The rain goes pitter patter outside the window. It is 8:45 at night. She sits at her desk and looks at the drops sliding down like snakes breaking into several tear drops. It is the only indication that a glass separates her from the outside world. Beyond the glass is a green world broken just by the winding bridge which just appears through a gap in the green. The tall lamp posts peep out of the green and stand tall like a lighthouse on islands in between the ocean. And suddenly she notices them – the leaves are turning pale. The ends of the leaves have burnt away.
In the background a conversation takes place.
“You are leaving? See you tomorrow.”
“Oh… you will not see me tomorrow. I am going to Monheim tomorrow.”
“Ok then. See you day after tomorrow” – says a clearly irritated voice after a long evening in office.
“Yes. I have to drive there”.
“Well. Take care when driving in this rain”.
She looks outside the window again. “This is what we would call a drizzle where I come from” – she slips into the voices in her mind.
“I hope it will get better tomorrow” – a disgruntled voice at being given an advice clearly not asked for.
“Well… I think it will get worse” – the irritated voice replies back.
She stares hard at the screen trying not to laugh (she had just heard this evening that weather will get slightly better tomorrow and then worse the day after). In anycase she had never seen so much fuss about weather when she was small and now it was quite common place to her. People here discussed it to great length, obsessed about it and cross-checked it left, right and center just the way Indians checked horoscope and astrology for every small thing. They relied on it, planned their activities around it and had backup plans since the technology is still not reliable enough.
“Not at all. I am sure they said weather will be better. In anycase I am a good driver”.
Well… boys will be boys (competition only increases as they grow older) and Brussels will be Brussels.