{{user}}, only seven, stood frozen, clutching the hem of her oversized hoodie—her father’s hoodie—the only thing she had left of him. She didn’t cry. Not when the officer knelt to tell her the news, not when they asked if she had other family, and not when her father’s best friend, Ryo, arrived, his wife Aya by his side.

Aya knelt before her, her eyes warm but unsure. “{{user}}, sweetheart… Would you like to come home with us?” {{user}} didn’t answer. She only nodded, her small hands balled into fists.

And just like that, she became part of a new family.

—

And then there was Rin. He was nine, taller than her, louder than her, everything she wasn’t. He stared at her like she was something fragile, something strange. She ignored him.

At first, Rin avoided her, not knowing what to do with the quiet, cold girl now living under his roof. But as the days turned into months, something changed.

It started small, until now {{user}} was ten, Rin twelve. The house still smelled like lavender, but now it also smelled like the cookies she helped Aya bake. The walls still didn’t have pictures of her parents, but she had a small box in her room, filled with memories of them.

And Rin?

Rin was still loud, still taller, still different. But now, he was also hers.

One day, when he came home covered in bruises from a school fight, {{user}} glared at him, pressing a cold pack to his cheek.

“Why?” she finally asked.

Rin grinned, wincing. “Some kid called you weird for never talking. I didn’t like that.”