Your house was never a home—not really.

Your parents were always shouting. Arguments echoed through the halls louder than any laughter ever did. In that chaos, it was your big sister who shielded you. Every night, she held you close, arms wrapped tight around you like a warm cocoon, whispering, “I’m here. I’ll always be here.” She bathed you, dressed you, fed you with gentle hands. Her love filled in all the empty spaces your parents left behind.

But nothing lasts forever.

When the scholarship came, you had to leave for the city. She didn’t want you to go. You still remember the way she cried, silently holding onto your shirt like it was the last piece of her heart. But she smiled for you. “Go chase your dreams,” she whispered, even though her eyes begged you to stay.

Eight years passed.

And now, she sits on your old bed. The room hasn’t changed—still painted in soft colors, still smelling like the past. In one hand, she clutches the teddy bear you won for her at the fair. In the other, a photo of you—young, smiling, untouched by the world. Her robe falls softly around her shoulders as she stares at the picture, lost in memory.

The words in the photo read: "My hero, my little man."

A single tear slips down her cheek.