My Mother’s Prince - The Office Outing & The Bus Seat War - Part 6

 

The Office Outing & The Bus Seat War

One fine Wednesday afternoon, the manager made an announcement that shocked the entire office.

“Tomorrow, team outing.”

Everyone reacted as if salary had doubled.

Except him.

He reacted like someone had announced a public speaking competition.

“Where, sir?” someone asked.

“Beach. Evening. Just informal.”

Beach.

Crowd.
Sand.
Socializing.

His three greatest fears combined.

Meera leaned toward him.

“You’re coming, right?”

He hesitated. “Is it compulsory?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”

“It is?”

“No. But I’ll make it.”

He sighed.

Defeated by logic.

---

The next evening, the team gathered near the office entrance.

There was one van.

Too small.

Too optimistic.

He automatically positioned himself near the back, hoping invisibility still worked in vehicles.

It did not.

“Adjust, adjust,” the tea boy commanded like a transport minister.

He ended up squeezed between the window and… Meera.

He froze.

She didn’t.

“Relax,” she said casually. “I don’t bite.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You’re sitting like you’re in police custody.”

He adjusted slightly.

The van moved.

Every speed breaker became a trust exercise.

At one sudden brake, he almost lost balance.

She held the seat in front.

He held… air.

She laughed.

“Introvert with zero survival instincts.”

“I survive emotionally,” he replied quietly.

She blinked.

“Okay that was deep. Save that for poetry.”

---

At the beach, chaos began.

Shoes off.
Pants folded.
Photos taken in aggressive poses.

He stood near the shore, watching waves like they might ask interview questions.

Meera joined him.

“You don’t like crowds?”

“I don’t mind crowds,” he said.

“You’re lying.”

“Yes.”

She smiled.

They stood silently for a moment.

The sunset painted the sky orange.

Some colleagues were attempting volleyball. The ball had clearly resigned from professional life.

She suddenly said, “Race?”

“What?”

“Let’s run till that rock.”

“I don’t run.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know how to win.”

She stared at him.

“You don’t run because you’re scared of losing?”

He shrugged.

She removed her sandals and stepped forward.

“Fine. Then don’t run to win. Run to finish.”

Before he could protest, she ran.

He stood there, watching.

Then something inside nudged him.

Not ego.
Not competition.

Just… movement.

He ran.

Awkwardly. Unevenly. Sand entering shoes. Dignity leaving body.

He reached the rock slightly out of breath.

She was already there, smiling.

“You see? You finished.”

“I look stupid.”

“Everyone looks stupid while running.”

He thought about that.

Fair point.

---

They sat on the sand.

Waves crashing gently.

Office noise far behind.

She drew random lines on the sand with a stick.

“You know,” she said casually, “you think too much before doing simple things.”

“That’s called responsibility.”

“That’s called fear.”

He didn’t deny it.

After a pause, she asked softly,

“Why do you try so hard not to fail?”

He took time to answer.

“My mom believes I can do anything.”

“That’s sweet.”

“It’s heavy.”

She turned to him.

“I don’t want her to regret believing.”

Her expression softened.

“She won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“How?”

“Because you’re already trying.”

He didn’t respond.

The waves answered instead.

---

On the ride back, he didn’t fight for the corner seat.

He didn’t freeze when the van hit bumps.

He even laughed when the tea boy started singing off-key.

At one point, Meera nudged him.

“You smiled today.”

“I always smile.”

“No. Today it reached your eyes.”

He didn’t know how she noticed these things.

Maybe she observed aggressively.

---

That night, at home, his mother looked at him suspiciously.

“You have sand on your shoes.”

“Office outing.”

“Oh.”

Pause.

“With colleagues?”

“Yes.”

“Girl colleagues?”

He inhaled deeply.

“Yes, Amma.”

She tried to act casual.

“Good. Network.”

“Amma!”

She laughed.

“My prince is socializing.”

He smiled quietly.

Not prince.

Not king.

Just… a boy learning to step out of his own shadow.

And somewhere between running on sand and laughing in a crowded van —

He realized something subtle.

He didn’t hate the world outside.

He was just slowly getting used to it.