Maira's POV:
As soon as I wake up, my alarm blaring from my phone, I find myself buried under my blanket, my legs freezing as they're sticking out from the warmth of the blanket, my face hot from the stuffiness of being inside of it, and my pillow is nowhere to be seen.
Why do I move so much in the night? It's a curse.
I move my duvet, cold air suddenly rushes on my hot face. Sunlight rays are streaming in from my window, blinding me.
I forgot to close my curtains last night.
I look down and find my pillow on the floor. Picking it off the floor and whacking it a bit with my hands in case there's any dust, I place it back on my bed.
I sit up, groaning as I realize my neck's stiff, and my bones feel like they're creaking in opposition at the movement.
Coffee, I require coffee immediately. But first, a shower.
I quickly shower, get dressed, apply some light make-up, and start planning out my outfit. As I'm wearing a white shirt, tucked into black skinny jeans, and a cute oversized denim jacket, I opt for a chocolate brown jersey scarf.
I put on a white under-scarf cap over my bun so that the scarf doesn't slip off, and push it back a little from my hairline, pulling out two strands of hair to frame my face. Then, I place my scarf over where my cap starts and swing the right end of the scarf over my left shoulder, loosening it a bit around my face. Perfect.
I head downstairs and am immediately greeted by the aroma of fresh pancakes. I take my seat at the table, ruffling my little brother, Bilal's, hair. Three fluffy and delicious-looking blueberry pancakes await on my plate.
"As-salamu alaykum," I say, greeting my family with the Islamic greeting. They reply with their Wa alaykumus-salam's, and we all start eating as the pancakes reach our plates.
My sister, Leena, passes me an iced coffee, winking. I beam at her, accepting it and pinching her cheek in adoration. I love her so much.
I'm the oldest of these two, Leena coming after me at 20 years old, and Bilal, the youngest child, at 13 years old.
"Aapi," Leena starts, using the Urdu term for 'sister', a sign of respect for girls older than her.
She's in college, a junior after her summer vacations are over, but to me, she's still a baby. My little baby. A five years difference does that in my mind.
"Yes, Leenoo?" I ask her with the pet name I've always had for her, happily slicing into my pancakes.
"What are your kids like this year?" she asks, grinning.
I'm a first-grade teacher at an elementary school just outside of downtown Houston, a good thirty-minute drive from our home. I have always loved being around kids, which is why I studied for a degree in Elementary Education while in Uni.
The school I work for pays well, as well as gives its staff a free lunch twice a month, which are just bonuses for me. The only downside is that I'm one of the youngest teachers at 25 years old, so I look like a high school student, walking around an elementary school when I look like I should be at the neighboring high school.
I take those misunderstandings as a compliment, though.
"The kids I got this year are just amazing and so adorable," I reply, thinking of yesterday, the first day of classes. This year is the third year I'm teaching at this school, and I have loved it.
I've been teaching since the year I graduated, at 22, and I'm so thankful that I got such an amazing job for the first school that I get to really teach at. Teaching these adorable kids is my passion, and everyone in my family knows it.
I think of the kids yesterday. We had played ice-breaker games and they had made puppets that looked like them to take home. It was so nice for the kids to be laughing and talking with each other, friendships already forming.
"Some of the kids fought over their favorite colored crayons, though," I add, laughing at the memory of the fights that broke out a few times. My parents grin, shaking their heads as Leena aww's.
While fights over crayons and glue did happen, it really was a great day.
"Have you got any troublemakers?" my mother asks. I laugh, nodding.
"Three boys got together during one of the ice-breaker games and instantly clicked. When I was reading the class a story, they kept making animal sounds at random times. It was hilarious, but I had to warn them after a while that I would call their parents, and only then did they stop."
Last year, my family loved hearing about the kids I taught and stories from my classroom. Something was always happening every day.
After I finish my pancakes, I get up and double-check I have everything in my handbag.
"Okay, I'm getting a little late, but if I leave now, I'll make it in time. Salam!" I say heading towards the door.
"Maira, wait, you forgot your lunch," my dad calls from the kitchen. I head back into the kitchen, and take my lunch from my father's hands, giving him a quick side hug as thanks.
"Thank you! Okay, okay, that's everything, I'm going now," I say, leaving the house and locking the door behind me.
I take out my lanyard with my teacher ID out of my handbag and put it around my neck, replacing it with my lunch. I take out my car keys as well and unlock my car, sliding in, and tossing my bag onto the passenger seat.
I drive out of my neighborhood and put on the radio when I'm on the highway.
Something about Ahmed Hassan starts becoming the topic of conversation on the radio, and I roll my eyes in annoyance, changing the channel to our local music station.
