I was supposed to be afraid of dogs, but I wasn't?

Who could be scared of such a cute little thing?

Definitely not me…

On this sudden realization, my eyes widened.

"Wait, why am I not afraid of him?" I asked, panicking.

"Right now, are you panicking because of your phobia or because you don't feel scared?" Mom asked.

"Because I found the dog cute!" I screeched.

Mom's grim expression slowly transformed into one of excitement and she screamed in joy.

"It worked!" she exclaimed.

"What worked?" dad questioned.

"The formula! " she exclaimed, squealing in joy.

"But, didn't you say that the formula wasn't complete?" I asked, while ruffling the brown terrier resting on my lap.

"Yes, you knucklehead, but the formula still has the healing composition. See, just because the formula wasn't entirely formed, doesn't make it any different, in case of this reaction. But considering that it is taking its effect," she trailed off, "how long ago, did you take the solution?"

I looked at my watch, to estimate, "Around six hours ago, I guess."

She took a moment to think, "Hmm and did you eat anything till ten minutes ago?"

"Not after the chemical," I recalled.

"But before, right?" she asked.

And then she smiled big.

"Austin," she hugged me tight, "There is a chance that you'd survive!"

I looked at her confused. Just a moment ago she told me that I had zero possibility, and now?

Women! God, they are so confusing.

"Huh?" I must have looked pretty clueless, as she scooped me in for a hug and whispered in my ear, "You, sweetie, may have found the cure."

I was flabbergasted. A business student finds a cure to some disease? Ya, right!

"Look Austin," she began, explaining, "I'm not very certain about the whole working of the formula. From all the given conditions, all I can speculate is that the cure was half-formed, when consumed, and from our research it was shown that the signs of healing start when 75 percent of the reaction is done. Which basically means that there was a catalyst involved and again, purely from hypothesis, since you had gobbled the formula on an empty stomach, I think that the Hydrochloric acid in your stomach was the catalyst, which sped up the formation, thereby guaranteeing a longer life span," she concluded in one breath, talking more to herself than me.

I certainly didn't understand a word. I stood absolutely still with the brown terrier in my arms. I knew I had to respond, but what could I possibly say to that?

Lucky for me, dad made his way towards mom and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, "Darling, I think your science is messing with your head," he commented to a wide-eyed and giggling mom.

"No," she exclaimed, "You don't get it, do you?"

Poor dad, who was a business student like me, shook his head in irritation.

"Ugh!" she groaned, "You incompetant idiots!" she exclaimed, "His life span just got extended to a year! "

To this, dad froze, a slow smile growing on his lips, as he took my mom in for an embrace.

"I'm so glad I married a scientist," he rejoiced, while I pouted.

"It was her ridiculous experiments that put us in this situation in the first place," I stated, sternly.

I found it utterly stupid that we were celebrating the fact that the chances of my survival were higher. I mean, exactly one and a half days ago, I was a normal boy, estimated to live to a ripe age of eighty-two.

"Tone down, young man," mom commanded, which caused a tiny shiver to run down my spine; I even heard the little puppy in my arms whimper, "I give you full right to bad-mouth my cooking, criticize my son, for all I care. As a matter of fact, talk bad about your dad, but don't you dare, say a word about my subject or experiments, if you want to live to see another sunrise," she threatened.

Her threat was not to be taken lightly. Mom was the terrifying one of the pair. Dad's threats would pale in comparison to moms. She could make my knees buckle with a simple stare, while dad's literally made me laugh.

'Don't use your phone or I'll draw you a moustache in your sleep,' or 'We have guests over, better be on your best behaviour or I'll pull out your embarrassing baby photos.'

Mom's not-so-empty threat was followed by a heavy silence, which did not get dragged on for long.

"Hope I was clear enough," she started, "Now the current situation would give you plenty of time to get into contact with the Head Scientist. I will try to communicate with her. "

Dad, who was standing wordlessly by her side, finally asked, "So what's the plan?"

"We track down the HS, talk to her, help her solve this and get this ordeal done with," mom beamed.

"Wait," dad started, then scrunched his nose in confusion, "She's a girl?"

This earned his an effective smack from my mother, who grumbled something along the lines of, 'like father, like son'.

I tried to deflate the odd tension between my parents by raising another question, "How are you going to contact her?"

"Well we have communicator devices that tend to deflect satellite locations, but show a location around 300 kilometer away from the actual point," she stated.

"How are you planning to track her then?" dad asked, his voice losing his usual peppiness on seeing our faces deflate at that question.

Suddenly, a light bulb seemed to go off in mom's head as she smiled, "Dez! Your Best Freckled Friend, isn't he a tracker?" mom asked.

I nodded enthusiastically, as dad went to the other room to call Dez and explain the situation.

"Mom, promise me you'll answer me sincerely, when I ask you this question," I told her, taking a deep breath, "Are you 100 percent sure that I'll survive?" I asked, vulnerability lacing my voice.

She hugged me tightly, as I let go of the little dog in my arms.

"Yes, dear," mom sighed, "I believe in her and I know for sure that she will do a wonderful job at keeping you alive."

"You trust her that much?" I find myself asking her.

"Yes, sweetie," mom reassured, "She has actually made several contributions to the field of science. Remember the Purple Eye disease outbreak in Louisiana, that miraculously disappeared? Well, she made the cure for it, but since the work was done illegally, she did not gain recognition. There's a lot more she has done like anonymously opening schools and hospitals in various sects of Texas, but most of her research was actively towards the side-effects of the SMARTIFY movement. The foundation, SURF, was started by someone she knows and is now maintained by her and her best friend."

Hearing this, I felt an emotion of growing envy in the pith of my stomach. The way my mother spoke of her with utter adoration, made me feel jealous.

"Don't be jealous, baby," my mom cooed, "I will always be proud of you. In my world, you'll come first."

I smiled at her act of affection. But somewhere in my mind, I had this crippling fear that all this effort would be for nothing. Would I be forgotten, if I failed in the process? Having phobias is horrible!

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell, which was probably Dez.

The most prominent feature about Dez, apart from his colourful personality, is his love for pranks. He makes me squirm uncomfortably, by using one of my phobias against me.

Dez is, however, one of the very few people, who is capable of making 'being phobic' an enjoyable experience.

I opened the door in excitement, only to have a rubber snake thrown onto my face.

"Very funny," I commented, grinning at his baffled face.

"Why aren't you scared?" he asked urgently.

"Umm it's-" I started, but he cut me off.

"Austin! Wake up," he yelled, slapping my face, "This is a snake," he started wiggling the toy in front of my face, "Now, get scared!" he ordered.

I still looked at him oddly.

Seeing that he couldn't get the reaction he expected from me, his face fell, "But, what about your Ophidiophobia? " he asked in a small voice.

"Long story," I said, inviting him in.

"I've got a long time to live," he commented jokingly.

"Unfortunately, I don't have that long," I retorted.