The afternoon began to fade.
The sunlight coming through the window was no longer as bright as before. Its color had turned golden, spilling across the floor and making the table-leg shadows stretch out.
I put the last notebook into my bag.
“Tired?”
I turned around.
Missa stood beside the table, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She was still holding several spools of thread she had used earlier.
“Pretty tired,” I replied with a small smile. “But it was fun.”
“Fun?” She raised an eyebrow. “Who was it that almost gave up because her stitching was crooked?”
I immediately giggled.
“I said almost. I didn’t actually give up.”
“Exactly. That’s still called giving up.”
I shook my head, laughing softly.
That was just how Missa was. She always found something to tease me about.
We walked out of the room together. The afternoon air greeted us as soon as the door opened. The breeze carried the scent of earth and leaves, which felt cooler after being exposed to the heat all day.
In the courtyard, several other students had already climbed onto their vehicles.
Missa stopped beside her motorcycle. “Hey, Irsha.”
“Hm?”
“Want to ride back with me?” she asked, as usual.
I glanced at her motorcycle, then looked toward the parking area, right where the motorcycle I had brought that morning was parked.
“Um... no, I’m good, Missa. I brought my own motorcycle today, heh.” I shook my head with an awkward smile.
“Oh, right.” Missa patted her own forehead and laughed.
“I forgot.”
I laughed along with her.
“Oh, well, then. I’ll head out first.” Missa said goodbye and pulled down her helmet visor.
“Okay, Missa.”
She had already put on her helmet when she suddenly turned back.
“Don’t forget to stop by, okay?” she called to me before leaving.
I smiled. “I will. Say hi to your parents for me, Missa.”
“Okay.”
Missa nodded before starting her motorcycle. The engine hummed softly, then gradually faded as she left the course grounds.
I stood there for a few moments, watching her motorcycle until it disappeared at the end of the road.
After that, I took a deep breath.
Today had felt pretty long.
Still, I felt a sense of satisfaction that was hard to explain. Maybe it was because, for the first time, I had managed to finish a sewing pattern without anyone’s help. Or maybe it was because I was starting to enjoy this activity more than I had expected.
I walked over to my motorcycle and put on my helmet.
My hand had just reached for the key when my eyes fell on the small piece of fabric still inside my bag.
I took it out for a moment.
That crooked stitching came into view again.
I smiled, amused.
“It has to be neater tomorrow,” I said as I closed my bag.
Then I started my motorcycle.
The sound of the engine broke the silence of the now nearly empty courtyard. I slowly left the parking area and followed the familiar road home.
The afternoon sky began to change colors.
At several spots along the road, the shop lights flickered on one by one. People began hurrying home, some vendors started packing up their goods, and little children ran around in front of their houses.
I stopped my motorcycle in front of a shop near my old school.
I looked at them like I was looking at my past—when I still had so many hopes and plans for the future.
I bought a few things and paid for them. Then I went back home.
When I arrived, I parked my motorcycle in front of the house. Then I went inside.
“Peace be upon you.”
But no one answered. Maybe Mom was out back feeding the chickens. We did have several farm animals back there.
I went into my room, took off my hijab, and fell asleep.
Ugh, Mom’s cooking is so good... Why doesn’t she just start a catering business? I thought to myself.