The Waiting Room

Chapter 8

Connor closes his eyes as Lilly's hand still lays on top of his and with a deep breath he tries to remember ...

"Come on, Connor," Michael urges, firmly gripping Connor's shoulders from the back.

"I'm not going. Whoever organized this party is a complete fool" Connor retorts, casually flipping through the pages of his economics textbook, volume three.

"Ugh, you're attending this party whether you like it or not.".

Michael forcefully drags Connor's chair away from the study table, gliding it across their dorm room floor while it screached towards a nearby closet.

Flipping his light brown hair aside, Michael positions himself in front of the closet door, clutching both handles. With determination, he declares, "You're coming along, even if I have to get you dressed myself."

In an instant, a series of deliberate knocks reverberates on the dorm room door, creating a rhythmic beat against the wooden surface. Young Connor and Michael immediately divert their attention towards the source of the sound. Acting in perfect harmony, Connor addresses the unseen visitor,
"Enter, Phillip."

The persistent knocking continues, adhering to its rhythmic pattern, causing Michael's frustration to bubble up. "For heaven's sake, Phillip, come in already!" he exclaims with exasperation.

The door swings open, revealing a slender young man whose navy blue Oxford University blazer appears to be wear him rather than the other way around. He steps into the dorm room with a pair of rounded glasses fashioned tightly on his face.

"I must say, Phillip, you seem to possess a remarkable talent for being fucken deaf," Michael states out loud.

"If I were truly deaf, would I have been able to hear your remark about my deafness?" Phillip counters, wearing a smug expression on his face that is only enhanced by his pair of brown overly large spectacles.

Turning to Connor, Michael makes a plea, desperately seeking relief from the situation. "Do you see what I have to deal with? Please, don't leave me alone with him."

While finding the entire exchange amusing, Connor takes pity on Michael and states, "Alright, I'll come with you, but I won't indulge in any drinking."

"Come on, just one," Michael implores, clasping his hands together as if begging for a different response.

"No, that's my final decision," Connor asserts firmly.

Michael drops to his knees, resorting to pleading. "Please, please, please."

Connor smiles at Michael's childlike behavior and reconsiders his stance. "Alright, fine, but just one. Now, get up"

Michael springs to his feet with unbelievable excitement, exchanging a high-five with Phillip, who, for some inexplicable reason, appears equally thrilled, mirroring his friend's enthusiasm.

"Give me a moment to get ready and we can leave," Connor asserts, ascending from his seat and casting a discerning glance into his open closet.

In a matter of minutes, the young man and his companions were fully prepared for their departure, exuding sophistication and readiness.

As the afternoon sun casts a warm golden glow over the storied buildings of Oxford University, three friends strolled along the cobblestone pathways, their laughter blending harmoniously with the scholarly atmosphere.

Each step gave away the anticipation as they made their way to a vibrant party, brimming with possibilities.

Leading the group was Connor, his tall frame exuding a humble confidence. Dressed in a well-fitted blazer and crisp trousers, he exuded a sense of refined style that effortlessly complemented his scholarly pursuits.