I saw a pregnant woman, very young, in her twenties. She was sitting on a sofa, leaning against several cushions, her head tilted as she gazed at her phone with a sorrowful expression.
Across from the sofa was a television with a projection screen, playing some kind of poetry-recitation program. The host was gentle and serene, reciting poems in a lovely voice. The background music was just as pleasant, soothing the spirit.
Yet the sorrow on the pregnant woman's face did not fade.
Her phone screen showed her call history. Judging by the time, she had ended a call not long ago.
After running her fingers over the phone for a while, the pregnant woman finally straightened up and picked up the remote beside her, changing the channel.
The poetry program seemed to be something she had selected on demand. After she changed the channel, the screen displayed a list of channel numbers.
She cycled through several TV stations, then returned to the menu and selected the replay option.
She found the news channel and pulled up the midday news.
Before long, the familiar news intro began to play.
The pregnant woman impatiently pressed fast-forward, occasionally hitting play to watch for two seconds before immediately speeding ahead again.
A scene inside an office building flashed by. The pregnant woman quickly pressed play.
The news moved on to the next shot, showing survivors being helped out of the office building.
She dropped the remote and stared intently at the screen, leaning forward, her anxiety plain to see.
The brief news segment soon ended.
She immediately raised her hand, found a name in her contacts, and made a call.
The other person's phone was turned off.
The pregnant woman lowered her hand in disappointment, and her phone fell onto her thigh.
I