It’s not time…yet
She looked at the greenery all around and closed her eyes. She wanted to absorb the serene feeling. She heard the distinct shrill sound. A marker for summer, at least in her part of the world : the cuckoo. She tried to search the sound, but the master at hide and seek was nowhere to be seen. She heard the sound again. It may have been sweet, but it was repetitive indeed. She was a tad disappointed.
As the bus moved along, green foliage gave way to the myriad colours of Gulmohar. The typical red and yellow along with some other unique shades. Far from the daily troubles, her heart felt peaceful. This is what I need, she thought. Her phone buzzed, as if to jolt her to reality. She instinctively reached to check for the messages. There it was. The mail she had been waiting for a long time. Her last hope. Maybe this was it. The discussion had been quite positive. Her heart beat increased. She opened the mail hesitatingly searching for the congratulatory words. As she read the message, the shine in her eyes dimmed, her shoulders dropped. She kept the phone back in her bag. Don’t know whether it was the impact of the surroundings or the repeated defeat that she had experienced, her anger was much more muted. Or may be it was the crack prominent on the screen from the last such rejection that had made her slightly wiser.
To distract herself, she looked outside again. The colourful Gulmohars gave way to the mango trees in the perfect season for bearing fruits. The bus crossed many such trees, laden with green mangoes, small and big. She was taken in by the scene. Trees full of fruits, ready to be picked. And then she passed a few other trees, slightly younger with no fruits. Then a few more, who looked mature enough, but still did not seem to be adorned with greenish yellow treats. She was puzzled. She remembered the trivia her friend had mentioned; the friend who owned a mango orchard. It easily takes 15 years before a mango sapling matures into a tree that bears fruits. Also they don’t bear fruits every year. She had been quite fascinated by the fact and had never really believed it, until now.
That’s it. No need to feel sorry for these trees. It is just not their time ….this time. She instinctively reached out for her phone and read the rejection message again. This time she felt less devastated. It is not that I have stopped growing, she thought. I just don’t have my fruits …yet.
This is a semi fictional story written for the contest by Story Saturday.
