An urgent knock rasped on Oma's door, interrupting the quiet rhythm of her afternoon. With a resigned sigh, she set aside her embroidery and pushed herself up from her comfortable chair. The persistent pattern of knocking was all too familiar, and Oma could already guess the identity of the visitor—it could only be her daughter, Kayla. She had sent her on a simple errand, and Kayla should have returned by now.
Frowning at the impatience displayed by the repeated knocks, Oma called out towards the door, "I'm coming!" Her voice carried through the room, echoing off the walls, and she was relieved when the knocking finally ceased. Oma couldn't help but shake her head at the lack of patience displayed by the younger generation.
