If there's one skill I've mastered over the years, it's the fine art of procrastination. Sure, some people might call it laziness, but I prefer to think of it as strategic prioritization. Why tackle chores or homework right away when there are far more interesting things to do? Like finishing that game I've been working on for weeks, watching videos online, or perfecting the "chaos aesthetic" that's taken over my room.
To my mom, my room was a total mess. To me, it was a masterpiece of organized disorder. Clothes were scattered everywhere—layered in piles that only I could decode. There were "things I'll probably wear again," "things I'm pretending I'll wash soon," and "things I should have thrown out weeks ago." My desk was covered in precarious towers of textbooks, a few notebooks I hadn't touched since last semester, and a small army of empty soda cans. Somewhere beneath all that was my gaming console, probably my most prized possession.
Mom didn't understand. She'd come in every few days, throw up her hands, and sigh dramatically, as if I'd let her down on some deeply personal level. But hey, Einstein said a cluttered desk is a sign of a creative mind, right? Not that I was planning to compare myself to Einstein or anything, but still.
This particular Tuesday started off like any other day: with my alarm blaring, and me smacking it into silence at least three times before I finally gave in and rolled out of bed. I glanced at my phone. 7:45. School started in fifteen minutes. Perfect. My "five-minute-get-ready" routine was about to be put to the test once again.
I stumbled to the bathroom, gave my hair a half-hearted finger-comb, and brushed my teeth with all the enthusiasm of a zombie. A quick swipe of deodorant, and I was done. I pulled on the first pair of jeans I could find and grabbed a hoodie off the back of my chair—sniff test: passed. Good enough. I didn't need to look like I was going to the Oscars. Just needed to avoid looking like I'd rolled out of a dumpster (which, admittedly, was a low bar I sometimes failed to clear).
I grabbed my backpack, which was slumped in the corner of my room like it had given up on life, and slung it over my shoulder. On my way out, I nearly tripped over a pizza box that I vaguely remembered ordering last week. Probably should've thrown that out days ago, but hey—who has the time?
Just as I was about to make a clean getaway, Mom's voice floated down the hallway, sharp and accusing. "Ahmed! What time do you call this?"
I turned, offering her my most innocent smile. "Early enough to be considered fashionably late?"
She crossed her arms, raising one eyebrow in that mom way that said she wasn't buying it. "Have you even eaten breakfast?"
"Yep!" I lied, backing toward the door. "Totally grabbed a granola bar on my way out."
She looked skeptical, but before she could grill me any further, I made my escape, dashing out the front door with all the speed and grace of someone fleeing the scene of a crime. The fall air was crisp, biting at my face as I jogged down the street. I could already hear the school bell ringing in my head, and I wasn't about to add another tardy slip to my collection.
I reached the school just in time, slipping into first period as the bell rang. My friends, Liam and Amina, were already in their seats, giving me matching looks of disbelief as I slid into mine.
"Dude, you're like a ninja," Liam whispered, grinning. "Every day, right on the edge. One of these days, you're actually gonna be late."
"Hey, I made it, didn't I?" I shot back, pulling out a notebook and flipping it open to a random page to make it look like I'd been paying attention from the start. "Besides, the universe loves people who live on the edge."
"Yeah, the edge of a detention slip," Amina muttered, though there was a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
I shrugged, leaning back in my chair and pretending to look focused as our teacher launched into a monologue about geometric transformations. Math was definitely not my favorite subject, but I had perfected the art of looking like I was interested while my brain drifted off to other things. Mostly, I daydreamed about the game I'd be playing as soon as I got home, wondering if today would be the day I finally defeated the last boss.
Classes dragged on, one after the other, a parade of lectures and assignments that felt more like background noise than anything else. By the time lunch rolled around, I was practically sprinting to the cafeteria, my stomach growling loud enough to announce my arrival.
I spotted Liam and Amina at our usual table, already deep into some conversation about the upcoming school dance. Liam was waving his arms dramatically, probably trying to convince Amina to come up with some plan involving costumes or fake spiders, knowing him.
"Guess who decided to show up!" I said, plopping down beside them with my lunch tray.
Amina raised an eyebrow. "Guess who's barely avoiding being marked late every day?"
"Hey, it's a talent," I said, grinning as I unwrapped my sandwich. "Why be early when you can be just-in-time?"
"Just-in-time to end up in detention, you mean," Amina replied, rolling her eyes. She always tried to act like she was above my antics, but I knew she secretly enjoyed them. Amina was one of those people who seemed like she had it all together—smart, organized, responsible—basically my complete opposite.
"Speaking of just-in-time," Liam said, his eyes lighting up as he leaned across the table. "Did you hear about the haunted house they're setting up for Halloween? Apparently, it's supposed to be super intense. Like, they had to sign waivers and everything."
Amina scoffed, but there was a glint of interest in her eyes. "Isn't it just some run-of-the-mill haunted house? They're not actually gonna have ghosts jumping out of closets."
"No, no, this one's legit!" Liam insisted, leaning in like he was about to reveal some top-secret information. "My cousin went last year, and he said they make you go in alone, one at a time. No phones, no flashlights, nothing."
I raised an eyebrow. "And your cousin survived?"
