"Snoreeee!"
In the dimly lit room, Sayaka, the girl with vivid pink hair, was blissfully lost in dreamland. The steady drip of drool had formed a damp patch on her pillow—a testament to her deep slumber.
"Sayaka, are you awake?" The voice of her mother, cut through the tranquility like a knife. The door creaked open, revealing a woman in her 40s, her expression a mix of irritation and concern.
Still buried in her dreams, Sayaka mumbled, "Yeah. What is it, Mom?"
"How are you awake when your eyes are closed?" Her mother snapped, frustration evident. "You were supposed to come down for dinner! You never sleep this early. Now you're snoring like a log at 10 PM. Get down here, now!"
With an exasperated grunt, Sayaka tossed herself onto her back. "Okay, Mom. Just five more minutes."
A weary sigh escaped her mother's lips. "You better come down, or you're grounded this time. You hear me?"
"Yeah, yeah," Sayaka replied, her tone dismissive as her mother left the room, sighing again.
A few minutes passed in the oppressive silence, but the peace was broken by the sound of footsteps outside her door. Oh, great, more nagging, she thought. She hated being disturbed while her eyelids were heavy and dreams danced just out of reach.
Why should she sit with her relatives ? Their conversations went over her head—unable to hold her interest. Most of the time, all she did was scroll mindlessly on her phone or catch a few more z's. What was the big deal about these dinners, anyway?
Sayaka's brow furrowed as she contemplated her options.
"Do you want to go? Yes or no?"
Wait, was that her mother? The tone was different this time—more serious. Did she really mean it?
"Okay, whatever. I'll come. Happy?" she called out, her annoyance wrapped in half-hearted compliance. Yet, true to her sleepy state, her eyes remained stubbornly closed.
Silence stretched for a moment, and her heart sank. Was her mother really waiting for her to get up?Dang it; she wished she could drift off again and pretend she had forgotten all about it. Tsk, today was just not her day.
She reluctantly got out of the bed, rubbing her eyes and yawning reflexively. As she shook off her sleep, she glanced around and blinked in confusion. This wasn't her room—it looked like it belonged to a medieval peasant who lost a bet!
"Great! Either I've been transported back in time, or I'm the unwitting star of a really weird reality show: 'Poverty in the Past!' What's next, a talking chicken?"
To be continue...