A Misaligned Call The Lost Appointment

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In the afternoon, a gentle voice came through the phone.
“Good afternoon… kidney specialist… follow-up appointment…”

The words were like a yellowed sheet of paper, rustling as the wind blew across it.
A name surfaced—Francisca Grande,
born in 1944, now eighty years old.

In the scene, her figure seemed to sit on the worn chair of an old clinic,
under cold white lights, with faded health posters hanging on the walls.
Her gaze was a little cloudy, yet she was still waiting for a doctor named Badra.

On the other end, the phone landed in a stranger’s pocket.
They didn’t know this elderly woman,
only hearing a life’s name,
an appointment meant for somewhere else,
like a lost letter, stuffed into the wrong mailbox.

The air carried a subtle sense of misalignment:
a voice in need of help,
a hand reaching out,
yet knocking on the wrong door.

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