ILLUSTRATION: JUNAID IQBAL ISHMAM

I've been in the same outfit for days now, and I wouldn't have it any other way. This oversized and worn in t-shirt has seen me on my best and worst days, and offered comfort on both. It's my supportive companion, taking in my snot and tears as I wipe my hands on it for everything. There's a small hole on one of the sleeves where my finger gets stuck every time I try to get the shirt on; it's like a little joke between us. The material has the right amount of softness that can only be achieved by wearing it for months: it's light enough to let the breeze flow in, but stiff enough so it doesn't hang too loose. My mother has been trying to steal it forever to use it as a cleaning rag. But if I never take it off, she can't do that, can she?

The stripes of my pyjamas match the green accents of my t-shirt. They complement each other to create a harmony of cosiness. It's rather fashionable how the green stripes cross with the blue ones to form a checkered pattern. They've several coffee stains all over them that make me nostalgic about the late nights with looming examinations. Since then, my coffee has gotten better and exams harder. Spending so much time in quarantine, I've developed the perfect combination for coffee. I hum my favourite songs when I make it every morning and the glorious smell hits me. I often fantasize about opening up a little cafe serving this coffee in my pyjamas and t-shirt. 

I had never realised my gratitude for these articles of clothing before. I only reached out for them when I was too tired, or when period cramps hit and I wanted to curl up and cry. Being in quarantine gave me a lot of time to be thankful for the small things I have. The tiny plate from when I was a child that only I get to use, with Meena and Mithu on it, remnant of all the valuable life lessons this cartoon taught me; the light white shawl I wrap around myself like an embrace, when it's slightly chilly at night.  

As I settle down on the sofa to watch the news, I realise this is what home feels like. Good coffee in the red mug I won at a lottery, my mother annoyed at me for putting my feet up on the cushion, my father worried about how dark my future is because I woke up at noon, and crunchy toast biscuits. 

Aahir Mrittika likes to believe she's a Mohammadpur local, but she's actually a nerd. Catch her studying at mrittikaaahir@gmail.com