The tale of the Mango Ice Cream @ClubMedKani

The temperature was soaring. The wind was blowing with a purpose—whistling its siren under the canopy of an overcast sky. Her heart raced. His smile widened. She trembled at the thought of an adventure. And he lived to feel the adrenaline rush through his veins. He didn’t believe in dying a hundred deaths before the real deal. So he lived every second and loved every bit of it. She never understood this logic—and sometimes thought him to be a fool.

But today, she stood there, admiring his foolish display of courage. She had to admit, he never failed to amaze her, even after 28 years. “Are you sure about this?” She asked rhetorically. He looked back, a dimple appearing on his face, “What do you think?” And just like that, he sped off in a boat. She licked the fresh mango ice cream as it ran down the wafer cone—imitating the azure waters lapping at the sides of the little white vessel. She hadn’t tasted a better ice cream in a while. The fresh mango pulp interlaced with the rich texture of creamy goodness was the only thing that could calm her nerves as she waited for her son’s return.

But the waves were rough and hungry, making her mind wander in different directions every once in a while. He had been a Master Scuba Instructor—her son. But every time he stepped into those fateful waters, she felt a chill go down her spine.

Just then, she saw the boat reveal itself in the blue horizon. She sprung out of her sun bed beaming at the sight of the white speck bobbing towards her direction. He got off, flushed pink with excitement and limped towards her, “Mom, stop stress eating again. I’m fine.”

She let out a nervous laugh as she saw him. To the world, he was a cripple. But his spirit was far from crushed.

 

 

 

 

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