I woke up the next morning to the sound of my alarm buzzing like it had a personal grudge against me. For a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the noise sink into my bones. My body felt heavy, like I'd barely rested at all, even though I'd gone to bed earlier than usual.
The events of the previous day replayed themselves slowly in my head. The literature practice, the forgotten notebook, Uncle David's disastrous cooking experiment, Nora's calm presence, Ryan's notes saving me at the last minute. It all blended together into a strange mix of stress and quiet relief.
I rolled onto my side and reached for my phone, silencing the alarm. A notification blinked at the top of my screen.
**Ryan:** *Sent everything you might need. Let me know if anything's missing.*
I exhaled, some of the tension easing from my chest. I typed back a quick thank-you before forcing myself out of bed. The cold floor bit into my feet as I stood, and I groaned softly, already wishing the day would slow down.
Getting ready felt automatic. Shower, uniform, hair pulled back neatly. I stared at my reflection a little longer than usual, checking for signs of exhaustion. I didn't look terrible, just… quiet. Like something in me was rearranging itself without asking for permission.
Downstairs, the kitchen was suspiciously calm.
Too calm.
Uncle David stood at the counter, arms crossed, staring at a perfectly normal plate of toast.
"Is it safe?" I asked.
He glanced at me, offended. "That depends. Are you questioning my redemption arc?"
I picked up a piece of toast and sniffed it. "It smells… normal."
"Exactly," he said proudly. "Progress."
I smiled despite myself and took a bite. It tasted fine.
As I grabbed my bag, my mind drifted briefly to my notebook, still sitting somewhere in the literature classroom. I'd get it today. I had to. The thought tugged at me as I stepped outside and headed for school.
The morning air was cool, brushing against my skin gently. By the time I reached the school gates, the familiar noise wrapped around me—voices overlapping, laughter, footsteps echoing against concrete. Everything felt the same, yet subtly different, like I was noticing details I'd ignored before.
I spotted Lara and Jade near the lockers.
"Morning," Lara said brightly. "You look like you survived something."
"I did," I replied. "Barely."
Jade smiled knowingly. "Notebook?"
I sighed. "Notebook, like always huh?"
They both laughed softly, and the tension loosened just a bit. Talking to them always did that. They didn't demand explanations or dramatize things. They just… existed with me.
Classes passed quickly. Math, history, science. By the time literature approached, my nerves had settled into a dull hum rather than outright panic.
When I walked into the literature classroom, my eyes went straight to the desk where I'd been sitting the day before.
My notebook was still there.
Relief washed over me so strongly I had to pause for a second. I grabbed it, running my fingers over the worn cover like I needed proof it was real.
"Looks like it waited for you," Ryan said lightly from behind me.
I turned to see him leaning against a desk, relaxed as always.
"You have no idea how stressed I was," I said.
He shrugged. "Crisis avoided. That's a win."
Ethan arrived moments later, his presence quiet but noticeable, like it always was. He gave a brief nod in greeting, nothing more. No smile that lingered. No look that held too long. Just… normal.
And somehow, that felt important.
We settled into our seats, the three of us falling into an easy rhythm as the teacher reviewed our upcoming presentation. There was less awkwardness now, fewer pauses where no one knew what to say. We talked when we needed to, listened when it wasn't our turn.
At one point, Ryan made a comment about our chosen text that was so unexpectedly funny I laughed out loud before I could stop myself.
Ethan glanced at me, surprised, then shook his head slightly, amused.
It was just a moment but it stayed with me.
After class, we gathered our things.
"We're meeting later to rehearse, right?" Ryan asked.
I nodded. "Yeah. I'll bring my notebook this time. I promise."
He grinned. "I'd hope so."
The rest of the day passed without incident. When the final bell rang, I packed my bag slowly, suddenly not in as much of a hurry to leave.
Outside, Lara and Jade waited for me.
"Did I imagine it," Lara said casually, "or did you laugh in literature today?"
I raised an eyebrow. "I laugh."
