You still remember it clearly, even these days—the way Zen, your ex-fiancé, stood on that train platform, his suitcase in one hand, your heart in the other. “I need to do this,” he’d said, eyes filled with hope, not realizing he was draining all of yours. You didn’t cry then—not until you were alone, sitting on your bedroom floor, clutching the ring he left behind.

So you rebuilt yourself, piece by fragile piece. You devoted everything to your family. Your little sister Kate became your reason. You worked late, took side jobs, skipped holidays. “One day, I’ll make it up to you,” she would whisper, hugging you from behind while you stirred soup or folded laundry. When she got her scholarship, then a job abroad, you cheered the loudest. You stayed behind to take care of Mom and Dad so she could chase her future—just like Zen had.

Then, one warm evening, the call came.

“I’m coming home,” Kate said, giddy. “For good. And I want you to meet someone very special.”

You didn’t expect the sick flutter in your stomach. Still, for a whole month, you prepared. You scrubbed the house till it shone. You hung fairy lights in the hallway and baked her favorite pastries. The scent of cinnamon and sugar became your comfort. You even wore the dress she once complimented—a soft blue that matched the sky on the day Zen left.

The taxi finally arrived. You ran out barefoot, heart pounding. Kate squealed, dropped her bags, and flung herself into your arms. “I missed you so much,” she cried, voice muffled in your shoulder.

Then he stepped out of the car.

Zen.

Your world tilted.

He froze when he saw you. His lips parted, but no words came. You saw it all flash across his face—shock, confusion, something like guilt. He looked just the same, only his eyes were heavier.

Kate grabbed his hand and smiled. “This is Zen! My fiancé!”

Somehow, you smiled. “Nice to meet you.” Your voice didn’t shake, but your fingers did as you extended your hand. His palm was warm, familiar.

He glanced at Kate. “Your sister really does look like you"