Just another sunday-2

The clatter of cutlery echoed softly in the modest dining room as Alexander and his parents sat around the wooden table. Steam rose from the plates of rice, vegetables, and baked chicken, filling the air with a homely aroma. Alexander dug in without hesitation, enjoying the warmth of a well-cooked lunch. Outside, the Boston air had cooled slightly, casting gentle shadows across the suburban neighborhood. The clock ticked quietly in the background, marking the slow descent of the day.

His mother, a gentle woman with tired eyes and a warm smile, glanced over at him. "Eat well, Alex. You've got a big day tomorrow."

"I know," he replied between bites, trying not to seem too eager. The idea of finally stepping foot into Howard University still hadn't entirely sunk in.

His father, a man of few words but strong presence, gave a small nod. "Just be yourself. That's more than enough."

Lunch passed with quiet conversation and occasional laughter. After helping clear the table, Alexander returned to his room, slipping into the calm silence that was familiar and comforting.

He sat down on his bed, pulling out his phone to check messages. A notification blinked from Grace. She was his closest friend—smart, sharp-tongued, and endlessly supportive. They'd known each other since sixth grade, and while their high schools had been different, they had always stayed in touch. Grace had gotten into a reputed college across the state, and though he was proud of her, the idea of not seeing her every other day still left a dull ache in his chest.

Grace: "Big day tomorrow, Mr. Howard. Packed your ego yet?"

Alex: "Packed. Ironed. Even polished it."

Grace: "Good. Don't forget the speech. I want full drama. Hand gestures. Pacing. The works."

Alex: "You know me. I'll trip over my words and somehow still look confident."

Grace: "That's the Alex I know. Anyway, you're going to kill it. We'll FaceTime after. I want all the details."

He smiled as their conversation wandered off into random jokes and commentary about college life. Her sarcasm always managed to put him at ease. By the time they wrapped up, the sun was beginning to dip low on the horizon.

Downstairs, the creak of the floorboards signaled his parents moving around. He made his way back to the dining area. His mother stood near the sink, drying a dish. She turned as he approached.

"Alex," she said, voice soft. "I wanted to tell you—your dad and I got a call from the SSA. There's a scheduling mix-up, and they need us early in the morning. We won't be home when you leave."

Alexander paused, processing the news. "Oh. That's okay."

She frowned slightly. "I'm sorry we'll miss your speech. We were really looking forward to seeing you up there."

He offered a smile, one he knew would comfort her. "It's fine, Mom. I'll tell you all about it when you're back."

She pulled him in for a hug, holding him tightly for a moment. "We're proud of you. Don't forget that."

"I won't."

The evening settled in quietly. Alexander returned to his room and began gathering the few things he needed—textbooks, notebooks, stationery. There wasn't much to pack, but he liked to be thorough. He pulled his uniform from the wardrobe and laid it neatly on the bed. He took time ironing it, pressing each line until it was crisp and perfect. The sharp scent of clean fabric and warm metal filled the room.

Satisfied, he folded the clothes and set them aside.

Dinner was simple—leftovers from lunch and some freshly cut fruits. Conversation was light, comfortable. After clearing his plate, he returned to his room and began practicing his speech again. Standing in front of the mirror, he paced a little, gesturing with his hands and adjusting his tone until it felt natural.

He repeated the lines until they flowed without hesitation, then finally set his notes aside. The clock now read a few minutes past ten. It was time to sleep.

He slipped under the blanket, eyes drifting toward the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead. Tomorrow would mark a new beginning, and though nervousness still lingered faintly in his chest, it was softened by the quiet reassurance of the day's warmth.

With one final glance at his phone—no new messages—he let his eyes close.

The night wrapped around him gently, and sleep took him without a fight.