The meeting room is small, the kind of space that absorbs sound and amplifies tension.
Rows of chairs are filled with familiar faces, each carrying their own silent burdens.
The air conditioner hums in the background, a futile attempt to cut through the thick, sticky atmosphere.
I take a seat near the back, preferring anonymity in a crowd that feels too close.
The girl sits with her family, eyes wide and alert, her presence a silent challenge to the suits up front.
Whispers ripple through the room, a low hum of speculation and doubt.
“Will they really address it?” someone near me murmurs.
Another voice, hushed and skeptical, replies, “Doubt it. They never do.”
Minutes tick by, each one stretching the silence further.
Finally, the meeting begins.
