Me and Dad are packing all our things. The clock reads 6 AM, and the first light of dawn is creeping through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over my room. The air is filled with the sounds of zippers closing, the rustle of clothes being folded, and the quiet hum of morning birds singing their cheerful songs outside. Our suitcases stand like sentinels by the door, ready to be loaded into the car.
The room feels like it's holding its breath, the walls adorned with memories of our stay—photographs of shared moments, drawings from my cousins, and trinkets we've collected. I pause for a moment, taking it all in, the bittersweet feeling of leaving a place that has come to feel like home washing over me.
After packing my things, I head downstairs. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wa
