The guy in Turkish 101

Chapter 1 - The Sunflowers

"Zulaikha! It's 8 am. Don't you have class today?!" My mom shouted from the kitchen.

I rolled over in bed and picked up my phone from the side table.

"YA KHUDA (Oh God). NO!"

It was dead. I had completely forgotten to plug it in the charger last night, causing my alarm not to go off. I would be late for class, and it has only been a week since starting college. I got up and rushed to get ready before my mom could get a chance to barge into my room, yelling at me.

I searched my closet to find a wrinkle-free outfit and paired it with a black hijab. As I applied makeup, I recognized my top was sheer; I grabbed my mom's trench coat and put it on, not having enough time to change. It looked slightly big on me. Part of me felt like a modanisa model, while the other part felt I was detective mickey mouse. But it had to do since I didn't have time to search for another outfit.

I could hear my mom complaining to my dad in the next room.

"She has started college. She is not in H.S anymore! She does not help around the house, watches movies till 1 am, wakes up late every morning, does not get a job. Sumaiya, Mehreen, Safaa, and Zaid were not like this! Hadd hai (It's ridiculous)!"

I rolled my eyes in annoyance, knowing my mom was right.

I was the last child and a disappointment. My siblings had their priorities straight before starting college, helped with housework, and worked part-time also. In comparison, the most I did was coursework and vacuum my room. As a result, I had all the negative characteristics of the youngest child syndrome.

As I was cramming pancakes while pinning on my hijab, my mom entered the kitchen with a sunflower pot.

"Can you drop this off at your sister's place after class? She has been asking me to bring it to put on her patio, but I never get the time."

They were humongous plants. I wondered how I was going to take a seat on the bus with them. I ate the last bite of my pancakes and placed the plate in the sink. I started to walk to the entrance of the house in a huff, with my mom following.

My dad was on the couch reading Quran like he did most mornings. He stopped reading and turned my way "Khuda Hafiz, my child. Try your best to get to class on time."

My mom looked at my dad, frustrated, and shook her head. "YES, of course, and if you can't make it on time and fail the course, don't worry about it. Your dad will pay again to repeat the course, my child. Hamare pass bahut paisa hai" (we have a lot of money) my mom replied sarcastically.

"AMMIII (Mom), this is the third item you have told me to drop off at Sumaiya's place in the past week. Just because she lives four blocks away from my campus doesn't mean I will pick and drop things off for you both. I am not Amazon where you order and get same-day delivery."

As I grabbed the nearest pair of shoes from the rack, my mom looked straight at me. She made that face every immigrant mother makes to manipulate their child into doing something for them.