The phone shutted down for two days. She didn't know where it was; she didn't care. She wasn't bothered to locate it. The piles of works awaiting scared her. She didn't want to relate to them. She wanted to escape.
The days crept on as emergence of angry faces popped out of her head - from a colleague, to a friend and even someone dear. She had to face reality. Reluctantly, she dug her pencil case among the pens and pencils searching for the phone. It was not there. She searched her office bag, it wasn't there either. Then, she remembered it was there at the bookstore. Again, she searched her bag. And there it was, black as silence.
She recharged, hoping it would be forever dead still. Please, no new messages, no missed calls. She prayed, typical words she would say. Her hands shivered as she turned it on. Sometimes, she reasoned that she had a choice to leave it dead. Despite all the nuisances she tried to persuade herself into, the phone was finally ON!
Six crazy missed calls and four messages. Should i respond? She had just jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. Oh boy, what had she done?
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