The Mundane Artist

There’s a door at the end of the corridor. It’s not dark. But only a part of the corridor is lit with lights. The other half is dark. I am standing at the other end. I am so curious. There are people coming and going occasionally. It doesn’t bother me though. I walk slowly. I have never been here before. There is a squash court downstairs. Two of the courts are being used. A girl of no more than 16 years, plays vigorously in the first court. She’s wearing a red shirt and track pants of black. This game makes a lot of noise, I think to myself. I don’t know much about it. It resembles tennis. But of course they’re different. Come to think of it, it’s actually the first time I have seen this game. I walk further. Before I can turn to see the occupants of the last court (as the second of the two was the last one in use), I get distracted. A drop of water falls behind me and makes a sound. I turn around and look at the small puddle of water I just passed unknowingly. I look up ...

"What? Are you serious? But I really have to get to school! Argh, fine." Harleen sighed. She locked her door, and stomped, rather than walked downstairs. She was so angry. Her driver ditched her at the last moment. She would've been very understanding if only this last moment of cancellation hadn't occurred before. She started her journey from her house towards school. The school was closed for the winter, but a few diligent teachers wanted to take some tests, classes and get students to submit their due assignments. But Harleen was a smart kid. She wasn't going to school for any of that. After all, she studied well, and her assignments were submitted on or before the due dates. She was going to school for her applications to be filled by the teachers for college. College. Graduation. She detested these two words. And these two words had been revolving around her from the past few months, and future few too, it seemed. This added to the apathetic behaviour of...