I can’t wait to go home.

2 min read

I glance at the clock—ten minutes to go. The office is quiet, and the air conditioner’s hum and the occasional phone beep are the only sounds. I sigh, rubbing my eyes and leaning back in my chair. My headset feels heavy, like a weight pressing down on me. It has been a long day of endless calls, frustrated customers, and the ever-present pressure to meet targets.

My computer screen glows with the remnants of the last call’s notes. I try to focus, to push through the final minutes, but my mind keeps drifting. I think about my dinner waiting at home, the soft bed calling my name. The thought of the matatu ride ahead feels like another hurdle, but at least it is a step closer to home.

The office lights seem brighter, almost glaring as if mocking my tiredness. My shoulders ache from sitting in the same position for hours. I adjust my headset, but it doesn’t help. I glance around at my colleagues, some looking just as weary. We exchange knowing looks—everyone is feeling it.

I tap my fingers on the desk, willing the seconds to move faster. The clock ticks slowly, each minute stretching longer than the last. I can’t wait to leave, to step outside and breathe in the cool evening air. I imagine the relief of dropping my bag at the door, kicking off my shoes, and finally relaxing.

Nine minutes to go.

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