Toronto, Canada.
"Ma, she did not say anyt—"
The call was cut abruptly. He was sure, that his mother had slammed the phone down rather than any connection problem. Quite a temper his queen had.
Running his fingers around his face, he slumped against the sofa, tired.
He tried.
He had tried.
He had been trying. All the time.
Hemant Arora. Thirty four. Successful? Yes. Working in one of the finest companies, he was definitely successful. Happy? Yes. Why not? Had a lovely, understanding wife and two amazing children, the perfect family.
Yet, his only regret was not being able to become a good son, unlike the way he took the responsibility of being a great husband and a dutiful father. His mother was always miffed with him, for some reason. Lately, all their phone calls had lacked a proper conclusion.
"Hemant, I have to be at the hospital, night shift. You'll drop the kids tomorrow, right?"
On not receiving a reply, Keerti walked up to the man, both staring at the phone intently.
He had done it again.
And she had done it, again.
It was a circle. An end which she could not see. Not anytime soon.
Settling down on the leg of the sofa, pressing his shoulders, offering some comfort, she spoke slowly.
"She'll come around. Trust me."
Tilting his head, he offered her a small smile.
"She will."
The stillness of the night spoke more than they could.
