I didn’t flinch. But I didn’t smile either. As much as she already lived inside me, under my skin, wrapped around every fucked-up beat of my heart—I’d never do that.
“Not happening,” I said.
She frowned, straddling me with a sudden burst of defiance. Her hand came up, pressing to my throat—not hard, but firm enough to make a point. Her palm was small, her glare fierce, and honestly, it was kind of cute how mad she got. “Why not? You’re mine.”
I exhaled slowly. “Because that’s my sister’s name.”
She blinked, releasing her hand from my throat, confusion flashing across her face. Her lips parted, like she was about to speak but wasn’t sure what to say.
“I thought—” she began, her voice faltering. “I thought it was… like… some girl. An ex or something. I was jealous.”
I shook my head. “Nothing to be jealous about.”
She lifted herself off me, sat beside me, and reached for my hand. Her fingers wrapped around mine, warm and steady, and she brought it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles.
“Where is she?” she whispered.
“I don’t know… She went missing when she was three,” I said, the words scraping out of me.
Kira hesitated for a moment before speaking. “What happened?” she asked quietly. “Only if you’re okay talking about it. I don’t want to push.”
I stayed quiet for a beat. I’d never told a soul the real story. I’d locked it away so long it felt like it happened to somebody else. But now it was rising again, sharp and insistent. And for once I didn’t want to shove it back down. I wanted her to know.
“I was nine. It was my job to watch her. We were just outside. I turned for a second, and when I looked back… she was gone. Just like that.”
I dragged a hand over my face, staring somewhere past Kira as the memory settled back into place.
“I didn’t even plan to take her outside that day. We were on the couch, half-watching cartoons, half-dozing, when my friendscalled out from the courtyard to come play ball.” I gave a sharp, bitter exhale. “I should’ve stayed. But she turned to me with those huge eyes and asked so sweetly.”
I glanced away, blinking hard, jaw tightening. “She couldn’t even say my name right—used to call me ‘Masim.’” I paused, then mimicked her small voice, rough around the edges with memory. “’Masim, Masim, please, I want to go out to play too.’”
My voice cracked. “She was so little.” I swallowed. “I couldn’t tell her no.”
Kira said nothing. She just held my hand tighter.
“I never saw her again. I think she... is dead.”
The words lodged in my chest like shrapnel.
Nobody had ever looked at me the way she did now. Nobody had ever listened like this. And yet here she was—silent, steady, her eyes wide and full of something that wasn’t pity. Something deeper.
Understanding. Maybe even love.
Kira touched my chest, fingers splayed like she could feel the weight beneath. “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “But you didn’t do anything wrong. You were a child.”
My laugh was hollow. “Try telling that to my old man.”
“Where is he now?”
I let out a slow breath, my jaw tightening. “Hopefully rotting,” I said, the words sharp, and full of a hate that hadn’t dulled with time.
She swallowed.“Did he hurt you?”
“Yeah,” I said, bitterness thick in my throat. “Every damn day. Right up until the state came and took me—just to dump me somewhere even worse.”
She hesitated, then asked gently, “And your mom? Where was she in all of this?”
“She died not long after Mila’s disappearance,” I said, my voice rough as my eyes stung. “It broke her.”
