In our house, sibling love never really existed.
When my parents told me that my half-sister, Shiori, would be moving in, it felt like something got stuck in my chest. Her mother was part of my father’s “other past,” and now that past was suddenly going to occupy the space I’d always known as mine—the only home I had. I objected fiercely, but it didn’t matter.
The first day she moved in, Shiori stood at my bedroom door in her neatly pressed school uniform, clutching her heavy luggage. She softly said, “Hi, Onii-chan.”
I didn’t reply. I shut the door in her face.
That was how we lived for the next few months—like parallel lines. She quietly read books in the living room, and I hid in my room playing games. She asked me about homework, and I answered briefly before walking away. To me, she wasn’t a sister—just “Dad’s obligation.”
Until that one night.
I came home late and noticed the light in my room was still on. When I walked in, I found Shiori sitting on the edge of my bed, staring into space. She looked uneasy. I frowned and asked what was going on. She kept her head down and whispered, “A senior confessed to me today… but I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. I’m kind of scared.”
I was stunned.
In that moment, she didn’t look like someone who stole my parents’ affection. She looked like a confused, vulnerable girl—just entering adolescence, curious about the world but unsure of it. She didn’t understand what love meant, and all she wanted was someone to talk to. And she had chosen me.
“Do you like him?” I asked, sitting beside her.
“I don’t know… He’s kind to me, but maybe I’m just lonely.”
I didn’t say much. I simply patted her head gently. “You don’t need to rush to figure all that out. Just take your time. You’ve got me.”
She nodded. That night, we talked for a long time—for the first time. She shared stories from school, her feelings of missing her mom, and even asked about my memories with Dad. She said she always thought I hated her. I admitted I had been jealous.
Sometimes, just saying the words can unlock the heart.
Since that night, we started to grow closer. She stopped avoiding me. I learned to call her “Shiori” instead of “her.” We began eating breakfast together. She’d sometimes sit in my room while I played games. We were finally becoming real siblings.
In the end, the distance from a closed door to an open heart was just one sentence apart:
“You’ve got me.”
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