"Barely," Liam replied, grinning. "But hey, that's what makes it fun. So… are you guys in?"
I considered it. "Sounds like a great way to add some trauma to my life," I said, though I couldn't deny there was a tiny part of me that was intrigued. "Sure, I'm in. But only if you go first, Liam."
Liam clapped me on the shoulder. "That's the spirit!"
Amina sighed, shaking her head, but I could tell she was secretly excited too. Halloween was still a few weeks away, but already the school was buzzing with plans, rumors, and challenges about who would survive the haunted house with the fewest screams.
After lunch, we went our separate ways, and I slogged through the rest of my classes. By the time the final bell rang, I was more than ready to head home and dive into a gaming marathon. I walked out the school doors, hands in my pockets, and made my way down the familiar route home, thinking of all the ways I was going to destroy the new level boss that had been giving me grief for the past week.
When I got home, I kicked off my shoes and was about to head straight to my room when Mom's voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Ahmed! Don't even think about going to your room without saying hello to your grandmother. She's been waiting to see you all afternoon."
I stifled a groan, plastering on a smile as I turned back toward the living room. My grandmother was sitting on the couch, wrapped in one of her endless collection of colorful shawls, sipping tea and looking every bit like the queen of the household.
"Hi, Grandma," I said, giving her a small wave as I shuffled into the room. "How's it going?"
She gave me a long, appraising look, her sharp eyes taking in my rumpled clothes, my messy hair, and the general air of "teenager avoiding responsibilities" that I'd perfected. "Ahmed," she said, in that no-nonsense tone she always used. "It's been a while since you sat down with your grandmother. You're not avoiding me, are you?"
"Me? Avoid you? Never!" I said, forcing a laugh as I plopped down beside her on the couch. "I've just been… you know, really busy. School's been crazy."
"Busy," she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Then I'm sure your grades are excellent?"
"Uh… you know," I mumbled, scratching the back of my head. "Grades don't really measure intelligence, Grandma. It's all about creativity and real-world skills."
She let out a huff of laughter, clearly not buying it, but she didn't press. Instead, she started telling me about her latest project—knitting blankets for the local shelter. I nodded along, occasionally throwing in a "wow" or "that's great" as she went on. Grandma had this way of making me feel like I could be doing so much more with my life, even without saying it outright. By the time I escaped to my room, I was feeling a bit guilty about my whole "coasting through life" routine.
But guilt or no guilt, I had priorities. Like beating the next level of my game.
I settled into my chair, switching on my console, and was soon lost in the pixelated world of battles and quests. Hours slipped by as I fought through enemies, dodged attacks, and tried to solve a particularly tricky puzzle. Outside, the sky darkened, but I barely noticed. I was in the zone, laser-focused on victory.
Eventually, though, my stomach reminded me that I was, in fact, a mortal being who required sustenance. Reluctantly, I paused the game and headed to the kitchen, where the scent of something amazing hit me the moment I stepped in.
Mom was standing at the stove, stirring a pot with a look of absolute concentration. I could tell just by the smell that whatever she was making was about to be epic.
"Is that…?" I asked, already salivating.
"Sun-dried tomato basil soup," she replied, smiling as she glanced over at me. "Just what you need to clear out that cough of yours."
"I don't have a cough," I protested, though my voice was a little scratchy. "I'm as healthy as an ox."
"An ox with bronchitis, maybe," she shot back, rolling her eyes. "Here, sit down. I'll get you a bowl."
I sat at the kitchen table, inhaling the warm, comforting aroma as she ladled the soup into a bowl and placed it in front of me. I took a sip, and the flavors exploded in my mouth—rich, savory, with just the right amount of basil. It was the kind of soup that made you feel like everything was going to be okay.
"This is amazing, Mom," I said between mouthfuls. "You could probably bottle this stuff and make a fortune. 'Ahmed's Miracle Soup,' guaranteed to cure all ailments."
"Oh, don't tempt me," she laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Maybe I'll put you to work marketing it. But only if you clean your room first."
I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Can't I just enjoy some soup without it turning into a motivational speech?"
She laughed, patting me on the shoulder as she walked past. "Just saying, a clean room wouldn't hurt. Who knows? Maybe it'll even give you more space to breathe."
I grinned, taking another sip. But as I swallowed, I felt a strange tightness in my chest. I tried to ignore it, thinking it was just a tickle from all the laughing, but then the tightness spread, making it hard to breathe. My vision blurred, and the room seemed to tilt around me.
"Mom…" I managed to say, my voice sounding far away, even to my own ears.
Her smile vanished, replaced by a look of alarm. "Ahmed? Are you okay?"
I tried to answer, but my throat felt like it was closing up. My fingers went numb, and I reached out to steady myself, clutching the edge of the table. But my legs felt like jelly, and the kitchen swirled around me, the light fading as the edges of my vision turned dark.
"Ahmed!" Mom's voice sounded panicked, her hands reaching for me, but I was already slipping, the world around me blurring into shadows.
Everything went black.
And that was it. One second, I was in my kitchen, laughing with my mom and enjoying a bowl of soup. The next, I was gone—plunged into darkness, with no idea where I was going or if I'd ever find my way back.