Our Worlds

1| 🌍 School 🌍

 Hajara 

"Sarah, wake up!" I hollered like a rooster on caffeine. She didn't budge—just groaned and pulled the blanket tighter around herself like a burrito of denial. Sunlight was already slicing through the gaps in her curtains, but clearly, nature's alarm clock wasn't loud enough.

 I marched over and yanked the curtains open like I was unveiling a masterpiece. Boom—sunlight explosion. Her room lit up like it was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. A crisp September breeze drifted in through the open window she forgot to close last night. Classic Sarah—forgetful and allergic to mornings.

Today was the first day of school after what felt like a 72-year sentence in the boredom prison known as summer break. I swear, I almost forgot how to socialize with actual humans who weren't my family or that one spider in the corner of my ceiling I named Zaki.

But finally—finally—I was back in action. The smell of new notebooks, fresh pens, crisp paper, and the faint scent of industrial hallway disinfectant? Bliss. School meant friends, chaos, and drama. It also meant I could escape the black hole of our living room, where time didn't exist and every day bled into the next. 

But before I could bask in my academic freedom, I had to complete the most difficult quest known to mankind: waking up Sarah.

Now, you'd think waking up your little sister would be easy. Just walk in, say her name, maybe toss a sock at her and call it a day, right?

Wrong.

This wasn't waking up a human. This was exorcising a sleep demon. I crept into her room like a soldier on a stealth mission, only to be met with a dramatic groan from Mount Blanket.

"Hajara, go away!" she hissed, swatting my hand like it was a cursed artifact.

I stood my ground. "Saaaarah! Time to wake up! School awaits! Society awaits! Your future awaits!"

Still nothing. Just another annoyed growl, like a raccoon disturbed in its trash can. She pulled the blanket over her head like she was shielding herself from the sun... or reality.

"Why are you like this?" I muttered, dodging a flailing pillow that came flying in my direction. I swear she keeps one extra pillow just for throwing purposes.

See, this wasn't just any morning. This was a First Day of School Morning. A sacred, once-a-year ritual where everything has to go wrong.

I tried knocking politely. I tried singing nasheeds. I even played a voice note of our mom yelling—but Sarah? She was immune. This girl could sleep through a tornado, or even a thunderstorm.

Finally, I snapped. "Sarah, if you don't get up right now, I'm telling Mama you were up at 2 AM watching sad movies again."

That did it.

She shot up like she'd been electrocuted. "OMG what time is it??"

"7:30. You have 30 minutes to go from swamp goblin to semi-presentable. Good luck."

Her eyes went wide as she lunged out of bed, hair looking like she'd wrestled a raccoon in her sleep and lost. Still—still—she looked pretty. Not even fair. She had this annoying natural glow thing going, like she was the star of a skincare commercial and I was the "before" picture.

Meanwhile, I had been up since Fajr, had done my skincare routine, made du'a for patience specifically for this moment, and I still looked like a tired owl in a hijab.

But alas, such is the life of an older sister—wake the sleeping beauty, dodge her flying limbs, and survive the morning chaos before school even started. I deserve a medal. Or at least a store-bought ice coffee. Actually, make it two. One for emotional damage.