Ahmed Hassan, Mr. Billionaire of Houston. I knew of Ahmed when we were both in high school. We both went to this private high school, me on a scholarship and him because his parents are loaded.
Our mothers were childhood best friends, both from the same town in Pakistan. But besides that, we were- and still are- complete strangers.
I remember when his mother passed away in my sophomore year, his senior year of high school, due to a car crash. Leena and his younger sister, Yusra, were both in fourth grade and best friends. They still are.
My family went to his family's mansion to give our condolences. I remember my mother bawling among her best friend's rich friends, how her tears were so much more real than theirs. I remember her doting on Yusra throughout the day, giving Yusra her number, telling her if she ever wanted Pakistani food or to just talk about her mother to not hesitate to call, and she would be right there.
Yusra had, in fact, called my mom. I remember my mother would go there every other week during the first couple of years to give them a large platter of delicious food, food she wouldn't make for her own family on an average day. We didn't mind, of course, but it was a notable observation among my siblings and I that we never mentioned to her.
She always kept in touch with Uncle, too, checking up on Ahmed and Yusra. However, the exchanges of food and emails became less frequent, they still happened, but now it's only a couple of times a year.
My friends in Uni always took this as a sign that I personally knew Ahmed. Ahmed Hassan, the "hot" Pakistani-American bachelor of Houston.
Random girls would come up to me to ask for his number, and guys that didn't know I existed had come up to me and asked where he was lately, like they were close with me.
I just wanted to get my education degree in peace. I didn't want my association with Ahmed Hassan to distract me.
I don't think I even have an association with Ahmed. In truth, I barely knew the guy, just his sister who would go out with mine and would spend hours on end with my sister. Pictures in magazines and his appearances in interviews on TV are the only way I know what he looks like, and even then I pretty much couldn't care less.
So in Uni, I would give the girls fake numbers and I would give the guys random locations around the world so they would leave me alone.
If any of them came up to me later calling my bluff, I would just say he either changed his number again (to the girls) or that he was a billionaire, he has private forms of transportation and could go anywhere faster than everyone else (to the guys). They slowly stopped asking me during our senior year of Uni, and I finally found peace.
I still kept in touch with some close friends from Uni, one being Farah Syed. She and I had studied together for our education degrees. She teaches at the middle school near the elementary school I work at. She's actually Bilal's seventh-grade teacher, which works out perfectly for him because he says he's her favorite student, even though I tell her not to.
I love Farah, but I love her younger sister, Yasmeen, a pinch more.
She's Leena's age and they both go to the same college. Our families are tight-knit, so I've always considered her to be my younger sister, too. They're friends with Yusra Hassan, however, Yusra goes to Yale.
Yusra being friends with Leena works out perfectly for my mom. Our mother always makes extra snacks for Yusra and catches up with her whenever she comes over to our home to hang out with Leena. I think it's amazing how much time our mother puts in for Yusra, I wouldn't put it past her if she decides to move in with us one day.
She's really a sweet girl, and she knows she can come to me with anything. I would consider Yusra as my younger sister as well at this point.
She's told me a lot about what's going on at home, how her brother sometimes drinks alcohol when he's stressed out about his company, and how their father has a short temper and can drink excessively, and is gone most of the time on international business trips. During those times, she stays over at our house to have sleepovers with Leena.
There's a bit of traffic, so I place my car in park and wait patiently. The person driving the black Range Rover behind me, however, is far from patient. They keep relentlessly beeping at me, over and over again.
The windshield is tinted, so I can't identify the driver, but I grit my teeth and keep looking in my rearview anyway. I shouldn't let them bother me.
After a minute or two more of continuous beeping, I reach my limit.
Screw being the bigger person.
I open my door and stand beside my car, looking ahead to see that the line was not moving at all, but a police officer had just arrived to sort out the situation. It looked like a car was stuck in a ditch just a couple of meters down.
I looked behind me to the black Range Rover that was still beeping at me, and walk up to the car. I approach the driver's side and knock on the tinted window, absolutely done with this driver.
They rolled down the window, and I was face-to-face with a guy wearing sunglasses and a suit.
Okay, James Bond much?
But wait, he looks vaguely familiar. But I couldn't possibly know him, right?
I scan his face and conclude he was around my age. But that's all I can get from looking at him.
"Listen, dude, can you stop beeping me? Please? Because that is doing absolutely nothing. I know you probably have somewhere to be, and I do, too, but beeping at cars that aren't moving an inch is not helping. So stop," I say, annoyed.
He sighed, probably rolling his eyes from behind his sunglasses.
"Sure, I'll stop. You can go back to your car now," he responded in a deep voice with a dismissive tone, raising a hand to literally dismiss me, and his window starts raising. Wow, this man had no decency whatsoever.