"Not like that," Jade added gently.
I hesitated, then shrugged. "Ryan said something funny."
"Mhm," Lara said, unconvinced. "Sure."
We walked together, their teasing light and familiar. It didn't bother me. If anything, it made me smile.
When I got home later, the house felt warm and quiet. Uncle David was on the couch, flipping through channels.
"How was school?" he asked.
"Better," I said honestly.
He nodded, like that was enough.
In my room, I opened my notebook and flipped through the pages, just to be sure it was still intact. I hadn't been able to check it well in school.
Apart from literature notes, I wrote personal poems in it so it was kinda precious to me.
Later that night, after I'd finally eaten something that didn't come from Uncle David's frying pan, I sat cross‑legged on my bed with my lamp on low. The house had gone quiet in that familiar way it always did after nine. Uncle David retreated to his room with a documentary playing softly, and the walls settled into that comforting silence that made thoughts louder than they should be.
I spread my textbooks around me, pretending I was organized. In reality, my mind kept drifting. Not to school exactly... more to the feeling of it. The pressure, the expectations, the way everything always seemed to move faster than I was ready for.
I flipped through my literature textbook, rereading a paragraph I'd already read twice. The words blurred together. My phone buzzed beside me.
Ryan: Sent everything I could find. Let me know if you need more.
I stared at the message for a moment before replying.
Me: Thank you. Seriously.
A few seconds passed.
Ryan: No problem. You okay though? You sounded stressed earlier.
I hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen. I wasn't sure how honest I wanted to be. There was a difference between being overwhelmed and wanting to explain why.
Me: Just one of those days.
That felt safe enough.
I set my phone aside and leaned back against my pillows, staring at the ceiling. My room felt smaller at night, like it was holding me in place. I liked that. It reminded me that no matter how chaotic things got outside, there was at least one space that stayed predictable.
My eyes drifted to the small framed photo on my desk. It was old, and it's edges were slightly worn, colors faded. My parents stood on either side of me, smiling too brightly like they were trying to convince themselves the picture meant permanence. I hadn't moved it in years, but sometimes I thought about taking it down. Not because it hurt, exactly... but because it reminded me of how quickly things could change without asking permission.
Uncle David had done his best. He always did. But there were moments, like this one, when I felt suspended between two versions of myself—the one who used to have everything figured out, and the one who was still learning how to stand steady.
I sighed and forced myself back to work.
I copied Ryan's notes carefully, making sure my handwriting stayed neat even when my wrist started to ache. The rhythm of writing grounded me. Sentence by sentence, the anxiety loosened its grip.
At some point, I heard a soft knock.
"Tasha?" Uncle David's voice came through the door. "You alive in there?"
"Barely," I replied.
He peeked in, holding a mug. "I made hot chocolate. Real one this time. No experiments."
I raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe you."
He smiled. "Okay, fine. There might be cinnamon."
I laughed despite myself and accepted the mug. The warmth seeped into my hands immediately. "Thanks."
He leaned against the doorframe, watching me for a moment. "You've been quiet today."
"I'm just tired."
He nodded like he understood more than I was saying. "You don't have to have everything figured out, you know."
"I know," I said softly.
After he left, I finished the last page of notes and closed my book. I stretched, joints popping quietly, then glanced at the clock. It was later than I thought.
I slid under the covers, phone back in my hand. Another notification lit up the screen.
Unknown Number: Hey. This is Ethan. Ryan gave me your number—hope that's okay. Just wanted to say good luck tomorrow.
My heart did that light, inconvenient thing again.
I stared at the message longer than necessary, then typed back.
Me: It's okay. Thanks. See you tomorrow.
No emojis. No overthinking.
I turned the phone face‑down and closed my eyes. The day replayed itself in fragments—the smell of burnt pancakes, Nora's calm voice, Ryan's messages, the quiet comfort of my room.
Tomorrow would bring its own version of chaos. I knew that.
But tonight, wrapped in familiar sounds and steady warmth, I let myself rest.
For now, that was enough.