I don't know when my life became a series of secrets, when a simple glance could spark so much warmth and dread inside me. At the age of 17, I fell in love with my older sister. My sister, Fah, has always been my protector, the steady hand that held mine when I stumbled, the gentle voice that comforted me when I felt lost. Yet somewhere along the way, my feelings changed, tangled and confusing, like knots in a thread I couldn't unravel.
It was never supposed to happen. She's my older sister, after all. But love—this love—crept in silently, rooting itself in moments I couldn't ignore. The way she'd smile, light up a room, her laughter a sound so pure, so honest. The warmth of her hugs, the small gestures that others saw as familial, but which stirred something deeper in me.
I know it's wrong. I know that if anyone knew, it would ruin everything. So, I bury it, hide it behind careful words and forced smiles. But every day, pretending becomes harder. And the worst part? I don't know if I want to let go.
I rushed into her room, desperate to understand why she'd agreed to move in with a guy she'd only been dating for a day.
"Why did you agree to be his girlfriend?" I demanded, my voice barely steady.
She looked at me calmly, still packing. "Because he likes me, and he's… a good guy."
"But do you like him?" I pressed, refusing to let it go.
Her hands paused briefly before she answered, "He's not bad. I don't hate him."
I took a breath, trying to rein in my frustration. "That's not what I asked. I asked if you like him. Romantically."
Her eyes flicked to her suitcase as she zipped it up. "Feelings will develop. They just need time."
"Why do they need to develop? If you don't like him, why are you doing this?" My voice trembled, edging closer to a plea.
"There's nothing wrong with him. I don't hate him. It's worth a try," she replied, almost mechanically.
My chest tightened as I finally let the question burst out, my voice breaking. "Then why did you kiss me last night? What did that mean?"
She froze, staring at me with an unreadable expression, silent.
"Was it just because you don't hate me?" I asked, my voice cracking as tears filled my eyes. "Was that enough for you to kiss me like that?"
"Kwan… you're my sister. Why would I hate you? Last night… I was drunk," P'Fah said, her voice strained but steady, as if hoping her words could make this all go away.
"So, I'm just a toy to you?" I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. "Something you can try out whenever you feel like experimenting? A kiss you can brush off when it suits you?"
"Kwan…" she said, hesitating.
"Because after that kiss, you could still turn around and agree to be someone else's girlfriend, just like that. I don't understand, Fah. What does any of this mean? What do I even mean to you?"
"We… we used to do things like that when we were kids, Kwan. It was just play back then. Why is it such a big deal to you now?" She was trying to dodge what we both knew hung between us, pretending it was nothing.
"What about the things you said to me?" I pressed, though I could tell from her face that she barely remembered. She'd told me she loved me—more than she should, she admitted, in a voice so soft I could still hear it echo. She'd said loving me felt selfish, forbidden, but real. And the kiss… that kiss was so tender, so filled with unspoken feelings. I could still feel it, lingering.
I don't know why she drank so much last night. The details of that evening blur together in a haze, but certain moments stand out like bright stars in a dark sky. I remember the way her laughter rang out, carefree and vibrant, filling the room with an intoxicating energy. The way she leaned into me, her warmth enveloping me as if the world outside had faded away. But it's the words she spoke that echo in my mind, lingering like the sweet taste of her favorite wine.
I can't forget how, amid the playful banter and laughter, she turned to me, her eyes glinting with mischief and something deeper, something that sent my heart racing. That's when it happened—the kiss. It was initiated by her, yet it felt like a culmination of every longing I had harbored deep within me. I had dreamed of this moment, fantasized about the touch of her lips against mine, each day pushing my desire further into the shadows, afraid to admit it even to myself.
In that fleeting moment, everything changed. As her lips pressed softly against mine, a surge of longing washed over me, flooding my senses. I wanted to melt into her, to lose myself in the sweetness of that kiss. My heart raced, and I felt alive in a way I had never experienced before. I wanted this kiss to last forever, to be a promise of something more, something that would bind us together in a way the world could never understand.
I longed to touch her lips again, to taste the warmth and sweetness that lingered on my own. I wanted it to be only mine—to know that this connection, this beautiful secret, was ours alone. The kiss felt like an unspoken confession, a shared vulnerability that left me yearning for more.
"What did I say, Kwan? I was drunk," she replied, but her voice wavered as if she wasn't even sure herself.
"Right… So it wasn't real. I guess none of it was." I tried to laugh, brushing it off, but the words felt heavy, as if they weighed down my chest. "Forget I even brought it up."
"Kwan… I was drunk," she repeated, sounding almost desperate for me to believe it.
"So, did you mistake me for one of those guys constantly chasing after you?" I bit out, knowing my words cut, but too hurt to stop myself. I regretted it the moment I saw her eyes well up. The guilt hit me, and I wanted to reach out, to take it all back, to pull her close and tell her not to leave.
