Everything around me is a blur of red, orange, and yellow, swirling in every shade imaginable. It's unbearably hot, yet strangely soothing. I don't mind the heat; in fact, I welcome it. I'm in the very center of it, like a sea of molten lava, sitting calmly on a rock. My eyes shine with an intense, fiery orange glow—both the darkest and brightest shade at once. I breathe deeply, as though meditating, fully at peace in this moment.

Then suddenly, a voice breaks through the stillness, calling my name:

"Meerah… Meerah… Meerah… wake up."

The voice grows louder, and I realize it's my brother, shouting for me.

"Ameerah, wake up! I'm late!"

I open my eyes lazily, blinking as I glance at the clock. My heart skips. It's already 8:30, and Gabe needs to be at school by 9 sharp.

"OH MY GOD! I slept through my alarm!" I shout, panic rising in my chest.

"Again!" Gabe retorts from the hallway, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I roll my eyes at him but jump out of bed, rushing to splash water on my face. In mere seconds, I'm already halfway to the kitchen, my mind racing. I throw bread in the toaster, whisk eggs for the omelet, and set the tea on the stove.

"Hurry up, Gabe! You're going to be so late today!" I call out, my voice tinged with urgency.

"And whose fault is that?" he calls back, still searching for something.

"What are you looking for?" I ask, half-focused on breakfast.

"Can't find my socks," he says, frustration creeping into his voice.

"Of course," I mutter under my breath. "How many times have I told you to put your stuff in its proper place when you come home from school? But no, you throw everything everywhere, and then it's the same drama every morning."

I shake my head, scanning the room for his socks while keeping one eye on the sizzling eggs. Gabe is my 14-year-old brother, a brilliant mind with a photographic memory. It's a gift, yet he's the most disorganized person I know. You'd think someone as smart as him would be neat, but no—he only gets things done when a deadline is looming. He's a genius at school, which is why he's in grade 9, two years ahead of his peers at the city's most prestigious academy. He studies there on a scholarship thanks to Mr. Marshall, the kindest, most generous restaurant owner in town—and my boss. He helped me get Gabe into that school when I explained how gifted he was. The tuition fees were an issue, but they offered Gabe a scholarship, thanks to Mr. Marshall's intervention. It made a huge difference since I can barely make ends meet.

"You know, if I wanted a lecture, I'd wake Mom up," Gabe says with a teasing grin.

"Here," I toss him his socks from under the bed. I swear, you'll find Gabe's stuff in the strangest places. This is just normal now. He pulls on the socks, sits at the small kitchen table—complete with mismatched chairs—and digs into the omelet and toast I've prepared for him. I pour him a cup of tea, which he gulps down in record time. He's always in such a rush.

"Thanks," he mutters, pulling on his shoes. "I'm out of here."

It's 8:45. He's going to be late. I frown, a strange sense of unease settling in. Lately, I've been having these odd dreams that feel peaceful yet leave me disoriented, and every other morning, I'm running late. I groan to myself, berating my distracted thoughts.

I head to the other room in our tiny two-bedroom apartment where my mom is. I open the door slowly, relieved to see she's awake.

"You're up! How are you feeling today, Mom? Should I bring you your breakfast?" I ask, walking toward her and checking her forehead for any fever. She feels fine to me.

My mother, Olivia, is a stunning woman with gorgeous blonde hair—something I still envy. Don't get me wrong, I have long, shiny black hair, but I always wished I'd inherited her golden locks. She and Gabe share the same facial features—smooth skin, the same nose, the same smile. Gabe's eyes are green, most likely inherited from his father, and he has pointed ears like his Fey parent. Gabe is my half-brother. My mom's eyes are a soft brown, but I've always wondered about my own: big, bright orange. She insists it's just a rare mutation, but I can't shake the feeling that there's more to it.

My mother is human, and she says my father was too. But sometimes, when I push her about it, she only gives vague answers. I've often jokingly asked if I was adopted or had witch or fairy ancestors. Wouldn't that be cool? But she always says the same thing:

"Nope, you're my flesh and blood, born from my belly. You're a perfectly normal human."

And while I don't mind being human, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be something more. Humans are treated so poorly in this world. Gabe's admission to the Fey Academy was a nightmare when they found out he's part human, but Mr. Marshall stepped in and used his influence to get him accepted. I could never repay him for all he's done for us, especially when my mom got sick.

Mom used to be a nurse, but when her illness hit, everything changed. All of our savings went toward her treatment, and even now, she's not well. Mr. Marshall gave me a part-time job at his restaurant and asked me to tutor his twin kids three days a week. It pays well, but it's exhausting. He knew I wouldn't just accept charity, so this was his solution.

