a single person which makes me understand why they have set us up with partners. Completing everything on my own is simply not possible, given how my time we are left with.

Even if I can do the whole work, then there must be one solid reason as to why I should be doing it. And I can't find one to be satisfied enough to let him have some marks for free.

But here it gets even more complicated.
If I am not doing his part then I'll have to ask him to contribute to the project.

And both these choices seem to hurt my ego in some way or the other.

Plus, I can't expect anything from his side as he has been suspended for the whole week and might not be notified of the submission date.

Okay, let's just breathe and not make this a big deal, which it already is, at least for me.

It is pretty normal for two partners to work on their projects as a team. I should call him, and simply tell him to do his part. That's it.
Come on, you got this.

Before my brain again starts what it is pretty good at, that is overthinking, I stretched out my hand to get the little slip out of my school bag's side pocket. It has his contact number that I got from the receptionist, all thanks to Mrs. Watson.

I dialed the number on my phone, took a long breath, and pressed on 'call'.

It showed dialing at first, and then it started ringing. One, two, three rings later the call was picked.

It was now that I realized how sweaty my palms had got. Before I could manage to say anything, I heard a shrill voice from the other side, which sounded as if it belonged to a woman in her fifties or sixties.

"Hello, Roachs' Residence," She asked.

Great, now I can ask her to deliver the message to him.

"Hello, this is Hannah," I replied.

"And who would you like to talk to, Miss Hannah?"

"Ai... Ai...,"
Oh, God! Why is it so difficult to take his name? It's just a name.
If I say "A den" with an accent, is there a chance that it might sound like his name?

"Hello, are you still there?" She interrupted my trail of struggling thoughts.

"Yes, I am very much here. I wish to speak to Mr. Roach," I said and cringed instantly.

"I am sorry, but Mr. Roach is not at home. Would you like me to share his office number with you?" She replied.

"What! He goes to the office?" I almost shouted.

"Of course, he does. The office is his second home where he's spent twenty-five years of his life. What are you even talking about?" The way she spoke made me feel that she was irritated by my last question.

But I was still confused. Wait, are we talking about the same person?

" Look, I am talking about the Junior one. Hope we are on the same page." I clarified.