Instead, her face hardened. "Think whatever you want," she said quietly, her voice breaking just a little. "If you hate me that much, keep doing it. Maybe I just won't come home as often, if that's what you need to feel better."
Before I could even respond, she turned and walked away, leaving me in the silence of my own regrets.
I locked myself in my room, retreating into its quiet refuge, unwilling to leave. Downstairs, I'd heard the sound of her laughter mingling with his, the boyfriend who had come to pick her up. I couldn't bear to watch that scene unfold—the moment of watching her walk off with someone else, a feeling as raw as watching my own heart slip from my grasp and into someone else's hands.
Just knowing he was there, waiting by the door with his casual charm, ready to whisk her away for the evening, filled me with an ache I couldn't name. I wished I could close my eyes, make it disappear, and never have to face that reality. I thought if I just stayed in my room, I could ignore the feeling, lock it away just like I'd locked myself in here.
But then I heard the knock on my door, followed by my mother's soft, insistent voice. "Kwan, come downstairs and say hello. It's not polite to hide away when your sister's boyfriend is here." There was a pause, and then she added, almost pleading, "Please, he's part of the family too."
A part of me wanted to pretend I hadn't heard her, but I didn't answer. After a moment, the quiet turned into footsteps retreating down the hall, and I breathed a sigh of relief. But it was short-lived. My father's voice soon followed, firm and unyielding.
"Kwan, come down. Now. It's rude to avoid this. You're part of this family too, and you need to be present."
My heart sank. There was no room to refuse anymore. With each step down the stairs, my chest felt heavier, as though my heart itself was resisting the act. I could already see them in the entryway—Fah, radiant and glowing in a way she rarely was around others, and him, standing too close, his arm slung casually around her waist as if he had every right to it. I was an intruder in their happiness, an unwilling observer to a scene I wanted no part in.
When they looked up, she flashed me that same gentle smile she always did, the one that made me forget, if only for a moment, how complicated my feelings had become. And he… he extended his hand, all friendly and welcoming, as though he hadn't noticed the tension in my forced smile, the careful way I kept my distance. I shook his hand because it was expected, gave a polite nod because I had to, and avoided looking at them standing side by side, knowing that once I did, I'd see exactly how well they fit.
As they walked out the door, I felt an emptiness settle in. My room awaited, still and silent, yet it no longer felt like a place of comfort. Tonight, it was only a reminder of how far away she felt, even if she was just on the other side of a wall.
Mom went all out with dinner tonight, preparing every dish she knew would make my sister, Fah, happy. This wasn't just any dinner; it was to welcome Daniel, Fah's boyfriend, into our home. Personally, I would have preferred grabbing my plate and hiding out in my room, like usual. But tonight, Dad insisted on a proper family meal, especially with a guest at the table. So here I am, seated beside Fah, forced to watch how utterly affectionate she and Daniel are with each other.
It's painful, honestly, to see him treating her so attentively, as if he knows her inside out. But it only takes a second for him to reveal just how little he understands. Daniel reaches for a piece of cucumber from the serving bowl and places it gently on Fah's plate, his smile confident, as if he's doing something sweet. I can't help but roll my eyes. If he knew her at all, he'd know she can't stand cucumber.
For as long as I can remember, I've been the one to clear it from her plate whenever it appeared in a dish. I'd eat it without a second thought, like it was second nature, a little gesture between us that I was secretly proud of. So, without thinking, I lean over and take the cucumber off her plate. At the same time, I slide a piece of her favorite fried chicken onto her plate, my voice sharp as I mutter, "You don't even know what your girlfriend likes and dislikes?"
Fah gives me a look, her eyes briefly flashing with something unspoken. To my surprise, she picks up the cucumber I'd taken, placing it deliberately back onto her own plate and popping it into her mouth. Her face doesn't betray her distaste, and she smiles graciously at Daniel. "It's okay to try something new," she says with an almost casual shrug, but I know her well enough to catch the strain in her voice.
As she continues picking through her food, I notice her hand repeatedly drifting back to the fried chicken, her true favorite, the one dish she never has to "try" because it's the one she actually loves. Mom's fried chicken is practically sacred to her.
I can't just sit there anymore, so I stand up, grabbing the fried chicken plate and the one with cucumber without a word. I rearrange things so the platter of fried chicken is right beside her, close enough for her to reach without thinking, the way she always likes it.
I pretend not to notice the way Daniel glances at me, a bit taken aback, or the way my dad raises a brow at my little maneuver. It's a small act of defiance, one that no one but Fah seems to fully understand. And as I sit back down, watching her reach easily for another piece of chicken, I feel the familiar, bittersweet ache of knowing her better than anyone else—better than he ever will.
When the dinner finished, I walked to P'Fah room. I looked at her busy arranging her books that she decided not to bring with her.