I help my mom sit up in bed. She smiles weakly at me but shakes her head when I ask how she's feeling.

"I'm fine today. I'll have breakfast with you," she says.

I guide her to the bathroom and wait by the door. When she finishes, I take her to the kitchen, where I make her porridge and prepare my own breakfast. Once everything is ready, I set her porridge in front of her and put my food on the table. I pour myself a cup of tea.

"We have your doctor's appointment today," I remind her while eating.

She nods.

"You aren't going to university today?" she asks, concern in her voice.

"I'll go after your appointment. I only have a short class today," I assure her.

We sit in silence for a while, and then I glance up at her. She's looking at me, her eyes full of sadness.

"What's wrong, Mom?" I ask softly.

"Meerah, I'm so sorry," she says, her voice breaking as tears start to form. "What… what's wrong? Why are you crying? Does something hurt? Are you feeling unwell?" I ask, worried.

"No… No, I'm fine," she sniffles. "I just… I'm supposed to take care of you and Gabe. But instead, you're the one working so hard for us. Look at you, Meerah… when was the last time you had a good night's sleep? You have dark circles under your eyes. You're always pushing yourself so hard—paying for my medical bills, my treatments, everything. You're holding this family together while I can't. I'm so sorry."

"Mom," I say gently, my heart aching. "I'm disappointed in you."

She looks up at me, her eyes filled with guilt.

"I'm disappointed because you think you're a burden to me. How could you think that, Mom? You're my mother, and Gabe is my brother. Who else would take care of you if not me? It's not your fault that you're sick. I know things are tough right now, but I promise, they'll get better."

"Meerah, you're such a good daughter," she sighs. "I don't know what I did to deserve you. I wish I could do more."

"Mom, you don't need to do anything. You just need to take care of yourself. That's all I need from you," I assure her, holding her hand tightly. She smiles through her tears, and I return her smile, my heart full of love.

We finish our breakfast together.

"Mom, I'm going to change quickly. You should too, or we'll be late," I tell her.

She nods, slowly making her way to her room. I quickly change into a brown shirt and jeans. When my mom comes out in a beautiful yellow dress, I can't help but admire her. She's stunning, even now.

"Ready, Mom? I've called the cab," I say.

She smiles and nods, and together, we head out the door.

Everything around me is a blur of red, orange, and yellow,

swirling in every shade imaginable. It's unbearably hot, yet strangely

soothing. I don't mind the heat; in fact, I welcome it. I'm in the very center

of it, like a sea of molten lava, sitting calmly on a rock. My eyes shine with

an intense, fiery orange glow—both the darkest and brightest shade at once. I

breathe deeply, as though meditating, fully at peace in this moment.

Then suddenly, a voice breaks through the stillness, calling

my name:

"Meerah… Meerah… Meerah… wake up."

The voice grows louder, and I realize it's my brother,

shouting for me.

"Ameerah, wake up! I'm late!"

I open my eyes lazily, blinking as I glance at the clock. My

heart skips. It's already 8:30, and Gabe needs to be at school by 9 sharp.

"OH MY GOD! I slept through my alarm!" I shout, panic rising

in my chest.

"Again!" Gabe retorts from the hallway, his voice dripping

with sarcasm.

I roll my eyes at him but jump out of bed, rushing to splash

water on my face. In mere seconds, I'm already halfway to the kitchen, my mind

racing. I throw bread in the toaster, whisk eggs for the omelet, and set the

tea on the stove.

"Hurry up, Gabe! You're going to be so late today!" I call

out, my voice tinged with urgency.

"And whose fault is that?" he calls back, still searching

for something.

"What are you looking for?" I ask, half-focused on

breakfast.

"Can't find my socks," he says, frustration creeping into

his voice.

"Of course," I mutter under my breath. "How many times have

I told you to put your stuff in its proper place when you come home from

school? But no, you throw everything everywhere, and then it's the same drama

every morning."

I shake my head, scanning the room for his socks while

keeping one eye on the sizzling eggs. Gabe is my 14-year-old brother, a

brilliant mind with a photographic memory. It's a gift, yet he's the most

disorganized person I know. You'd think someone as smart as him would be neat,

but no—he only gets things done when a deadline is looming. He's a genius at

school, which is why he's in grade 9, two years ahead of his peers at the

city's most prestigious academy. He studies there on a scholarship thanks to Mr.

Marshall, the kindest, most generous restaurant owner in town—and my boss. He

helped me get Gabe into that school when I explained how gifted he was. The

tuition fees were an issue, but they offered Gabe a scholarship, thanks to Mr.

Marshall's intervention. It made a huge difference since I can barely make ends

meet.

"You know, if I wanted a lecture, I'd wake Mom up," Gabe

says with a teasing grin.

