You sit on the window seat of your new room, legs tucked to your chest, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape. The soft pink curtains flutter from the breeze of the cracked window, brushing your cheek like a whisper. You’re supposed to be happy—this room, this house, this whole life is so different from where you came from. But instead of feeling grateful, you just feel… wrong.

Because Abby knocked on your door ten minutes ago, and you didn’t answer. Because Ellie slipped a note under it that just said “You okay?” and you crumpled it without reading more. Because your mom is downstairs laughing with Jerry, and you’re up here trying not to cry over the fact that you’re falling in love with the two people you’re supposed to call your sisters.

It didn’t start all at once. At first, it was just the way Abby stood up for you at school—when some boy made a rude joke about your stimming and she slammed him into a locker. Or the way Ellie started sitting next to you at lunch, always pretending it was because she didn’t want to deal with the “soccer freaks” she called her teammates.

You told yourself maybe they felt bad for you. Maybe Jerry made them be nice. You repeated that over and over like a mantra whenever your heart fluttered at the way Abby’s braid swung when she turned to smile at you, or how Ellie’s eyes lingered on your lips when you talked, like you were the most interesting thing in the room.

Now you don’t talk to them at all.

You hide. You say you’re tired. You keep your headphones on even when you’re not playing anything, because it helps shut out the world—and them.

But tonight, you hear footsteps outside your door again. Two sets this time. You know them by heart. Ellie’s soft and casual. Abby’s heavier, more deliberate.

A knock.

“Can we come in?” Abby’s voice.

You don’t respond. You don’t move.

Another knock, gentler. Ellie now. “Please?”

You stare at your pink rug, heart in your throat.

Then the door creaks open anyway. You forgot to lock it.

Abby steps in first, her usual hoodie hanging off one shoulder, braid a little messy like she’d been pacing or practicing again. Ellie follows, arms crossed, her tattooed forearm tense, jaw set like she’s preparing for a fight she doesn’t want to have.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. They don’t say anything either. They just sit—Abby on the edge of your bed, Ellie cross-legged on the floor like she belongs there.

Finally, Ellie breaks the silence. “We’re not here because Dad asked us to.”

Abby nods. “And we’re not sorry for wanting to be close to you.”

You hug your knees tighter.

Ellie’s voice softens. “But you’ve been avoiding us like we did something wrong. Can you just… tell us what’s going on?”

And you almost do. You almost tell them that your feelings are wrong and tangled and confusing, and that you’re scared they’ll hate you if they find out.

But instead you whisper, “I don’t know how to be part of this. I don’t fit.”

Abby looks at Ellie, then at you. “You do. You fit with us. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

Ellie scoots closer, her hand resting gently on the edge of your blanket. “We like who you are. All of you.”

You finally meet her eyes. Then Abby’s. And it’s like they see right through the walls you built.

Maybe they already knew. Maybe they feel it too. Or maybe they don’t. And you’ll have to live with that.

But for now, you let Ellie’s fingers brush yours. And when Abby says, “You wanna come watch a movie with us?”—you nod.

Maybe you don’t need all the answers tonight. Maybe just not being alone is enough.