Chapter 1
A normal bright morning broke over the neighborhood, sunlight streaming through curtains as birds chirped outside. Andrew's mother called from downstairs, her voice carrying that familiar urgency, "Andrew! You're going to be late again!" He jolted awake, realizing he'd snoozed his alarm one too many times. Scrambling out of bed, he rushed through his morning routine—splashing water on his face, fumbling with his uniform buttons, nearly tripping over his untied shoelaces. "Andrew, your breakfast is getting cold!" his mother called again, a mix of exasperation and affection in her tone. He grabbed his backpack, stuffed his books in haphazardly, and bounded down the stairs two at a time. Snatching a piece of toast from the table and giving his mom a quick peck on the cheek, he dashed out the door. "Love you, Mom! Bye!" he shouted over his shoulder as she stood in the doorway, shaking her head with a fond smile, watching her boy disappear down the street.
When he arrived at school, slightly out of breath, Andrew spotted his friends clustered near the entrance, their faces carrying that unmistakable look of shared anxiety. "Bro, did you do the homework?" one of them asked urgently, eyes wide and hopeful for solidarity in their collective forgetfulness. Andrew's eyes widened as the realization hit him—there was homework. His heart sank for a moment. "Huh...no bro..." he muttered with a grimace, and immediately his friends' shoulders sagged with relief, several of them letting out audible sighs. "Thank God we're all in this together," one friend said, clapping him on the back. At least they weren't alone in facing whatever punishment awaited. They shuffled into class together, his friends whispering prayers under their breath, some making silent deals with the universe that maybe, just maybe, the teacher would forget to ask about it today.
But luck wasn't on their side. The teacher walked in, her heels clicking purposefully against the floor, and set her books down with a decisive thud. Before even greeting the class, she fixed them with that knowing look teachers have perfected over years. "Those who haven't done the homework, stand up...and write the imposition ten times," she announced firmly, her voice leaving no room for negotiation. One by one, Andrew's friends rose from their seats with guilty, hangdog expressions, exchanging miserable glances. Andrew stood up too, feeling the weight of failure, but then a memory flickered—last night, after dinner, sitting at his desk... wait. "Uh... Ma'am...I've actually done the homework," he said carefully, his voice uncertain, "but I don't know whether it's correct or not." His friends' heads snapped toward him, jaws dropping. "Let me see," the teacher replied, extending her hand with raised eyebrows. Andrew walked up nervously and showed her his book, pages filled with neat handwriting and completed problems. The teacher's stern expression softened into an approving nod, then she turned to address the class. "Well, some girls have done the homework, but only one boy has done it—Andrew. Give him a clap." The class erupted in applause while Andrew stood there, cheeks flushing pink, shoulders hunched slightly in embarrassment. He caught the mixture of betrayal and disbelief in his friends' stares—mouths hanging open, eyes accusing him of the ultimate friendship crime. Andrew gave them an apologetic, innocent look, his expression saying "I honestly forgot I did it!" before quickly shuffling back to his seat and sinking down, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Though his friends shot him mock-glaring looks and playfully shoved him during the break, they didn't take it seriously—after all, these little moments of betrayal and triumph were the real fun of childhood, the stories they'd laugh about years later. By lunchtime, they were already joking about it, one friend dramatically declaring, "Andrew, the teacher's pet!" while another ruffled his hair affectionately. The rest of the class went on in that familiar, comfortable rhythm. The teacher's voice rose and fell as she explained lessons, occasionally pausing to shoot a warning look when giggles erupted from the back row. Someone passed a folded note across desks, there were whispered conversations hidden behind textbooks, and stifled laughter when someone made a funny face. Through it all, there was that warm, easy feeling of being surrounded by friends—studying, chatting, laughing, and making memories without even realizing it.
School finally ended with the familiar ring of the bell, and Andrew rushed out with his friends, their voices mixing with the chaos of students flooding through the gates. He made his way home, the afternoon sun warm on his shoulders, his backpack bouncing against his back with each step. Bursting through the front door, he found his parents in the living room—his father George reading the newspaper in his favorite armchair, and his mother Katie reading a book on the couch. "Mom! Dad! You won't believe what happened today!" Andrew exclaimed, dropping his bag by the door with a thud. His parents looked up with interest as he launched into the story—how his friends panicked about the homework, how he'd completely forgotten he'd done it the night before, and how the teacher made the whole class clap for him while his friends stared at him like he'd committed the ultimate betrayal. George chuckled, setting down his newspaper. "Well, looks like someone's becoming the responsible one," he teased, reaching over to ruffle Andrew's hair. Katie smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling with pride and amusement. "I'm glad you did your homework, sweetheart.
Even if you didn't remember it!" she laughed. "Now go wash up—dinner will be ready soon." Andrew grinned and bounded up the stairs, still buzzing with the excitement of his unexpected moment in the spotlight.
When Andrew went upstairs to change out of his uniform, he passed by his parents' bedroom and heard their voices drifting through the half-open door. Curious, he slowed his steps and listened. His mother Katie's voice carried a hint of longing mixed with hope. "Hey, our son has been away for quite a while now, hasn't he? He's already 25 years old...don't you think it's time he should get married? Can we call him? Maybe just ask if he can take a month's leave and come home?" George's voice responded thoughtfully, "Yeah...I've been thinking the same thing actually. It's been too long since we've all been together. Let me give him a call and see if he can manage it." Hearing this, Andrew's eyes went wide with excitement. His brother! Coming home! And for a whole month! He couldn't contain himself—he literally jumped in the air in his room, pumping his fist and doing a little victory dance, nearly knocking over his desk lamp in the process. A grin spread across his face from ear to ear. His big brother was finally coming back, and if his parents were talking about marriage, that meant there would be celebrations, family gatherings, and most importantly—his hero would be home again.