"Here," I toss him his socks from under the bed. I swear,

you'll find Gabe's stuff in the strangest places. This is just normal now. He

pulls on the socks, sits at the small kitchen table—complete with mismatched

chairs—and digs into the omelet and toast I've prepared for him. I pour him a

cup of tea, which he gulps down in record time. He's always in such a rush.

"Thanks," he mutters, pulling on his shoes. "I'm out of

here."

It's 8:45. He's going to be late. I frown, a strange sense

of unease settling in. Lately, I've been having these odd dreams that feel

peaceful yet leave me disoriented, and every other morning, I'm running late. I

groan to myself, berating my distracted thoughts.

I head to the other room in our tiny two-bedroom apartment

where my mom is. I open the door slowly, relieved to see she's awake.

"You're up! How are you feeling today, Mom? Should I bring

you your breakfast?" I ask, walking toward her and checking her forehead for

any fever. She feels fine to me.

My mother, Olivia, is a stunning woman with gorgeous blonde

hair—something I still envy. Don't get me wrong, I have long, shiny black hair,

but I always wished I'd inherited her golden locks. She and Gabe share the same

facial features—smooth skin, the same nose, the same smile. Gabe's eyes are

green, most likely inherited from his father, and he has pointed ears like his

Fey parent. Gabe is my half-brother. My mom's eyes are a soft brown, but I've

always wondered about my own: big, bright orange. She insists it's just a rare

mutation, but I can't shake the feeling that there's more to it.

My mother is human, and she says my father was too. But

sometimes, when I push her about it, she only gives vague answers. I've often

jokingly asked if I was adopted or had witch or fairy ancestors. Wouldn't that

be cool? But she always says the same thing:

"Nope, you're my flesh and blood, born from my belly. You're

a perfectly normal human."

And while I don't mind being human, I can't help but wonder

what it would be like to be something more. Humans are treated so poorly in

this world. Gabe's admission to the Fey Academy was a nightmare when they found

out he's part human, but Mr. Marshall stepped in and used his influence to get

him accepted. I could never repay him for all he's done for us, especially when

my mom got sick.

Mom used to be a nurse, but when her illness hit, everything

changed. All of our savings went toward her treatment, and even now, she's not

well. Mr. Marshall gave me a part-time job at his restaurant and asked me to

tutor his twin kids three days a week. It pays well, but it's exhausting. He

knew I wouldn't just accept charity, so this was his solution.

I help my mom sit up in bed. She smiles weakly at me but

shakes her head when I ask how she's feeling.

"I'm fine today. I'll have breakfast with you," she says.

I guide her to the bathroom and wait by the door. When she

finishes, I take her to the kitchen, where I make her porridge and prepare my

own breakfast. Once everything is ready, I set her porridge in front of her and

put my food on the table. I pour myself a cup of tea.

"We have your doctor's appointment today," I remind her

while eating.

She nods.

"You aren't going to university today?" she asks, concern in

her voice.

"I'll go after your appointment. I only have a short class

today," I assure her.

We sit in silence for a while, and then I glance up at her.

She's looking at me, her eyes full of sadness.

"What's wrong, Mom?" I ask softly.

"Meerah, I'm so sorry," she says, her voice breaking as

tears start to form. "What… what's wrong? Why are you crying? Does something

hurt? Are you feeling unwell?" I ask, worried.

"No… No, I'm fine," she sniffles. "I just… I'm supposed to

take care of you and Gabe. But instead, you're the one working so hard for us.

Look at you, Meerah… when was the last time you had a good night's sleep? You

have dark circles under your eyes. You're always pushing yourself so

hard—paying for my medical bills, my treatments, everything. You're holding

this family together while I can't. I'm so sorry."

"Mom," I say gently, my heart aching. "I'm disappointed in

you."

She looks up at me, her eyes filled with guilt.

"I'm disappointed because you think you're a burden to me.

How could you think that, Mom? You're my mother, and Gabe is my brother. Who

else would take care of you if not me? It's not your fault that you're sick. I

know things are tough right now, but I promise, they'll get better."

"Meerah, you're such a good daughter," she sighs. "I don't

know what I did to deserve you. I wish I could do more."

"Mom, you don't need to do anything. You just need to take

care of yourself. That's all I need from you," I assure her, holding her hand

tightly. She smiles through her tears, and I return her smile, my heart full of

love.

We finish our breakfast together.

"Mom, I'm going to change quickly. You should too, or we'll

be late," I tell her.

She nods, slowly making her way to her room. I quickly

change into a brown shirt and jeans. When my mom comes out in a beautiful

yellow dress, I can't help but admire her. She's stunning, even now.

"Ready, Mom? I've called the cab," I say.

She smiles and nods, and together, we head out the door.