Excerpt--
Take a breath, Lana.
Everything will be okay.
My stomach churned when I noticed his perfectly combed chestnut hair walking through the corridor by himself, just like any other day. I basically jumped out of the bush, nearly tripping in the...
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The next morning, I woke up extra early to help Declan's mother with breakfast. I wanted Declan to receive a whole-hearted breakfast since they tend to affect your test scores, or at least that's what I read before.
His mother prepared eggs, slices of ham, and piles of crispy potatoes. My primary focus was on slicing the fresh fruits — kiwis, oranges, and grapefruit. After all of that was handled, I toasted one piece of bread and spread avocado on it while decorating it with tomato like cake decorations.
I remember him mentioning this was his favorite snack in the early morning to his mother last week. Sam came to help set the table and our fathers later joined with their fresh mug of coffee. The aroma of ham and eggs swirling around me, forcing an unearthly sound to release from my stomach.
Sorry, Declan, but I can't wait any longer to eat.
"Declan is late," his mother said, a worried tone laced with it.
"Don't tell me that he isn't going to show up to the interview," his father sighed, pushing back his glasses drooping down his nose.
"Don't worry, I'm sure he knows how you feel about this," my father reassured.
"Declan can be very stubborn sometimes," his father added.
Before the conversation continued, Declan strolled into the room as quiet for a pin to drop and still be heard. Why are his footsteps light? Am I the only one who walked and sounded like a crowd of elephants?
"Good morning." his mother grinned, her left dimple making an appearance. "Your lunch is all packed on the counter."
"Thanks, mo-." he was interrupted by a rough cough escaping from his lungs.
"What's wrong?" his father asked with concern threaded in his voice.
"Nothing, I just feel warm and have a pounding headache. Maybe I contracted a cold," Declan responded, rubbing his temples.
"On this important day," his father gasped, instantly becoming worried.
"Should we make some soup?" His mother asked.
"N-o-."
"Isn't soup for a sore throat?" my father burst from his chair.
"I'll search for medicine," I commented, punching a fist in the area with determination.
"I'm going to start going," Declan said, with a tired expression written all over him.
"What about breakfast?" she questioned.
"I don't have an appetite," he answered, grabbing the avocado toast I made with all my love. "This should be enough."
Quickly, I opened the medicine cabinet finding the first one that offered relief with symptoms such as coughing and headaches. Luckily, after glancing at three of them, I found a pill that should help with every symptom.