"Okay, then. Thanks," I say, scoffing. I take deep breaths and try to relax as I walk back to my car, trying not to let this man ruin my morning. I slide back into my car and continue to wait, sans the irritating beeping.
It takes a couple more minutes before the cars are moving again.
I finally reach the parking lot of the elementary school and see my spot in the staff parking has been taken. I groan and pull into an empty space across the lot. Can this morning get any better?
I take some more deep breaths and walk into the building. One of the teachers unlocking his classroom door looks at me skeptically.
"Excuse me, Miss, are you supposed to be here?" he asks, raising a brow.
Are you for real?
I plaster a friendly grin on my face, my response immediate.
"Yep, I actually work here! Have a wonderful day," I say, pointing at my badge for him to see and walk on. He nods, an apologetic look on his face, and wishes me a good day as well.
I've had much worse encounters.
I reach my classroom, my name on a magnet on the door, and unlock my door with my keys.
I turn on my classroom's lights, feed our class's fish (who get new names every day), and write the date and day on the whiteboard in the upper right corner.
After everything else is done, I pick up Mr. Trunks, our classroom's blue stuffed elephant, and pick a place to hide him. I hide him on a shelf, behind some books in my class's reading corner. His button eyes and trumpet peek out from behind the books.
I had told my class that every morning, I would write a hint on my whiteboard as to where Mr. Trunks is hiding, and they work with their table group to find him. The group that found him first would each get a point, and at the end of the month, whichever group has the most points would get to pick one prize from my treasure bin.
My treasure bin was just a large plastic tub painted gold with rainbow stickers all over it. It was filled with small toys and prizes that all six-year-olds and seven-year-olds love, like food-shaped erasers, small sticky hand toys, plastic rings, keychains of all types, and more.
The kids I've had every year love this idea. In the last two years of teaching first grade, parents had loved this idea, too, because as it was the first thing that happened every day, it got the kids excited to come to class, which saved the parents a lot of time in getting their fussy kids ready in the mornings.
I pulled out a marker and wrote the hint in big letters on the board.
'Mr. Trunks has decided that he loves reading!' I wrote out.
Hey, they're six and seven-year-olds, this is as elaborate as hints can go for them. I've written easier hints, and it had taken a long time to find Mr. Trunks. The record for the slowest search to date is 20 minutes.
I draw an open book under the hint and color the cover of it with rainbow stripes, because I can.
I then cap the whiteboard marker and place it on the side of the whiteboard, as there's a magnet attached to it. I walk to my desk and log in to my computer and open my plan for today.
I have three new emails sent just this morning, which I reply to. I pull out the school attendance website and keep that tab open for when the kids come in.
After a couple of minutes of prep, the bell rings, and I walk out to my door. I wave, smile, and call good morning to the teachers neighboring my classroom as we all stand outside our doors, waiting for the kids. Kids fill the hallway, walking in every direction. When I see a kid in my class, I call out their name if they pass me, giving them a high-five or hug and a cheerful good morning at the door as they walk into my class.
Once all my kids are accounted for, I wave to the other teachers and close my door behind me.
I beam at the kids, waving at them with both hands cheerfully as I walk to my desk, making some giggle.
My heart. It's melting.
"Hey, guys! Welcome back! Oh my gosh, it's your second day of school, that's so cool! Let's start today with our attendance, like yesterday. If I call your name, you have to tell me if you love cats or dogs so I know you're here!" I say, smiling.
Everyone nods or giggles, already discussing with their tablemates their opinions.
"Cats! Cats are waaay better than dogs. Dogs are so gross and icky."
"Nuh uh, dogs are better than boring, grumpy, cats!"
And so on.
I go through the attendance and then assist them in reading the hint on the board. I then send them off with their groups and watch as they talk about the hint. One group looks around my desk, one looks in the painting closets, and another go to the fish tank, having total disregard for the hint. Two of the groups were looking in the reading corner, searching underneath the bean bags and inside the bottom shelves of the bookshelf.
Look up! I wanted to tell those kids, but I'm not allowed to say a word, that's the rule.
Then, I notice one girl, Leanna, step back from the bookshelf and slowly look up, and I started laughing when a shocked look comes over her face.
She turned to her group, calling to them, and points at Mr. Trunks.
"Ms. K, Ms. K, we found him!" they called, jumping up and down, cheering. I told everyone to clap for them and then told them to take their seats.
"Good job, guys! And everyone else, you all did so great, too! Don't worry, you still have tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, until the last day of the month, so so much time!" I say, lifting some of the kids' frowns as I erase the hint and my drawing of the open book from the board. I then go to the corner of the board and place a tick, or point, under Leanna's group, Group 3.
Yep, I loved teaching, more than I could possibly love anything.