“Good morning, Ms Fischer,” he greeted.
This man had seen me at my worst and my best for as long as I can remember. He had seen me bawling my eyes out and talking about ending everything, he had heard me talk about my love life, and how much I hate men with my entire being.
He has seen me in impromptu calls when I looked like I wasn't worth anything at a glance, where I was in an obtrusive mood, scattered hair, thin pyjamas that were hanging from bare threads over my shoulder with mascara running down my face.
He had seen it all, heard it all, as he was supposed to, but there were just some things he couldn't hear. His ears wouldn't be able to handle it, neither would he be able to understand or comprehend.
“Ms Fischer,” he called out again, this time with more demand, snapping me abru
