It’s a fine Monday morning. I was going through my old college books, which were covered with dust. I was searching for one to help my son understand a concept better. Suddenly, a letter slipped out. I picked it up. Something was scribbled on it— I suffered from a terrible toothache. I needed to see a doctor. Instead, I met a nurse. I told her about the pain. She listened and then walked away to call the doctor, leaving me with hope. But what remained? Me. My increasing pain. Nostalgia hit hard. To all my dearest people, I wish to share a glimpse of my thoughts from one evening—three days before I wrote this letter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I stood near the wall—specifically, in one corner of the floor—waiting. Just waiting for the people inside the HOD’s room to come out. I needed to get in for a signature. I had been in the department since five in the evening. It was nearly seven now. Oh gosh! How...