The forgotten icecream

 Nevaan’s father has promised him to get ice-cream on the way back from work in the evening. The first day he forgets and promises to get it the next day. The same thing happens the next day but at least he remembers and promises to get it the following day. The same thing gets repeated for three days. On the fourth day, his father, as if at complacency’s cusp, not only forgets to bring the ice-cream, but forgets to verbally renew the promise of bringing it the next day. It means, with the promise gone, he won’t bring it at all. Now this is too much for little Nevaan. His kaleidoscopic dreams shattered, his ballooning robust optimism gone, he is inconsolable and keeps crying for half an hour, face down on the bed and the sheet almost wet with lamentations. His small body is swaddled with waves of sobs cusped with censorious overtones. They have no clue about the reason for such teary outpour, so keep asking why is he crying. Finally he shouts with meaningfully accelerating pain among flooded sobs, ‘I won’t tell! And I won’t eat it even if you bring it!’