I got up from my seat, and stood beside the window. The rain outside descended from the heavens in a crescendo of wails–the sound, dark and foreboding. I was lost in my whirlpool of thoughts, busy tracing the raindrops on the glass panes, when a ragged set of breaths broke my trancelike state. The glass in front of me had fogged up. I wiped it clean, and turned towards the source of my distraction.
To my left, I found an old gentleman looking outside the window. His eyes, tired and grey, reflected the sadness of years of pain. The silvered drops of rain which floated past the windowpanes couldn’t rejuvenate his soul. The rivulets of liquid crystallised to broken shards of misery which constantly reminded him of his helplessness. An icy blast of wind from the end of the corridor made me shiver, but the old man sat there, on his wheelchair, unaffected. I mouthed a silent goodbye to him, as I walked back towards my mother on the hospital corridor. Hospitals consist of the most muddling goodbyes.