The Waiting Room

Chapter 1

On a typically dreary Monday morning in the western part of London, soft rain pattered against the window of an elegant apartment, creating a contemporary display of blurred droplets on the twenty-fourth glass pane.

Dip... Dip... Dip.

From this vantage point, one could behold the iconic London Bridge and all the splendors of the bustling city, from the ubiquitous black and yellow cabs to the average pedestrian wrapped in scarves, embarking on their mundane morning commutes.

Connor, with a nonchalant way about him, strolled down the luxurious corridor of his high-end apartment building, eventually wonders into the nearest room on his right. Holding a deep blue towel in one hand, he effortlessly slid open the door of his bedroom cupboard.

The door glided to a smooth stop, revealing a flawlessly arranged array of suits, each in perfect harmony with the next.

Tossing the blue cover over his damp black hair. Connor moves his towel vigorously, the fabric absorbing the remnants of his morning shower with each vigorous motion.

A final flourish, the damp towel fell to the polished wooden floor below as Connor stood still, contemplating the choice of attire befitting the grey weather that enveloped the day outside his foggy window.

His trusty black suit called out to him, its hanger within view of faint traces of his vain-covered hands, as if urging him to don the familiar ensemble that would set the tone for his day. However, an unforeseen change of heart altered his direction, leading him towards a dark gray suit hanging adjacent to his initial first choice.

A subconscious smile tugged at Connor's lips, illuminating his freshly shaven face with a glimmer of personal significance known only to him. As he readied himself for the day ahead, his actions unfolding in the customary manner, he couldn't help but cast a lingering gaze around his bedroom, reflecting upon the fragments of his existence.

A solitary tie lay folded atop a neatly made bed, while a wall-mounted television and spacious wardrobes, one in each corner, hinted at an apartment designed for two-a fact reinforced by the double basin in the main bathroom, strangely accommodating only a single toothbrush, positioned in an almost defiant stance as if it had a strong longing for a lost companion.

Attired in a crisp white shirt and grey pants, Connor patiently buttoned himself up, savoring each motion as he embarked on a brief journey down memory lane within the confines of his room.

His gaze lingered upon a lonely tie, longing to be in a promise of a knot, while his attention then shifted to the television mounted on the wall, a silent witness to his solitary existence.

With socks and shoes expertly put on and a tie swiftly knotted, he retrieved a weathered wallet, clearly showing signs of wear and tear, and slipped it into the pocket of his pants. It had seen better days, much like the man himself.

Connor made his way into the kitchen, gliding a drawer open just beneath the smooth white marble sink. From within, he extracted a curious yellow bottle of pills, placing its contents carefully on the marble countertop.

A glass of water, swishing gracefully as it filled to the brim, accompanied his hand. Placing one of the pills on his lips, he swiftly washed it down with a gulp, the clinking sound of the glass sounded in the air. Pausing for a moment, he took the time to read the smeared label affixed to the back of the yellow bottle, an attempt to familiarize himself with any potential side effects.

"Take one two times a day," the label instructed in bold letters beneath the heading "Dr. Patel." As Connor's curiosity led him to twist the bottle in his hand, his phone rudely interrupted his exploration, jolting him back to the present. Placing the bottle within the inner pocket of his
suit jacket, he took a moment to inspect the screen of his phone. Weary eyes scanned the digital letters displayed below the caller's name: "Mary Office."