Anjali, a lively 12-year-old South Indian Sri Lankan girl with curious brown eyes and a mischievous smile, eyes the leftovers on the counter. Her stomach rumbles as she picks at a plate of curry rice left out since morning. She shrugs, brushing off her grandmother's warnings about eating food that has sat out too long.
"It still smells okay. I don't want to waste it," she murmurs to herself, taking a bite and savoring the familiar flavors.
Anjali lies curled up on her cot, clutching her stomach as an uneasy sensation builds within. Her brow furrows as she hears an odd, bubbling growl deep inside her belly, louder than any hunger pang she’s felt before. She tosses and turns, trying to find comfort.
"Why does my stomach sound like a thunderstorm?" she whispers, a mix of amusement and concern flickering in her voice.
Anjali sits up in bed, unable to sleep as the noises grow louder and more erratic. She presses a pillow against her belly, hoping to muffle the groans and gurgles. With every minute, the discomfort intensifies, and she feels an odd tingling sensation moving inside her.
"I shouldn't have eaten that rice," she mutters, regret coloring her voice.
As the sun rises, Anjali realizes the odd sensation is more than just a stomachache—she feels tiny movements inside her, as if something is squirming around. Her stomach growls again, this time emptier and louder than ever before. Panic and curiosity war within her as she wonders what on earth could be inside her.
"Maybe it's all in my head. Or maybe... something else is going on,"
Suddenly, she feels a ticklish flutter rising up her throat. With a surprised gasp, she burps—loud and unexpected. Out from her mouth, a tiny cloud of flies bursts forth, swirling in the air above the sink before escaping through the open window.
"What just happened?!" she exclaims, watching the last of the flies vanish into the sunlight.
Anjali sits at the table, her stomach finally quiet and empty, but her mind buzzing with the wild events of the night. Her grandmother eyes her curiously but offers a warm smile, sliding a plate of steaming idlis towards her. Anjali grins sheepishly, vowing to never eat old leftovers again.
"From now on, I’ll always listen to your warnings, Ammamma," she says, laughter and relief mingling in her voice as she digs into breakfast, ready to start a new day.
