you were always their little sister. sometimes both of them, depending on the headline. bella’s and gigi’s baby sister steps out in soho. bella’s lookalike sibling caught in nyc cafe. even your name, spoken like an afterthought, came with their faces attached to it. it didn’t matter how many books you read or how hard you tried to find your own way — it was always their world. you just lived in it.

so when you met drew, you didn’t expect much. you were used to the glazed-over look people gave when they realized who your family was. used to the smile that said “i’m only here for the story.”

but he didn’t do that.

you met at a mutual friend’s small get-together, the kind of thing where everyone’s drinking overpriced wine and pretending not to name-drop. you’d been standing alone on the balcony, half-hoping someone would come talk to you, half-hoping no one would. then he came out, quietly, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

“you hiding too?” he asked, offering a shy smile.

you nodded. “it’s kind of loud in there.”

“yeah,” he said. “i like quiet.”

that was it. no awkward small talk. no sly questions about your family. just silence — and somehow, it felt safe.

you didn’t mean to fall for him. not really. you told yourself you were just friends. that it didn’t mean anything when he texted you good morning every day, or when he let you steal his hoodie like it was nothing. that it didn’t mean anything when he kept your name out of conversations like a secret worth protecting.

but then there were mornings.

slow ones. your hair messy, his hoodie swallowing you whole. his hand resting on the small of your back as he made coffee like you’d been doing this for years.

“this is nice,” you whispered once, curled up against him on the couch.

he kissed the top of your head. “yeah. it is.”

the world didn’t stop — there were still paparazzi waiting outside sometimes. people still whispered when they saw you together. and every now and then, someone would bring up them.

“so what’s it like having bella and gigi as sisters?”

you’d tense up without meaning to. but drew never answered for you. never made a joke. never let it become the topic. he’d just look at you, quiet and steady, like you were enough without the name.

the first time he said it, you cried.

you’d been fighting again — not with him, but with yourself. with the weight of comparison, the shadow of your sisters’ spotlight.

“i’m just tired of never being enough,” you said, voice cracking. “i’m always someone’s little sister. i’m never just…me.”

he reached for you, gently, like he was afraid to break something already fragile.

“you’re not her little sister to me,” he whispered. “you’re just… everything.”

and for the first time, you believed it.

you believed that you didn’t have to be loud to matter. that softness wasn’t weakness. that being seen — truly seen — could feel like sunlight instead of a spotlight.

drew didn’t save you. he just reminded you that you were worth saving. that you could be held, not just watched. loved, not just known.

and in his arms, in his silence, in all the ways he never asked you to be anyone but yourself — you found peace.

you found you.

✦

“he made me believe i could be soft again.”

follow me on tiktok @tvdu4lifee