Flight in the afternoon

But Sir, I worked overtime yesterday, I slept at 2:00 am and it’s just 5:30 am right now. How can I prepare an entire presentation in a few hours and catch the flight in the afternoon? Please send someone else, please?

I begged almost in tears to my terrorist boss.

You’re the best we have. Now get yourself ready, we have work to do.

The line was dead after this.

No matter how much I love my job, I can’t edit the entire book of the new coming author in a matter of what, a few hours!? Forget that, my years of being a workaholic will enable me to get through this task as well, just like the other times when I had to submit 80 essays on “Increasing Momentum of the Influential politicians in India.” in a matter of 16 hours and mind you, I had to praise them. Easy task? I could barely think of a sentence which wasn’t fudge coated with sarcasm.

It’s been 2 years of continuous working for the bald boss who would pick 1 out of 100 sheets of literature and say “it’s alright.” Well, that one sheet would rather alter the history of literature but the hours of thinking, typing, editing? God knows if he acknowledges my efforts.

I pull my lazy self outside, my bed and stare in the bedside mirror while pulling my black curls into a messy bun.

Man, do I need a vacation.

I draw the curtains open, the sky is sultrily bright, traces of sunlight can be seen and the birds are chirpily welcoming the day.

I walk to the fridge, pull out a carton of cold milk and make myself a bowl of cornflakes as I seat myself on my dining table to commence my work on the laptop.

5:50 am and 349 pages to go.

Soon when it reduces to only 20 pages left, I dreamily lift up my chin to see the wall clock

12:30!! My flight is at 2:15 and I haven’t even packed my toothbrush. Shoot.

Next thing I know is, I’m running across half the airport for the check in, being 10 minutes late after the boarding time. Only if this day could get a tad bit better.

The left back pocket of my Levis starts vibrating when I see my boss’s Caller ID blaring across the Samsung Screen. Exasperated, I pick up the phone and distance it a few cms. from my ear to avoid the screaming and shouting that may follow.

What the hell do you think!? You’ve not been answering my texts since morning. I asked you to report to the office at 11, I desperately needed that Starbucks coffee when you decided to act all busy and refused to reply to the phone calls. And Missy, your flight has been delayed by 4 hours just in case you didn’t realize it till now. I had to receive a call from the airlines to receive the information since the ‘respected traveler gave no response back.’

I heard practically nothing after those 2 words. FOUR HOURS!

Why on earth did I sacrifice my beloved sleep to edit the book of a god forsaken new coming author when my flight is at 6:30 god damn pm!?

Man, only if my day could be a tad bit better.

I drag my suitcase to the Cafe Coffee Day beside the McDonalds on the first floor of the international airport and find myself a small neglected spot to sit by the glass panel that separates the airport from the runway.

A Devil’s Own with Whipped Cream, please.

I am not much of a social person and so far I have had only 6 good friends, out of which 1 I lost contact with when I was 6. And since, I’m pretty anti social media… yeah I never caught hold of her again.

I lazily wind up with those remaining 20 pages and start solving the Sudoku in today’s newspaper when a voice disrupts me.

Mind if I join you?

No, this isn’t happening. God damn this.


I lift my head up from the 9*9 matrix half filled with numbers to see a young girl about my age, jet black straight hair, probably my height and sparkling eyes. She has a Cafe Mocha in her black nail painted hands.

I actually had a flight this afternoon which got delayed and then I just walked over to seek some company, I really hope you don’t mind.

That’s sweet but strange. I glance over to see neatly printed out air tickets revealing the same flight number as mine.

I guess we’re on the same flight. What do you do?

Wow, I struck a conversation. Impressive.

Oh, I’m an author by passion and if my book gets published anywhere close to good, I’d be an author by profession!

This is certainly strange.

That’s interesting. I work for a corporate that helps with this stuff. Buzz in whenever you require.

I slide my card to her across the table when her mouth curves into a slightly mischievous smile while her eyes convey disbelief.

Hell yeah, I’ll “buzz in whenever” and ask for that girl who never had time to look up an old friend. Firstly, you ask the profession of a person without even decently introducing yourself, nor do you ask the name of the stranger that’s sitting across you and has declared to stay there for the next 3 hours 45 minutes.

Can this day get a tad bit better? What on earth is she talking about? Why did she randomly start teaching me social well behavior. She’s right, I should’ve asked who the hell is she.

May I know your name?

And as she spelled out her name, those 2 words made my heart stop to wonder a minute.

No kidding.

Instead of the graceful sassy girl who insulted me on my face, I see a small fair little girl about the age of 6 with 2 pony tails and a missing tooth. I remember how we could never even say good bye as I left that city and how unfortunate that felt. We never were meant to say goodbye, it seems.

Those 4 hours seemed less and we bridged those 14 years of distance. True friendship probably begins with the first person you title as ‘friend’ and even if they got lost on this journey called life, they come and hit you hard in the face like a boomerang.


But Sir, we can’t just come up with a plot in a matter of just one single only day! We need an entire new fresh idea, we have to work up a plan, research a bit about the topic we want to write on and so much more! It is impossible to work this out.

I half conveyed in frustration as that bald terrorist took the liberty to call me at 6am on a Sunday.

Listen up you, the flight is due in the evening and you better impress the committee with your idea. Make this book the next big thing. You have your own record to break. You both have turned this industry into an ugly joke. The book hasn’t gone off the Bestseller since 13 months now. Ridiculous.

I pull my black curls into a messy bun while I stand in front of the bedside mirror.

Man do I need a vacation.


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A Lot Can Happen Over A Cup Of Coffee – 2
Netra Hirani

Netra Hirani

A writer under construction. feel free to check my site, Scriptechtellus thefemiversifier.wordpress.com

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