Ah, poor lad.
He speaks to his mum seated beside him on the bus. In a sad but composed tone, he says "you lie to me", his eyes glistening. "You say it wasn't there but when I went home, it was there."
Silence.
Nay a reply. Neither a rebuff nor a reprimand.
"You lie to me. Which mother lies to her son?" he utters, his face full of blatant disappointment. In those few minutes, the bridge of trust built over the years has crumbled. The firm foundations of integrity and honesty that shaped his life are now wobbling, and cracks of distrust and hurt appear.
Time stops. All those seated around are listening intently, more attentive than a student in school, or the man on the street watching the counting and recounting and recounting of votes.
As I alight from the bus, my eyes meet with the other passengers, and the thoughts exchanged are the same.
Ah, poor lad.
