A sound woke me up: "Ansu! Ansu! Get up, the sun is up. We decided to go for a morning walk!" My cousin's sister was banging on my door, shouting my name.
"Okay, just five more minutes! Let me freshen up, Pristine. I'll be right there," I replied.
I'm not a morning person, but I have decided to train myself to become one. I have finished my board exams, and now is the crucial time to start building healthy habits. It's time for me to become a mature, goal-focused woman rather than just a reckless, aimless teenager.
The idea of running 5 kilometers straight turned out to be the worst decision I could make. It took me what felt like an eternity to catch my breath after the stunt I pulled just to prove to Pristine that I was better than her, and the truth is, I wasn't. She's athletic and has much better stamina, while I, on the other hand, am the laziest in my family lineage. It's surprising that I even managed to run that far.
The truth to my victory is, my competitive nature drives me—I can do anything to win. If I place a bet on something, I will do whatever it takes to win it, as long as the means are fair. I push myself to the limit for any bet.
When I returned home, I teased Pristine about my achievement—running the 5-kilometer track we had decided on in approximately 21 minutes, which was 4 minutes faster than she had done. After my run, I was drenched in sweat since it was early May and the temperature had reached 25 degrees Celsius in Syangja, which is hotter than usual for that time of the morning. I definitely needed a shower.
The shower made my day better, and breakfast was the icing on the cake. My uncle had made mixed vegetable noodles, which were as delicious as some dishes from a five-star Michelin restaurant. Food always comforts the heart.
Everything was going well until I found a photo inside a diary I received as a present from my high school teacher on Christmas. The photo seemed familiar, maybe even mine, but I couldn't remember taking it.
It was a picture of a girl wearing a long, emerald green dress, her hair flowing down her back. I could only see her from behind, as if she were trying to block the camera, or perhaps the photo was taken without her consent. But who was she? I tried to remember if I knew this girl and whether I had taken the picture myself. After ten minutes of intense concentration, all I ended up with was a headache—a throbbing pain similar to that of a migraine. It was unbearable and made me feel nauseous, forcing me to set the picture back in the diary.
Then, something surprising happened—something I thought I had left behind. The next part of my problem began: Am I going crazy? Is my brain forgetting things, or is this awful headache from not sleeping enough? Just when I felt lost, I saw a shadow move in the corner of my eye. Was it real, or just my tired mind playing tricks on me?
I felt my heart race. I knew I had to face whatever was coming next. The line between what was real and what wasn't was getting blurry. All I knew was that my journey wasn't over, and what happened next might change everything.