in a hundred words.

I slowly open my eyes to the light behind my heavy dark blue curtains filtering into the room and landing on my worn blanket. The room is still cool, still enveloped in a dreamlike aura probably stemming from my deep sleep.

I stay quiet and listen. Beyond my door, I can hear my mother cooking in the kitchen, the sounds of sizzling bacon and clanging pots and pans. I can hear strains of familiar music from Indian movies which my dad loves. My sisters are arguing amidst the sounds of running water in the bathroom.

This is my Sunday morning.