Waiting · Second Shift · Pulse Beat
The results took eleven weeks. It was the longest spring of her life. She worked her shifts. She slept. She went to her mother's on Sundays, and ate, and listened to the neighbours. She did not look…
The results took eleven weeks.
It was the longest spring of her life. She worked her shifts. She slept. She went to her mother's on Sundays, and ate, and listened to the neighbours. She did not look at the list when it went up on the website at midnight, and did not look the next morning either. Sunita phoned, three times, in agitation.
On the fourth day Dr Menon came to the ward at six in the morning, in his creased coat, with a printout in his hand. He stood at the station. She was writing up the night's notes and did not raise her head.
"Fatima."
"I'm busy, doctor."
"Fatima." He put the paper on the desk. "Your rank is two thousand, one hundred and ten."
She looked at it. She looked at him. "Out of?"
"Four hundred thousand."
"That's..." She could not do the arithmetic. She could not do anything.
"It's a seat," said Dr Menon. "In a government college. Very probably. You'll need to go to counselling and be sensible." He smiled for the first time in weeks. "But it's a seat."