[LINA]

I cooked dinner and invited Cole, even when he barely touched his plate. I messaged Eve every now and then, never about Cole, just to check in.

I held the thread between them gently, like a fragile string I was afraid to tug too hard. Even though she didn't reply.

I waited.

And in the quiet, I prayed.

That one day, they'd find their way back to each other.

Because some people . . . they don't belong apart.

And no matter how long it took, I'd be here.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Watching the door and the phone and the skies above—hoping for the moment when one of them would stop running and finally say what they were both too scared to say:

"I'm still here. I still love you. Let's try again."

Until then, I'd hold the peace I had. I'd laugh with Daniel, drink tea by the window, and find moments of joy in small, everyday things.

But part of my heart . . . would always be with Cole.

Because being his sister meant carrying his pain too.

Even if he never asked me to.

We were eating dinner one evening—a rare full table, just the four of us. The food was good, the lighting warm, and for once, things felt light.

But then, as it always did lately, the conversation took a familiar turn.

It started innocently enough. My mother passed me a bowl of soup and smiled as if she had something on her mind.

And when she had that look, I should've known what was coming.

"You and Daniel," she said, the tiniest smirk tugging at her lips, "are getting serious, I see?"

I froze for a second, spoon halfway to my mouth. My father didn't even try to hide the way his eyebrow twitched.

"You're still young," he said gruffly, setting down his glass of water with just a little more force than necessary.

Here we go again.

My mother rolled her eyes with expert dramatics and leaned back in her chair. "Lina is at the right age already, dear. She's not a baby. And anyway," she added with a dreamy sigh, "I want to see little Linas running around here soon. Or little Daniels. Either is fine. Just imagine those chubby cheeks. I always wanted a lot of children in the house."

I nearly choked on my soup.

My father let out a heavy sigh, but he didn't say anything. He just gave my mother a look—a mix of exasperation and surrender. En@jo^y the s!tor%y by re@ad^in%g$ on M$|.V|$LE%+M#PY$R.$

He knew he had already lost the argument before it even began. As much as he might huff and puff, he never really won against her. Especially when it came to "grandchild diplomacy."

"Mom," I said, trying not to laugh, "you're getting way ahead of yourself. We're not even talking about marriage yet."

She waved a hand like she was brushing away something unimportant. "Oh, marriage, yes yes, that can come in time. But the most important thing is the man himself. And Daniel is a very nice man. Smart, kind, respectful. Decent. That's the kind of man you don't let get away."

I couldn't argue with that.

Daniel was all of those things. He was steady in a way that soothed my chaos. Thoughtful in ways that caught me off guard.

He remembered things like what kind of soup I liked when I was sick, or the exact playlist I listened to when I studied. He made me laugh without trying too hard, and he respected my space without question.

But still. "It's too early," I muttered, picking at my rice.

"Is it?" my mother asked, resting her chin on her palm, her elbow firmly planted on the table. "Your brother's always working. No romance, no girlfriend. Eve's out of the picture for now, and he's pretending that doesn't hurt. At least one of my children should give me a reason to hope."

I glanced at my father. He wasn't eating. He was brooding, eyes flickering from me to my mom and back again, as if weighing whether to add anything.

But in the end, he stayed quiet. He knew better.

My mom continued, oblivious—or perhaps very aware—of the brewing awkwardness.

"I mean, just look at you two! You and Daniel are always out on cute little dates. He picks you up, brings you flowers sometimes. He helped me fix the garden door last week, didn't he? And your father actually smiled at him when he did. A miracle!"

My dad grunted, clearly trying to stay neutral. "That was because he trip."

"You made him trip!" I said, grinning.

"Exactly. You must know how I feel by now." My dad took a bite of meat and said no more.

I laughed, but I could feel heat creeping up my neck. This wasn't the first time the topic had come up, and I knew it wouldn't be the last.

Every time something good happened between Daniel and me, my mother seemed to think we were inching closer to some grand wedding plan she had secretly drawn up in her head.

But I wasn't ready. Not yet.

I loved the way Daniel made me feel—like I could breathe, like I didn't have to pretend. But marriage? That was an entirely different weight.

And part of me wondered if I was even equipped for that kind of step. I had grown up watching things fall apart. Watching people get tired, walk away, close themselves off.

Like Cole.

He was the unspoken shadow at the table. The empty chair in this conversation.

No one mentioned him aloud, but he was always there in the silence between words.

And I couldn't help but think, how could I rush toward forever when my own brother had just been left behind by the girl he thought would be his?

It didn't matter that Eve had chosen to live away for now. It didn't matter that she had told me it wasn't about leaving Cole—it was about finding herself.

To Cole, it had been abandonment. To him, it was proof that love didn't stay. And he responded the only way he knew how: by burying himself in work, sealing off the parts of himself that hurt.

He barely talked to me lately. When I visited, he was polite but distant. Cold in the quietest way.

And it hurt.