Three hearts, one home (Dayasco)

School run

Daya's eyes snapped open at the shrill sound of his alarm clock, the digital numbers glaring an unforgiving 6:45 AM. He sat up with a yawn, the chill of the early spring air clinging to his bare skin as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The house was quiet, the only noise coming from the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards. He glanced over at the small sleeping figure in the makeshift bed next to his, his sisters small frame buried under a pile of blankets and stuffed animals, clutching a worn teddy bear tightly to her chest.

Rising, Daya padded softly across the cold hardwood floor to the kitchen, the scent of last night's dinner lingering faintly in the air. He filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, the click of the burner igniting echoing through the empty room. While waiting for the water to boil, he stared out the window at the street below, watching the first signs of life emerge from the stillness of the dawn. The newspaper boy pedaled by on his rusty bike, tossing rolled-up bundles of news onto porches with a practiced flick of his wrist. The neighbor's dog, a small yapping terrier, barked at the sudden disturbance before being silenced by a muffled curse and the slam of a door.

The kettle's whistle broke the silence, and Daya poured the steaming water into a mug filled with instant coffee. He took a deep breath, letting the bitter aroma fill his nostrils, a familiar morning ritual that provided a brief respite from the heaviness of his thoughts. As he sipped, he glanced at the calendar tacked to the fridge, the days since their parents' accident marked with small, sad X's. A year had passed, and the gaping hole in their lives remained as raw as the day it had been torn open. He felt the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him, a constant reminder of the burden he had taken on.

The sound of shuffling footsteps grew louder as the kids stumbled into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and rumpled. Tyler, who was now 16, was the first to reach the table, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. "Morning, Daya," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. Molly, only 10, followed closely behind, her pink pajamas looking even more vibrant against her pale skin.

"Morning, you two," Daya said, forcing a smile. He knew they felt the loss just as deeply as he did, but he had to keep them going, to be their rock. "Did you have good dreams?"

Molly yawned, nodding slightly as she took a seat beside Tyler. "I dreamt about Mom's pancakes," she said, her eyes misting over.

Daya's chest tightened at the mention of their mother. He had to look away for a moment, focusing on the task at hand. "Well, I don't know about pancakes, but I can manage some toast and cereal," he offered, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Are you guys ready for school today?" he asked, changing the subject gently. Tyler let out a dramatic sigh, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling. "Can't we just skip it?" he mumbled.

"Nice try," Daya said with a chuckle, trying to ignore the ache in his heart at his brother's desperation to escape the monotony of their new reality. "You know the drill, buddy. We've got to keep going."

Molly, on the other hand, perked up at the mention of school. "I've got art today," she said, a hint of excitement in her voice. "I'm going to make the best picture ever for the spring fair."

Daya felt a pang of sadness at the stark contrast between his siblings' attitudes. Tyler had grown more withdrawn since the accident, his once bright spirit dulled by the weight of their loss. Molly, however, had found solace in the routine and structure that school provided, a place where she could temporarily leave her grief behind.

He turned to Molly, his smile genuine this time. "That's great, Mo. What are you going to draw?"

"I don't know yet," she said, her eyes shining with anticipation. "But it's going to be beautiful."