Our Worlds

First day of school

 Hajara 

"Sarah, wake up!" I yelled, frowning as I peeked at my sister, still snuggled under her blanket. The morning sun had crept through the narrow slits of her curtains, casting a warm, golden pool of light on the floor. I yanked the curtains open, letting the sunlight flood the room, bathing it in the soft glow of dawn. I inhaled in the fresh breeze of September through her open window that she forgot to close last night. 

Today was the first day of school after what felt like an eternity of long, boring summer days. I could feel the excitement bubbling up inside me, my heart racing just at the thought of finally seeing my friends again. It felt like forever since we'd last been together, and school was the only place where I could let go of the heavy weight of summer's endless quiet.

I was giddy with anticipation—who isn't excited on the first day? New notebooks, fresh pens, the smell of freshly sharpened pencils and the endless potential for new adventures. You know that feeling, right? But before all that, there was the ritual of waking Sarah, which, let me tell you, was always a battle. Even for our mother!

Sarah groaned from under the blankets, her irritation thick in the air. "Hajara, go away!" She swatted my hand away, not even bothering to open her eyes. Instead, she buried her face deeper into her pillow, completely shutting out the sunlight and my nagging.

I tried again. "Saaaaarah! It's time to wake up! You'll be late for school!" I couldn't help but push the boundaries, letting my voice ring through her room. No response. Just a muffled, angry growl.

"Ugh! Why do you have to be like this?" she muttered, turning over dramatically and clutching the pillow over her head as though it were some sort of shield. The battle was real, I swear. 

This was our usual routine: I'd wake up early, get ready, and then try (and fail) to coax Sarah out of bed. I knocked, called gently at first, but the longer she ignored me, the more impatient I became. And you know, being the older sister comes with its fair share of responsibilities... including waking up the baby of the family.

"Sarah, wake up NOW! You want to be late on your first day of eleventh grade?" I said, giving up on being gentle. My patience had officially run out. I sighed loudly, my frustration mounting.

"OMG, what time is it?" Sarah suddenly gasped, jumping out of bed with a look of mock innocence plastered across her face. She rubbed her eyes as if she hadn't been faking sleep for the last fifteen minutes.

"It's 7:30! You have 30 minutes to get ready!" I shot her a look, gesturing to the clock on her desk as if it were a ticking bomb.

She glanced at the time, wide-eyed, and scrambled to her feet. Her silky brown hair was a tangled mess of waves, but she still looked pretty—effortlessly. I mean, it wasn't fair. She always looked good, even in the chaos of rushed mornings. She was beautiful, no question about it. And though I'm not bad-looking myself, I always felt like she had a way of making everything look easy, while I was busy struggling to stay calm in the madness of our household.

We both had fair skin, something we inherited from our Arab heritage—or at least, that's what I liked to tell myself. We were both born in America, but I often wondered if there was something deeper, something I couldn't quite explain about our ancestry. Maybe we were both a bit of a mystery in that way.

Unlike me, Sarah loved the attention. Boys at school would always try to flirt with her, throwing out ridiculous pickup lines they'd probably read in some cheesy Wattpad story. But Sarah, as always, was strict and distant with them. Religion was important to her, and she knew exactly how to keep those conversations short and respectful.