Just Another Sunday-1

Sunlight poured gently over the rooftops of the quiet Boston suburb, the early rays slipping through the light curtains in the room at the far end of the hall. The neighborhood was calm, almost unnaturally so, as if the entire block had collectively agreed to sleep in. Outside the window, the occasional chirp of a bird and the distant hum of a car hinted at the world waking up slowly.

Inside, the scent of spices and warm bread drifted through the hallway. The clink of utensils and soft rustle of a frying pan signaled the start of another Sunday.

Alexander stirred beneath his sheets, blinking away the remnants of sleep. The warmth of the morning sun nudged at his skin, and the unmistakable aroma of cumin and garlic pulled him from the haze of dreams. He yawned, stretched his limbs lazily, and sat up, the floorboards creaking slightly beneath his feet as he swung his legs down. He ruffled his hair, still tousled from sleep, and rubbed his eyes before slowly making his way down the hal

In the kitchen, Mira was moving around in a practiced rhythm. Short and sprightly, her dark hair pulled into a neat bun, she was humming an old tune from the radio playing softly on the counter.

"Morning, lazybones," she said as Alex shuffled in, his hair sticking up on one side. "Breakfast or should I call the fire department to wake you properly next time?"

Alexander grinned sleepily and sat at the table. "You should try waking up in my dreams. I'm living three lives in there."

"If one of them remembers to do the dishes, I'd be happy," she quipped, flipping something in the pan. "Toast or eggs today?"

"Eggs, please. Toast too. Maybe some juice if we've got any."

Bob sat at the table already, peering over the rim of his glasses as he scrolled through the local news on his tablet. He looked up and nodded. "Morning, Alex."

"Morning, Dad."

Bob—Robert to the bank and bookstore where he spent his days—was a calm presence in the house. He had the air of someone who never rushed unless absolutely necessary, which also made him the perfect partner to Mira's enthusiastic energy.

The family ate together, the talk ranging from the heatwave coming next week to which Netflix show Mira had decided was now overrated.

"Seriously, he spends five episodes just brooding. Is he Batman or something?" she said, pointing her fork accusingly at her plate.

"It's character development," Alex muttered between bites.

"It's character waste of time," she fired back.

After breakfast, Alexander offered to help with cleanup. Mira passed him the dish towel with a knowing smile.

"So," she said, scrubbing a pot, "big day tomorrow. Nervous yet?"

"Not really," Alex replied. "I mean, I've prepped everything. Just have to get through it."

"Still feels weird, right? University. Feels like just yesterday you were trying to hide your report cards."

Bob chuckled from the living room. "He wasn't very good at hiding them."

"I was ten!"

"And now you're going to Howard," Mira said with a proud tilt of her head. "My little boy, off to the Ivy light."

Once the dishes were done, Alex went to his room to grab his shoes. The morning air outside was just starting to warm up, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and distant traffic.

"Going somewhere?" Mira called as he put on his hoodie by the door.

"Just a walk. Maybe grab some vegetables. Get out for a bit."

"Take your phone. And don't forget the green beans this time."

"Got it."

The neighborhood was peaceful, a stretch of modest houses with neat lawns and familiar faces. As Alex passed by, a few neighbors waved.

"Howard boy!" Mr. Lawson from two doors down called out, watering his garden. "Make us proud."

"I'll try," Alex replied with a laugh.

Further down the road, Mrs. Patel from the corner house stopped him with a plastic bag.

"Give this to your mother. Fresh guavas. From my brother in India."

"Thanks, aunty," he said, taking the bag. "She'll love these."

He walked toward the small market square about fifteen minutes from home. The streets of Boston, especially in the older residential districts, had a charm to them—red brick sidewalks, ivy-covered buildings, and little shops tucked between coffee houses. The cool breeze carried with it the aroma of roasted beans and baked bread as Alex passed a couple of cafés already busy with weekend crowds.

The grocery store was quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights above and the occasional squeaky wheel of a cart rolling past. Alex picked up potatoes, tomatoes, green beans, and onions, making sure to double-check the list his mom had texted.

At the counter, the cashier—a young woman around his age—glanced at his Howard hoodie. "Starting there this week?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow, actually."

"Nice. My cousin's in second year there. Says it's intense, but fun."

"That's the hope," he replied, handing over the cash.

On the walk back, Alex took a detour through a tree-lined path beside the old reservoir. Ducks floated lazily across the water. The sky above was a pale, cloudless blue. It was the kind of afternoon that passed slowly, without drama. For once, everything in his world felt still.

When he returned home, Mira was already prepping lunch, a soft melody playing from her phone on the kitchen counter.

"Got everything?" she asked.

"Even the green beans," he said, holding up the bag.

"You're learning."

Alex dropped the vegetables onto the kitchen counter, washed his hands, and leaned against the frame of the doorway.

"Need help?"

"You can slice the onions. And don't cry about it this time."

"Never" he said

They stood side by side, working in companionable silence as the day rolled into its quieter hours.