I hovered outside her room, the weight of my own hesitation keeping me rooted to the spot. Should I go in? I wanted so badly to ask her—to ask if she was truly certain about being with this guy. Was he really the one for her? I wanted to know if she actually wanted to leave us, to walk away from this house, from me. The thought made my chest feel heavy, but I couldn't shake it. All I could think of were the endless conversations, the laughter, the way we'd shared our lives in this space. How could she leave that behind?
Yet, despite the questions swirling in my mind, I chose not to open the door. The tension from our argument earlier lingered between us like a wall, built up with every harsh word and hurt feeling. We'd said things that couldn't be taken back, and I could still feel the sting of them. I feared that stepping inside would only reignite the awkwardness, make her withdraw even further, push her away when all I wanted was to pull her closer.
Instead, I leaned against the wall, pressing my palm against the cool surface, steadying myself. Memories flashed through my mind—moments I treasured, moments I feared I'd never get back. The silly midnight talks, the way her face would light up when she was excited about something, the quiet way she'd sit with me when I needed comfort. But now, things had changed between us, and the invisible gap between us felt like a canyon.
I still remember one night vividly. The power had gone out, plunging the whole house into darkness. Normally, I would've stayed curled up in bed, clinging to the sheets, but that night, fear won out. I found myself standing outside her room, hands trembling as I knocked softly. Fah opened the door, half-asleep but with that gentle look in her eyes that I knew so well. Without saying a word, she pulled back her covers and patted the bed beside her, inviting me to stay. Her presence was warm and steady, a comfort that seemed to shield me from the darkness around us. So I slipped into bed beside her, feeling safe in a way only Fah could make me feel.
As we lay there in the quiet, our voices became the only sound in the stillness of the night. We talked about everything and nothing, our words winding through memories and dreams, filling the hours until the night began to fade. We stayed up until 4 AM, completely lost in conversation. At one point, she asked me a question that caught me by surprise: "If time stopped for a day, and it was just you and me, able to move around while the world stood still—what would we do?"
I didn't have an answer, so I turned the question back to her. Without missing a beat, she smiled softly, her eyes distant as she imagined it. She said she'd hold my hand, and together we'd go find a vintage film camera, capturing everything we saw, every expression and memory, so we could keep them forever. She imagined us wandering to all the places we'd always talked about visiting, like we could press pause on reality and just exist, just us, in that moment.
Then, with a spark of excitement in her voice, she described her dream car, a 1967 Chevrolet Corvette 427. She said we'd find one, somehow, and drive it through the city, winding our way through quiet streets as if they belonged to us alone. And then we'd go to the tunnels—the ones we both loved, where the lights seemed to go on forever, stretching out like some endless dream. She said we'd take picture after picture, capturing that timelessness, just her and me, frozen in those snapshots.
P'Fah turned to me, her eyes sparkling with excitement, and said something that sent my heart racing: "The thing I want to do most with you is to watch fireflies dance in the twilight and set off fireworks together."
Her words wrapped around me, igniting a rush of anticipation. I could picture it vividly—our hands clasped as we ventured into the city which only belongs to us.
I felt a strange ache in my chest, something between happiness and longing when I thought of it. The way she described it, that imaginary day of freedom, made me wish, more than anything, that it could be real.
A soft knock echoed through my room, pulling me from my thoughts. I heard her voice, P'Fah, calling my name. My heart sank as I leaned against the door, paralyzed by the fear of what lay beyond it. I couldn't bear to open it, couldn't face her in this moment. From the shadows cast beneath the door, I could see her silhouette standing there, unwavering and patient.
"I'm sorry, Kwan. Please be good…" she said, her voice a gentle plea that wrapped around me like a fragile thread. Then I heard her footsteps retreating, the sound of her presence fading as she walked down the stairs. A wave of desperation surged through me, and I couldn't take it anymore. I sprang into action, throwing the door open and rushing after her.
Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around her from behind, my grip tight as I pressed my forehead against her back. I felt the warmth radiating from her body, but it did little to quell the storm of emotions raging inside me. Tears streamed down my cheeks, unstoppable and fierce. "I will be good! I promise I'll always be your good girl," I cried, my voice trembling as the weight of my feelings crashed over me.
She turned to face me, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and affection. In that moment, the world around us faded, leaving just the two of us in our fragile bubble. P'Fah reached up and gently patted my head, a soothing gesture she always reserved for me when the tears began to flow. It was her way of comforting me, grounding me in a reality where everything felt so chaotic.
"Shh, Kwan," she whispered softly, her voice a melody that calmed my racing heart. "It's okay. Just breathe." Her presence enveloped me like a safety net, and for a fleeting moment, the chaos in my mind quieted. I wished I could stay in that embrace forever, where the boundaries of sisterhood blurred and the longing within me felt a little less daunting. But reality crept back in, reminding me of the chasm between us— a chasm I didn't know how to bridge.
Yet, as I held on, I realized that no matter how complex my feelings became, I would always fight to be the good girl in her eyes. Even if it meant suppressing my heart's true desires, I would find a way to navigate this tangled web of love and longing, if only to stay close to her.