The Boy Who Was Me

It started during lunch.

Raiyan was chewing on something bitter from the canteen. His nose scrunched, eyebrows furrowed. Then, without a word, he shoved the rest of it toward me.

“Here. Eat it.”

I blinked. “I’m not your trash can.”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t say it’s trash. I just… don’t want it.”

“You said it tastes bad.”

“I changed my mind.”

I sighed, then picked up the bun and took a bite. It was still warm. Soft. Slightly sweet.

“…It’s good,” I mumbled through a mouthful.

He turned away to hide his smile.

---

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The wind outside my window rustled the trees like whispers from the past.

And that’s when it came rushing back—

**Raiyan's story.**

I remembered everything.

He wasn’t just the boy with a scary face and quiet eyes.

His father—**Zahir Khaisar**—was one of the most powerful men in the country. Not just in business, but behind the scenes: the black market, the underworld, even medicine.

Raiyan was the youngest of three. His first brother, **Rami**, led the mafia. Ruthless, feared.

The second, **Rael**, a genius medical scientist who saved lives with hands stained in blood and secrets.

And Raiyan…

Just a twelve-year-old boy whose mother died months after giving birth to him.

His father loved him, his brothers adored him—

But none of them knew *how* to love him.

The age gap. The power gap. The wall of silence.

It left Raiyan alone in the same house that had everything.

And then, when he turned sixteen—

He was kidnapped by his father’s enemies. Tortured. Killed.

By the time they found him… it was too late.

His father lost his mind. His brothers went berserk.

The three men who ruled industries and empires tore down an entire family tree for revenge.

It was everywhere in the news.

The Khaisar Massacre.

And yet, Raiyan had died never knowing…

how much he meant to them.

---

My chest ached as I stared at the ceiling.

*He’s just like me… but not quite.*

His family *did* love him.

They just didn’t know how to show it.

Mine?

They didn’t even want me to exist.

And yet here we were—two lonely kids sitting side by side in a classroom full of noise neither of us belonged to.

Maybe… just for a while…

I could play with him.

Like a child.

Like a sister.

---

The next morning, he was waiting at my desk.

Or rather, he was already there, pretending to nap again.

When I sat down, he slid something across the table.

A small pink lollipop.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“I don’t like strawberry.”

“Then why did you buy it?”

“Thought it was watermelon,” he lied quickly.

I rolled my eyes, but tucked the candy into my pencil pouch anyway. “Thanks, I guess.”

He said nothing, but I caught the small tug of a smile at his lips.

---

Over the next few days, things started changing.

He’d nudge a half-eaten bun onto my desk at lunch.

He’d grumble whenever I wore the same plain uniform for days, and then mysteriously "find" a cute hairpin on the floor and hand it to me like *he just picked it up.*

And then one afternoon, after school, as I walked toward the gate alone like always, I heard footsteps beside me.

“…Where’s your car?” he asked.

“I don’t have one.”

“Your dad doesn’t pick you up?”

“He’s too busy driving Silvia.”

His jaw clenched. “So you walk alone every day?”

“Yup.”

“Even when it rains?”

“Even when it rains.”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Next time, wait. I’ll walk with you.”

I stopped. “You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t,” he muttered. “Just… shut up and walk.”

---

He started meeting me by the gate every day after that.

No questions. No small talk. Just walking.

Sometimes he’d hold the umbrella over me even when it meant soaking his own shoulder.

Other times he’d nudge a warm bun into my hand with a quiet, “Eat.”

He never said why.

He never said much.

But I noticed everything.

How his eyes followed me across the room.

How he’d scowl when someone pushed me in the hallway.

How he’d glare when Silvia laughed too loud in my direction.

He was possessive. Quiet. Clumsy.

But he was trying.

Trying to be something.

Trying to be… my brother.

And God, I didn’t know how badly I needed one.

---

One afternoon, as we sat under the tree behind the school, sharing a soda can in silence, I looked at him.

“You’re not good at this,” I said casually.

“At what?”

“Caring.”

He nearly choked. “I’m not— I’m just— You’re skinny and annoying and always spacing out.”

I smiled. “But you still give me your food.”

He went red. “It’s just leftovers.”

“And you walk me home.”

“Coincidence.”

“And you once scared that eighth grader who tried to shove my books.”

“He slipped. By accident.”

I laughed softly. “You’re cute when you try to lie.”

His ears turned red. “Tch. I’m going home.”

He stood up.

I grabbed his sleeve gently.

“Hey, Raiyan.”

He paused.

“…Thank you.”

He looked down at me, quiet for a moment. Then ruffled my hair roughly.

“You’re so short.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled. But he was smiling.

---

But of course… not everyone liked the change.

Silvia noticed.

She noticed when Raiyan started eating lunch with me.

When he held his umbrella over *me* instead of her.

When he glared at anyone who so much as rolled their eyes at me.

One day, she stood in front of my desk, arms folded.

“Since when are you friends with *him*?” she asked, forcing a laugh. “He’s just being nice because he feels sorry for you.”

I didn’t even look up. “Then he must be really good at feeling sorry. He’s been consistent.”

She scoffed. “You’re not even trying to be grateful, Nia. Always clinging to people. He’ll get tired of you.”

Raiyan walked into the class right then, catching the tail end of her sentence.

He raised an eyebrow. “What’ll I get tired of?”

Silvia smiled sweetly. “Oh, nothing—just Nia being her usual clingy self.”

Raiyan didn’t even blink.

He walked past her, straight to my desk, and dropped a small box in front of me.

Inside was a perfectly wrapped red velvet cupcake.

“I got two,” he said coolly. “Didn’t want the other one to go to waste.”

I smiled, took it, and nodded. “Thanks, Raiyan.”

He turned and looked at Silvia.

Then, very softly, he added:

“And don’t talk about my deskmate like that again.”

Silvia's smile cracked.

---

That night, I lay in bed hugging the cupcake box. I didn’t eat it. Not yet.

Because sometimes, the smallest things feel like the biggest gifts.

And Raiyan?

He was slowly becoming my safe place.

My storm shelter.

Not blood.

Not fate.

Just heart.

And that kind of family…

That’s the kind I’d fight to keep.

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