Every love has a story. How you first met. Who said the first word.
Even mine does.
Seven o'clock is not the time anyone will think of falling in love. But as our worlds collided, we did just that. In a moment...
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CHAPTER 3
Two weeks after classes started, I woke up early to prepare for school. After I'd taken a bath and brushed my teeth, I ended up staring at the full-length mirror for fifteen minutes.
There was a zit on my forehead. It was red. Adjusting my black-rimmed glasses, I carefully looked at my reflection, wondering what to do with my zit. I didn't own any make-up, except for the tinted lip gloss that I used to prevent my lips from cracking.
"Just comb your hair, Ela," I told myself, reaching for the brush. This had to do. I shouldn't even be getting this worked up.
Straightening my uniform, I closed the door of my room and headed downstairs. Things were bound to change, and it felt like that these days. But when my right foot hit the broken step on our wooden staircase, I grimaced at the thought that maybe some things ought to remain the same. While I was caught up in my thoughts or memorizing our scheduled lessons for the day, I frequently forgot that half of the third step of our staircase was missing, and that I always ended up stepping on the wrong half.
Every morning.
Calming my inner wailings, I was about to head out of the door when I heard my mom say, "Ela, where are you going? Breakfast is here."
Even if I did it against my will, I turned around and went back to the kitchen. I noticed that the big mustache mug, which the three of us never used—because it was only meant for display—was missing from its usual place. I used it to check how often he visited our place. Looking around, I found it in the kitchen sink; there were coffee marks left on it.
"Morning, Kath." I gave my sister a peck on the cheek. Kath subtly smiled, moving the carton of milk closer to me. I had no desire for anything but a cup of milk that would hopefully help me get through until the first break. "Thank you."
"Is that all you're having?" Mom, who was blow-drying her hair, asked. She was dressed up in a black slacks and a blazer of the same color placed over a white top. She was currently working as an office manager for my dad's friend, who was a pediatrician.
"So, first day? Are you nervous?" I turned my attention to Kath instead, playing with her newly cut bangs. My sister and I both got our mom's hair color—shiny, coal black. Then, moving closer to her, I whispered, "Wish I were you. First day for you is like another day at the playground."
Kath shook her head in disagreement, obviously telling me it wasn't like that.
I smiled in response.
"Micaela, eat some food. Milk is not breakfast," Mom said, scolding me. "There are some pancakes, a box of cereal right beside you, and—"
"I need to go now. Don't want to be late," I interrupted her, pointing to the clock.
"But it's only six thirty," Mom argued back. "The bus won't—"
