Day 103: 18 February 2026

 Short Story -- The Waiting Area

You sat there.

The room was quiet except for the occasional whisper on one language or another from parent to child, or the employees calling the next person or explaining something.

People didn’t appear nervous for the most part. Perhaps by the time you got to this point in the process you felt good about your chances.

There were whispers in combinations of Persian and English, a woman in a sari, a mother and daughter.

Having an appointment only out you in the queue at that time, people slowly disappearing from the open main area to behind a slatted wooden screen.

You’d been in places like this before; after all, you’d lived many places. So you waited patiently.

You thought about how queuing looks in different cultures. The politeness of Taiwan. The ability to have a place held for you as long as you said so in Ukraine.

Every time the woman comes from behind the desk, everyone sits alert. Hoping it’s their turn to go. Your posture changes too.

She’s just called back an ‘anytime’ father and daughter or uncle and niece? She’s said that 10:30am appointments will walk behind the screen next. And she heads back to her desk.

You can see behind the screen because of the way the slats are angled. It’s hard to tell exactly how many people are ahead of you, because sometimes people have a parent or child or other with them.

The woman comes from behind the desk.

Now it’s your turn.