---
Dahlia
Years Later
Waking up is arguably the most crucial part of the day—it sets the tone, the rhythm, the energy. For me, it's not just a saying; it's a lifeline. At exactly 6:00 a.m., my alarm buzzed with a soft vibration against my wrist. A gentle start. Anything louder would feel like a knife scraping against my brain.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, careful to avoid the cold tiles that stretched across the floor like an unwelcome invitation. My toes curled instinctively as I reached for my slippers, neatly positioned beside my bed like loyal soldiers.
The first thing I did was straighten the duvet. Every corner had to be aligned, the seams parallel to the mattress edge. It wasn't just a preference—it was a need. If I didn't, the knot in my chest would tighten, the discomfort spreading like a wildfire until I couldn't breathe.
The bathroom was my sanctuary, my refuge from the unpredictable chaos of the world. Here, everything was exactly as I left it: toothbrush on the holder at a precise angle, toothpaste neatly rolled from the bottom, soap resting perfectly centered on its dish. Each item whispered a promise of predictability, soothing the ever-present tension in my chest.
I splashed water on my face—seven times. Seven felt right; it always had. Anything more or less made my skin crawl. As I wiped my face, the familiar texture of the towel grounded me, pulling me back to the present.
Today was different. The thought coiled in my stomach like a viper, its venom laced with anxiety. New school, new faces, new sounds. My breath hitched at the mere thought, but I clung to my routine like a lifeline. Routine kept the chaos at bay.
By 6:15 a.m., I was in the shower, the warm water cascading over me. I counted the seconds as I shampooed—thirty-five to lather, thirty to rinse—each number calming the tempest inside me.
The uniform hung on my closet door, its stiff maroon fabric an affront to my senses. I layered it over a soft undershirt, a barrier between my skin and the scratchy material. The socks were the worst. If they twisted or bunched, it would ruin my entire day. I adjusted them carefully, my fingers trembling slightly, until they sat perfectly aligned.
Satisfied with my appearance, I grabbed my earphones. Music wasn't just background noise—it was my armor, my shield. Soft, instrumental melodies filled my ears as I descended the stairs, the world's sharp edges dulling with every step.
"Oh, you're here—just in time, darling," Aunt Amara greeted me, her voice warm and familiar. She placed a plate in front of me: two sausages, three slices of bread with jam, five cookies, and a glass of milk. She always respected my numbers, her love woven into the precise counts.
I nodded in thanks, my eyes flickering to the plate. Words felt heavy in the morning, like stones lodged in my throat. Instead, I focused on eating—bread first, then sausage, then cookies. The order mattered.
The peace shattered like glass when heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs. Each step reverberated in my chest, sending a jolt of irritation through me. Isabella entered the kitchen, her expression a storm cloud of annoyance.
Aunty Amara stared at her and proceeded to kiss her forehead before placing her meal at the table directing it at her
"Do me a favor and take good care of Dai at school today, okay?" Aunt Amara said, her tone tinged with forced cheerfulness. "Introduce her to your friends."
Isabella's jaw clenched, her fists curling against the edge of the table. Without a word, she shoved her chair back, the scrape of metal against tile grating against my ears. I flinched as she stormed out, the slam of the door echoing like a gunshot.
My breath quickened, my grip tightening on the edge of the table. The world felt too loud, too sharp, too much.
"It's okay, sweetheart," Aunt Amara soothed, her hand brushing lightly over my shoulder. Her touch was fleeting—perfectly measured. "She'll come around."
The car ride to school was quieter. Aunt Amara hummed softly as she drove, her voice a steady anchor. But when we pulled up to the gates, the world outside felt like a tidal wave.
REYES. The bold letters loomed above the entrance, a fortress of unfamiliarity. My palms grew clammy, my heartbeat drumming in my ears.
"You're going to do great, Dai," Aunt Amara said, her voice trembling with forced optimism. "Just take it one step at a time, okay?"
I nodded, unable to voice the fear lodged in my chest. As I stepped out of the car, the noise hit me like a wall. Laughter, shouting, the sharp screech of sneakers against pavement—it all blurred together, an overwhelming cacophony.
I reached for my earphones, the familiar melodies wrapping around me like a warm blanket. The world dulled to a manageable hum, and I focused on the rhythm of my breathing.
One step forward. Then another.
The school doors loomed closer, each step heavier than the last. My fingers clenched the straps of my backpack as I repeated the words in my mind: You can do this.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't easy.
But it was enough.
---Hello!!!🥲