At that moment, Clinton gently knocked on the heavy wooden door of his father's study. A low, tired voice came from inside, "Come in."
Immediately Clinton pushed the door open and stepped into the quiet room. The air felt heavier than usual., he sat and his elbow resting on the armrest, his fingers gently pressing against his temple. Papers were scattered on the desk behind him, but he didn't seem to be working he just sat there, lost in thought.
Clinton furrowed his brows and walked closer. "Dad… what's going on? Why are you sitting here all moody like this?"
However His father slowly lifted his gaze, and Clinton noticed for the first time the weariness in his eyes. "You should be happy," Clinton continued with a soft laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "We'll be going back to our country tomorrow or maybe the next. I mean, this whole trip was a success, right? You should be smiling, not looking like you lost something."
Again his father didn't smile.
