The meeting is set to start in fifteen minutes, and the room begins to fill. People mill about, some whispering in tight circles, others seated with arms crossed, waiting.
The director arrives, clipboard in hand, and begins setting up at the front of the room. There’s a sense of expectation, a hope that finally, someone will address the issues that have been festering here.
The old man shifts in his seat, his eyes fixed on the director. I wonder if he’ll speak up today, if he’ll find the words to voice the frustration that’s written all over his face.
“Do you think they’ll listen to us?” Claire asks, breaking the silence between us.
“I hope so,” I reply, though my voice lacks conviction. “They have to, right?”
Claire offers a small, tight-lipped smile. “I guess we’ll see.”
The girl and her friends settle into seats at the back, their laughter echoing off the walls. I watch as the director glances their way, a flicker of unease crossing his features before he turns back to his notes.
There’s a tension in the air, a feeling that today could either bring change or confirm our fears.
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