The shrilling alarm sounded far and removed from the world Abigael Brooks was in at the moment… it was as if it was part of the dream. She didn't even make an attempt to turn, and the shrill went on until it automatically snoozed.
The few hours she had slept were completely insufficient to alleviate the kind of fatigue she was experiencing and that sweet morning slumber was beginning to draw her deep once more when the alarm came back again.
"Oh god, not again," she moaned, pulling the duvet right up over her head as if she were hoping it would shut out the noise.
Well, she was wrong.
Her arm shot out and began to fumble on the bedside table. A moment later, she had the phone in her hand and was about to hit snooze when suddenly she froze.
"Oh crap," Abigael grumbled once more as she realized she couldn't afford to do that.
True, she still felt worn out even after the few hours of sleep, but if she snoozed this alarm again, God knows her son would be late for school—worse yet, he might not go at all.
She had noticed that Abel had never appeared enthusiastic about going to school and often found the slightest excuse to stay home. If she allowed this to go on, she would likely receive another summons from his school, and God knew with her tight schedule, she couldn't afford anything of the kind.
"Abeeel," she called out loudly, hoping that maybe she could save herself from leaving the bed after all. But after a few more calls, she knew it wasn't going to work. That boy might well hear her, but he was probably ignoring her call.
"Dang it," she furiously threw off her blanket and reached for a sandal.
" Just wait for me there, boy,"
Abigael burst into her son's bedroom with a furious look on her face, but the moment her eye landed on the bed, she froze.
She stood in the doorway, her mind reeling as she took in the sight of her son's bedroom.
The bed was neatly made, clothes sorted in the laundry basket, and everything else arranged with care in the wardrobe. For a moment, she wondered if she was in the wrong room. But no, this was definitely Abel's room—she had checked on him just a few hours past midnight, and he had greeted her as usual.
"I'll be damned," she whispered to herself, dropping the sandal that had been poised to become a weapon. This was not the son she knew.
"Abel!" she called again, her voice echoing through the quiet house. Still, there was no answer.
Her heart thudding in her chest, Abigael moved toward the living room, but before she could reach it, a faint scent caught her attention. It was sweet, soothing, and familiar—chamomile tea. Her brow furrowed as she followed the scent, leading her to the kitchen.
There, in the middle of the kitchen, stood Abel, completely oblivious to her presence. He had his headphones on, his head bobbing to some rhythm she couldn't hear. Abigael watched, stunned, as he carefully applied honey to a rice cake. The steam from the kettle drifted around him, filling the room with the gentle aroma of chamomile tea.
"What on earth…?" Abigael muttered under her breath, barely believing what she was seeing. Since when did Abel take chamomile tea with rice cake? And more importantly, since when did he prepare his own breakfast?
She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she observed her son. He seemed different—focused, almost serene. This wasn't the disorganized, reluctant boy she had to drag out of bed every morning.
Abigael cleared her throat loudly, trying to get his attention. When that didn't work, she reached out and gently tapped his shoulder.
Abel jumped, yanking off his headphones and spinning around to face her. His eyes were wide with surprise, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something she couldn't quite place—a mix of determination and excitement.
"Mom! You scared me," he said, placing a hand over his chest as if trying to calm his racing heart.
"What's going on here, Abel?" Abigael asked, her voice laced with suspicion. "Since when do you make breakfast, and what's with the chamomile tea?"
Abel hesitated, glancing down at the rice cake in his hand. "I, uh… just thought I'd try something different today. You know, start the day off right."
Abigael's eyes narrowed further. "Start the day off right? Abel, are you feeling okay? You never drink chamomile tea, and you certainly don't make your own breakfast. Are you sick?"
"No, Mom, I'm fine," Abel quickly replied, offering a small smile. "I just… figured I'd make a change. You've been on my case about my terrible diet, so I thought you'd be happy."
Abigael's expression softened slightly as she absorbed his words. "Well, I have been saying you need to eat better," she admitted, though she still looked at him with a hint of concern. "Just don't overdo it, you're still growing."
"Don't worry, Mom, I will be fine."
Abigael patted her son's back and reached around for the steaming kettle.
"Enough for two?" she asked, already reaching for a cup.
Abel nodded between a mouthful.
***
His heart was palpitating with tension; he had never been good at lying to his mother, and she had always seemed to sniff it out even before he said it, but it seemed he had somehow pulled this off.
He felt mild relief at having overcome the hurdle of his diet change.
"By the way, where is your bike? I never saw it in the yard yesterday."
Abel almost choked on the cake, the relief he had been feeling a short while ago disappearing almost immediately.
he had been too engrossedin his vocal exercise that he had completly forgoten of the previous day incident
he however knew better than to push his luck; he had successfully lied to his mother once already, and knowing her, the second lie would be caught out right away.
"Oh no… I am getting late for school," he exclaimed as he looked at the wall clock.
Laying his cup down, he reached for his backpack, which was resting on the counter.
"Bye, Mom," he waved with the piece of cake still in his hand before bolting for the door, but not before he heard his mother screaming for him to answer her.
Normally, with the bicycle, he just had to ride for about fifteen minutes. But knowing that the bike was out of the picture, he had gotten up early enough to give himself enough time to jog to school.
This was kind of killing two birds with one stone since, as the app had suggested, morning routines were reserved for physical fitness. His belly muscles hurt from the jogging and the pushups he had done that morning, but Abel didn't give much thought to this.
His mind was already dreading while rehearsing the story he was going to give his mother when she got back.
"Shit!" he cursed as he momentarily halted and looked back as if planning to run back to his house. In his rush to escape his mother, he hadn't even taken bus fare for the evening.
"Damn," he cursed in frustration as he resumed his run. It would be a lonely journey back home, and for a moment he hoped that Hilsa hadn't gotten her bike fixed. That way, at least his journey would be a little more tolerable.