Chapter 5
948 Words
It was a little past five in the afternoon when I finally got home. Becky’s boyfriend had driven us, so instead of waiting for Peter,our family driver, I rode with them.
Knowing Andy usually arrived around six on Mondays, I didn’t bother peeking at the lanai to check if he was home. I went straight to my room, ready to change into something comfortable.
But I hadn’t even taken off my shoes when a sharp knock rattled the door.
Thinking it was Mom, I opened it quickly—
only to find Andy standing there.
I froze.
“You’re home already?” I stammered.
He didn’t answer.
His expression was carved from stone, eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made me instinctively step back.
“Who brought you home?” he asked, voice low—almost angry.
“Huh? Oh… my classmates. Becky—you know her.”
“Liar.”
His jaw clenched.
“Peter said a guy dropped you off. He even took a picture before the two of you got in the car.”
My stomach tightened.
Why did he look… furious?
“I—He’s not—He’s Becky’s boyfriend. He was just being nice.”
“Make sure of that,” he snapped. “Because if he’s courting you—”
“If he’s what, Andy?” I shot back, irritation breaking through.
“And why are you angry? I came home on time. What exactly is your problem?”
His gaze darkened.
“You know what our rule is. No suitors while you’re still studying. You agreed to that.”
“And he’s NOT a suitor,” I retorted.
“You’re the one assuming too much.”
“Fine. But if he is hitting on you—”
I crossed my arms.
“And if he is? What are you going to do?”
His eyes narrowed, sharp and unflinching.
“Then he’ll find exactly what he’s looking for.”
My mouth fell open.
“Andy, you’re being ridiculous. Stop acting like you have the right to control my life. I never interfere with your love life—even when you hide your girlfriend from me.”
“What?”
His brows shot up.
“Girlfriend? What are you talking about?”
Oh no.
My hand flew to my mouth.
I’d said too much.
“I—I mean—forget it,” I muttered. “Just stop obsessing over me. You’re not my dad, and you’re definitely not my boyfriend. You’re my stepbrother, Andy. And I’m just your stepsister. Remember that. Remember the line so you know where to stop.”
Silence fell over us—heavy, suffocating.
He stared at me for a long moment. Then he exhaled shakily.
“Yeah. You’re right,” he said quietly.
“Thanks for reminding me.”
His voice was soft, but it hit like a punch.
“From now on, I’ll give you exactly what you want. You want a stepbrother? Fine. I’ll be one. Your wish is my command.”
The hurt in his eyes flashed before I could fully understand it.
“Andy—” I reached out, guilt rising in my throat.
But he stepped back quickly, avoiding my touch—
and walked away without another word.
⸻
The distance began immediately.
Andy returned to his cold, quiet self—barely speaking to me, barely acknowledging my presence. If he happened to walk into a room I was in, he’d turn around and leave.
I tried to give him space, hoping it was temporary, but days turned into weeks.
Two weeks later, nothing had changed.
And I missed him—more than I expected.
I missed his teasing, his small smiles, the way he let his guard down around me sometimes. I missed us.
By Saturday, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I grabbed the guitar we used to play together—our shared ritual, now bittersweet—and made my way to his room.
My knock was hesitant, almost timid.
The door creaked open, and he appeared, expression blank, unreadable.
“H-hey…” I forced a smile, trying to keep my voice light.
“Are you busy? I… thought maybe we could play guitar. It’s been a while.”
He looked at me for a long moment, eyes like ice, and shook his head.
“I’m busy. You can play by yourself.”
I felt my chest tighten.
I wasn’t going to let him dismiss me like that.
I knocked again, louder this time.
“What is it now?” he barked when he opened the door.
“What’s your problem?” I snapped back.
“What did I do? Why are you acting like this? Why do you hate me?”
He took a shaky breath, his expression cracking.
“I’m not hating you,” he said quietly.
“I’m doing what’s necessary.”
“What’s necessary?” I pressed. “Avoiding me? Acting like I’m a stranger? This isn’t like you—why are you suddenly so cold?”
He hesitated, and then, with a heavy, almost painful sigh, he looked at me, eyes wide and vulnerable.
“Do you really want to know?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“And if I tell you… will you finally stop harassing me?”
I swallowed hard, then nodded.
“O-okay.”
He took a long, shaky breath.
“Fine.”
His voice trembled, barely above a whisper.
“I like you.”
I blinked, trying to process what I’d just heard.
“Not as a sister,” he continued, each word deliberate, his gaze fixed on mine.
“I’m in love with you.”
- Writer
