Resistance (Harry Styles)

Chapter 8: Snow-globe and a stranger

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Aishwarya's POV

An aggravating sound bellowed, jolting me to reality. I dragged my hand, lazily, out of the covers and roamed it around the bedside table to punch the snooze button of the old fashion alarm clock and kill it instantly. A few more minutes into my slumber, the sudden realization of the interview struck me. My eyes shot open at contemplation of the outcome of turning up late.

My head whipped in the direction of the plastic clock that read out the time in huge red bold numbers, beckoning much to my dismay that I was already an hour late. I was supposed to get up at seven but it was already eight. My mind did the calculation, gauging in still half asleep state that I needed to get ready in fifteen minutes if I wanted to make an impression and still manage to save my day. I had operated on my traveling scheme earlier, reaching a conclusion that the distance was worth forty five minutes by bus from my parents house, where I was currently residing.

I quickly got out of bed as I ran to the bathroom, knocking off a chair and toppling. My handbag and its contents splattered to the floor as I muttered profanities under my breath soaking in the mess. Working like superhero Flash, I balled up the contents that spilled out of my leather bag shoving them back in, without caring. Once done I got up and raced to the bathroom in order to get ready in my best formal attire in, ten minutes.

I cursed again as I read the tantalizing red numbers while they seemed to magnify in size causing my agony to multiply, correspondingly, too.

Exactly two minutes short of the ten I had, I faced of the mirror, smiling at my accomplishment. I, then, quickly ran down the stairs trying my best to not fall in my heels and make a joke out of myself. It really would look funny to see a twenty one year old mature female clumsily fall off the stairs and break her bones.

I shrugged to push the amusing thoughts of my fall away and charged towards the door. Before I could reach, my mother's shrill voice reached my ears causing me to turn around and face her.

"Not having breakfast in the morning is your worst habit. Now come sit down and eat." She scolded like the typical over-protective mother she was.

"I have an interview," I glanced at my wrist watch, my voice a little whiny, "in an hour and one minute. Don't force me to-"

She cut me short like I was a ten year old refusing to drink her morning milk. "I said come and have breakfast."

"Mom, my interview." I grumbled. "I'll grab a coffee on the way. Is that okay?"

"I think that will do." She paused for a moment before hopping to the dining table to get me an orange from the fruit basket. "Take this. Don't throw it away and tell me you ate it."

I giggled as I remembered what she was talking about. As a kid I had always had a huge problem eating. I would throw my tiffin away and say I had eaten it. Same with the fruits she gave me to bite on the way.

"I'm twenty one. Now let me go or I'll be late and if I don't get this job, I'll just end up living with you and Pa for another six months."

"Leave, already," was her simple reply along with a kiss to my forehead and muttering a few good luck wishes.

I whisked my way out of the apartment we shared towards the bus stop. I knew the place like the back of my hand, given I was born and brought up in this area of the breathtaking city that Cape Town was.

The wait for the bus was not long as my ride arrived within a few minutes. I mentally revised all the key things I was taught to remember before I gave any interview. As if four years in an engineering school was not enough torture and pain already, we were given special training for these job interviews. While I was busy revising, a fleeting glance at the window mad me realise my stop was the next. I quickly sprinted to the door waiting to get off now.