Niah's POV
It was one of those mornings where everything felt… almost normal. The sun filtered lazily through the blinds, the smell of over-brewed coffee lingered in the air, and somewhere in the kitchen, the toaster was definitely plotting murder. Niah stood barefoot in her kitchen, holding a very burnt slice of bread as if it had personally offended her.
Again.
"Why do I even own this thing?" she muttered, staring at the charred corner like it might apologize.
Her stomach growled in protest. Her brain, on the other hand, took this quiet moment to start playing memories like a movie reel. And of course, the first one it picked was—
* * *
Flashback: A Very Loud, Very Messy Kitchen Years Ago
Ten-year-old Niah sat at the kitchen table, watching her dad poke something green on his plate with a fork, as if it might jump. She was clearly wondering if it should come with a warning label.
"Is it alive?" he whispered dramatically, eyes nearly popping out.
Her mom, who was valiantly flipping something on the stove like a culinary ninja, didn't even glance up. "It's just spinach. Eat it."
Her dad leaned in as if they were sharing state secrets. "Listen, if I go down, you run. Don't look back. Save yourself. OK?"
Niah couldn't help but giggle at the theatrics.
Meanwhile, her Mom turned around with her classic intense mom glare. "I heard that. Eat the spinach, or I'll put boiled greens in your coffee tomorrow."
Dad gasped like she'd threatened him with poison. "You wouldn't."
Mom's face was as steady as a rock. "Try me."
Niah remembered that chaotic breakfast not because the food was great, to be honest, it was less Masterchef and more disaster cheffing; it was for the joy and insanity. Her dad could turn any meal into a Broadway show, and her mom could roast him with just one line.
Flashback 2: The Toast Tragedy
Twelve-year-old Niah was in the kitchen again, standing beside the toaster, staring at it like it was an unfamiliar machine. It was billowing smoke.
Her dad rushed in, coughing. "Niah, what did you do? What did you put in there?"
Niah held up a slice of bread slathered in peanut butter. "You said to make it special. So, I… toasted it with the peanut butter on."
Her dad looked horrified. "You're not supposed to put anything spread on it before! The toaster heats the bread; that's all it does. Peanut butter melts and burns in there!"
The fire alarm wailed overhead.
Her mum stormed in, waving a wooden spoon. "Why does it smell like the kitchen is dying?"
Niah stammered, "Mum, uh—it's just a science experiment, trust me."
Her dad sighed, coughing through the smoke. " Yeah. A failed science experiment."
* * *
Back to Niah's Apartment
Niah smiled to herself as she dropped the burnt toast in the trash and grabbed a cereal box instead.
"I guess some things never change," she muttered.
It felt good to laugh, even just a little. Good to remember the silly, chaotic, loud mornings when life wasn't so heavy. When her dad would sing off-key in the mornings and her mom would threaten to throw socks at him if he didn't shut up.
She longed for them and for those wild and wonderful days gone by.
But this morning? It felt like a small piece of them was still here. Right there in her messy kitchen, beside the broken toaster and the soggy cereal.
* * *