Looking happy and composed,
he sat in the chair,
looking sad and depressed,
she sat in the adjacent chair.
Well-attired he was,
clumsily dressed she was,
he was in his early fifties,
and grey haired,
and she was in her teens.
She was drowsing all along,
he was looking around,
the drawing room packed to capacity.
He saw others,
throwing their glances at his daughter,
with eyes full of compassion and sorrow.
He felt a lump in his throat,
yet he tried his best,
to look composed and happy,
as if nothing serious had happened.
His efforts to,
cheer her up went in vein,
yet she tried to gift,
him a pale sleepy smile before,
lapsing into her depressing thoughts.
Waiting for their turn,
both sat silent and moody.
Any moment they would,
be called to meet the Doctor,
what must be her problem,,
the traumatic looks of the girl in her teens,
each one must have been,
asking to himself/herself.
In these horrendous times ,
in a city where safe existence has no guarantee,
where anything could happen to anyone anytime,
only he and she knew,
the gravity of the situation in her life till ,
her pains are presented,
before the Doctor sitting inside.
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