The living room glowed with sunlight streaming through freshly cleaned windows, illuminating the pristine surfaces and organized furniture. It felt surreal standing in the middle of my once-chaotic apartment, which now looked as though it belonged in a home magazine spread.
My mother was perched on the edge of the couch, her expression an odd mix of surprise and pride as she surveyed the transformation.
"Well," she said, breaking the silence, her tone exaggeratedly thoughtful. "This is... unexpected."
I groaned, crossing my arms over my chest. "Mamá, I can clean, you know."
She arched an eyebrow at me, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Sure, sure. But I know my daughter, and this level of clean?" She gestured dramatically around the room. "It screams Zaya."
I glanced at Zaya, who was standing by the window, looking annoyingly nonchalant. She smirked, giving me a little shrug that said she's not wrong.