Making decisions weren't one of my best qualities, rather I was terrible at it. It was something I'd let other people do for me. For instance, my grandmother would usually—to be precise—always make decisions for me; forced me to do stuff, especially things that I didn't like, but in that moment, I'd be making my own decision using what my meddlesome grandmother wanted as an excuse. I stood in front of his room, contemplating whether I should knock or just go back to my room. I took a deep breath and chose the former, yet I couldn't get myself to raise my hand and knock on his door. Cold feet, that should I call it. In the end, I decided to just go back to my room and sleep. That would at least give me a clear head when I wake up, I supposed. I glanced at my watch. It was just quarter to si
