Another week has elapsed, without any follow up from him.


It’s usual for him to do this to me. For days in a row, he doesn’t even check on me. He cancels my call each time, reverting with one of the default texts, ‘I am busy, call you later.’


Purportedly, “later” means never.


For weeks, I stay indoors, too agitated to even talk to people. My friends come to meet, and offer an outing at my favorite food court, but I deny.


I don’t wish to leave the house to eat my favorite dish at my favorite restaurant; sans my favorite company.


Mom consoles me and asks me to understand that he’s busy. But I don’t want to be used to being without him, I say. I am tired of being neglected.


How can he be so busy to even call and ask if I’m okay?


I don’t even bug him with constant demands of seeing him. I realize that he has his own work to do, and that’s completely fine by me, but asking for a phone call or a mere text message isn’t too much, I suppose.


Right now, I have my usual text typed, for this time of the day, ‘ Goodnight Sir, your nation wants you there; your little girl wants you here. I miss you, Daddy.’


And then, as usual, I doze off, awaiting his reply.



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