As the sunlight streamed through the window and fell onto my face, I flinched at the voice shouting, "Ayşe, why isn't breakfast ready yet? Did you bring something home so we can set the table for it?"
I lifted my hand to shield my eyes from the dazzling light. "Our morning routine has started again," I muttered. Leaving the room, I went straight to wash my face. When I entered the kitchen, I saw my mother brewing tea and preparing a sandwich. "Good morning, my queen," I said, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Here you go, son," she said, handing me warm bread. "You'll be late for school!" she warned.
At that moment, my father stood at the kitchen doorway, raising his voice. "Why hasn't the stain on my pants come out yet?" My mother, with a weary tone, replied, "That's how the machine washes. If you don't like it, wash it yourself."
I hurriedly finished my breakfast and rushed out of the house. "I'm going to be late again," I grumbled, when a hand touched my shoulder. I didn't need to turn around—it was Mustafa. "Good morning," I said. He replied, "Good morning. Should we go by car or on foot?" The bus would have been practical, but it usually ran late. "Let's walk then," I said. Mustafa nodded, "Then let's stop by the bakery first," and we set off.
We passed through the empty lot overrun with dogs and walked along the canal. Mustafa darted into the bakery and came back out. Opening the bag, he said, "Here, take some." Inside were about ten small pastries. I grabbed two. After swallowing a bite, Mustafa complained, "They probably just let the cheese smell these pastries." I replied, "Or maybe they just showed them a picture of cheese."
Chatting along the way, we finally arrived at school, where the students were already lined up. Mustafa went to his line. His class and the first group of 9th graders entered the building. The principal was pulling aside boys with beards and girls with heavy makeup. As I passed by, I greeted him: "Good day, sir." He smiled and replied, "Have a good lesson, Rüzgar."
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