Asha khan : book 1 "the unraveling"

Saturday

On weekends, I'm usually holed up in my room, buried under a mountain of homework. It's not exactly the most exciting way to spend my free time, but hey, gotta keep those grades up, right? So there I am, trying to make sense of my algebra problems when I decide to crank up some Nirvana to drown out the silence.

The gritty chords and angsty lyrics of Kurt Cobain's voice fill the room, echoing off the walls and drowning out the sound of my own thoughts.

 It's like each song is speaking directly to me, tapping into some hidden reservoir of teenage angst and frustration.

As I work through my assignments, I find myself getting lost in the music, the raw emotion and energy of each song fueling my concentration.

 It's like Nirvana is the soundtrack to my homework grind, pushing me to keep going even when I feel like giving up.

Sure, I'd rather be out with friends or doing something fun, but for now, I'll settle for the comfort of my room and the familiar strains of Nirvana to keep me company.

 It's not glamorous, but hey, it's my little slice of teenage rebellion, right?

So, picture this: It's a lazy Saturday afternoon, and there I am, sprawled out on my bed with a mountain of homework staring me down. But instead of diving headfirst into the world of algebra and essays, I'm doing what any self-respecting teenager would do – procrastinating.

With my headphones plugged in and the soothing sounds of Nirvana blasting through the speakers, I'm in my own little zone, lost in a sea of doodles and daydreams.

 The lyrics of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" reverberate through the room, matching the rebellious spirit that's brewing inside me.

As I absentmindedly trace patterns on my arm with a ballpoint pen, I can't help but let my mind wander to places far beyond the confines of my bedroom walls. 

Maybe I'm imagining myself onstage, belting out lyrics to a crowd of adoring fans, or perhaps I'm lost in the pages of a fantasy novel, fighting dragons and saving kingdoms.

But reality has a funny way of pulling you back to Earth, and before I know it, the ink has dried, and my arm is covered in a tapestry of swirling designs. 

It's not exactly the masterpiece I had envisioned, but hey, it's something to look at while I procrastinate a little while longer. 

And besides, who needs homework when you've got a mind full of dreams and a pen in hand?

And just when I'm in the zone, feeling like the master of my own little universe, there's a knock on the door, and in walks Mom. With a knowing smile, she takes one look at my makeshift tattoo creations and shakes her head, a mixture of amusement and exasperation dancing in her eyes.

Mom: "Asha, darling, what on earth are you doing?"

Caught red-handed, I quickly try to come up with a plausible explanation, but Mom sees right through my feeble attempts at deception. With a sigh, she crosses the room and perches herself on the edge of my bed, her presence both comforting and slightly intimidating.

Mom: "You know, sweetheart, I appreciate your artistic spirit, but I don't think your arm is the best canvas for your creativity."

I can't help but roll my eyes at her motherly wisdom, but deep down, I know she's right. With a sheepish grin, I set aside the pen and paper, realizing that maybe homework isn't such a bad idea after all. Besides, there's always tomorrow for more artistic endeavors – and maybe next time, I'll stick to paper instead of skin.