by Paul
We trudged through the doors of the airport, dragging our bags behind us. Twenty-four hours of plane rides left only a three hour taxi ride to complete our journey.
Our eyes scanned the crowds searching for a welcome sign or waving hand. Nothing. I patrolled the crowds looking for our friends. But they were nowhere to be found. A terrifying thought settled in: What if they forgot?
An hour passed. Midnight was fast upon us. And still no sign of anyone from the the children’s home. We turned to plan B – spending a night in one of the city’s overpriced hotels.
“Paul,” an Indian man called out just as we were about to leave for the hotel. “Are you Paul?”
I nodded.
“I’m Kishor.” He extended his hand. “We are late because of the traffic,” he said. “Come, I will take you to your car.”
Four hours and a pit stop later, we pulled into the Children’s Home. Exhausted, we fell into our beds and slept until noon!