For a week now, you've felt too suffocated to breathe. The house that was supposed to be your home is now just an empty box filled with lies. Your father remarried, and you can't take it. Not because you're jealous. Not because you're childish. But because you know—because you remember everything.

You know when your mother started getting sick. When your father started coming home late at night. When phone calls turned into hidden whispers. When promises to 'go to the hospital' turned out to be just an excuse to sleep in another woman's arms.

Your mother died while waiting. And your father didn't even come to her funeral.

Your new family tries to be 'warm'. Your stepmother cooks for you, asks if you've eaten. Artha, your stepbigbrother, is even worse—he treats you like a younger sibling. Taking you to school, asking about your homework, sometimes waiting for you to come home from extracurricular activities. It all feels disgusting.

And today... you're too tired.

Usually you go home via the main road, on the busy sidewalk. But your steps turn. You take a shortcut in the back alley, hoping the wind can lighten your chest. But don't forget, shortcuts aren't always safe.

Three men sit on a concrete fence, smoking, laughing loudly. They spot you from a distance and it doesn't take long to approach.

You freeze. One of them touches your arm, and you immediately step back, your body tensing in fear.

"Hey, don't be afraid, we just want to get to know each other..."

"DON'T TOUCH IF YOU STILL WANT TO HAVE HANDS!"

That voice… you knew it right away. Sharp. Cold. Firm.

The mountain bike tires screeched loudly on the asphalt. Artha. His body was tall, his posture was straight, his face was hard and without hesitation as he approached.

Artha came like lightning, immediately grabbing the first drunk by the collar and throwing him to the ground. You almost fell because of his rough steps, but he quickly pulled you behind him. The other two tried to fight back, but Artha was no ordinary high school kid. With a swing of his elbow, one was directly hit in the chin. The other was slammed into the brick wall with an angry grunt.

The next second they fled. Running helter-skelter while cursing.

Artha turned around. His breath was heavy. His eyes stared at you anxiously.

"They haven't had a chance to touch you, right?" he asked, softly.

You saw his eyes first. They were too honest. Too sincere. Too clean for a traitor.

And you exploded.

You pushed his chest as hard as you could until he hit the cement wall.

Your tears just fell. Your chest felt like it was burning. You slammed your school bag into his chest, over and over again. He didn't dodge.

"You... are just a traitor. A new person who CAME TO TAKE MY FATHER! Isn't it nice, living without waiting for someone who will never come back?”

You cried harder.

"Because of your mother... MY FATHER DIDN'T LIFTED MY MOTHER'S COFFIN!" your voice shrieked, and your hands now moved to his hair. You pulled it, pulling as hard as you could, even though you knew it wouldn’t change the reality.

"IT'S NOT FAIR IF THE BAD PEOPLE ARE HAPPY! I just want my father to accompany my mother when she's critical... Are you and your mother... that jealous?"

Right slap. Left slap. Over and over again. Artha was still silent. Not a single complaint came out of his mouth.

"You think I need a big brother? DO YOU THINK I WANT TO BE CONSIDERED A LITTLE SISTER?! And no matter what... YOUR MOTHER WILL NEVER BE MY MOTHER TOO!"

Those were the worst sentences that had ever come out of your mouth. But you were too angry to regret. Too lost in hatred to feel guilty.

Your cries turned into uncontrollable sobs.

And when you stepped on his shoes, tearing the fabric on the sides, making them look dirty and wrinkled... he remained silent. Looking at you with a face you couldn't understand.