𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒 | 𝐍𝐞𝐲𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐉𝐫

He's home

In the last two hours, I've tried on at least nine dresses. Starting with vibrant, shiny, bright colors and moving ahead to dark, velvety ones. Even so, not a single one of them drew my attention for more than a second. Everything popped up to be boring, and I was beginning to feel the boredom that had racked up, causing beads of sweat to fall on my brow. I could tell the workers who had helped me carry the dresses couldn't take it any longer. Even though they were trying to hide it with their forced smiles, I could clearly see the wrinkles in their brows. I cringed a little when I saw it.

However, I needed to try to find the ideal dress. I'd been waiting for this for a long time. I'd never forget the moments last Saturday when my house phone rang. My smile was wide and enthusiastic, yet I had to be mindful of my tone when speaking in order to sound professional. I pretended I was used to the offer and wasn't shocked in the least. Even if, deep down, I didn't want to linger any longer to shout "yes" after they finished their sentence.

Being picked as a model to do a fashion show for one of the most famous and well-known brands in the world at such a young age will be a milestone in my life. Sure, I've been intrigued by fashion and other such things for as long as I can remember, but I didn't expect it to come so quickly. Despite the fact that my Mamá always stated that I would have it soon, she was always very sure in her statement. She was the one who predicted this from the start.

And I knew a small part of my heart believed it. Trophies and awards kept in a glass case in the living room would reveal my beauty pageant achievement to every visitor. Or the expression on my mother's face, which was always confident and serene whereas the other contestants' mothers would panic while biting their fingers, praying their daughter would win. My Mamá would nonchalantly pick up her phone and record the seconds the jury shouted my name.

"Well, señorita, have you made your decision?" One of the workers with blonde hair who wore lipstick that was too red for her heavy blush raised her voice.

I gave up after a tiny nod. "Three from that selection and two from that one."

She finished her task swiftly and handed my pick to the cashier. She was probably relieved that I was done with their shop. Her grin was spontaneous and not forced, as it had been before.

I had no problems walking home. I enjoyed taking an evening walk when the sky showed a gorgeous sunset after the rain. I was certain I'd stepped in mud and water while running on the trail earlier, which had wrecked my brown boots. That didn't make me like walking home any less. Which could help me clear my mind and relax; it's like free therapy.

My eyes never ceased looking around. Small children with dirt on their clothes, running around with smiles on their faces, kicking the ball here and there. Free and innocent. I'd miss that sight every evening if I flew from here. I'd miss the simplicity and warmth that have left their imprint on the area I've called home for so long.

When I got to my house, I opened my shoes and organized them on the shoe rack, which was nearly damaged and filthy - the rest was due to dirt from the soccer shoes, which were not cleanly placed. I put the shopping bag on the dining table, along with the monthly shopping bag I brought home from the clothing store. I didn't bring it into my room because my Mamá would decide which dress to wear. She knows what's best for me.

"Mamá?" I yelled as I removed my jacket. "I'm back!"

The woman did not respond right away, and I furrowed my brows in confusion. That was so not her. I looked around the room for her but couldn't find her. Only bits of crochet and cloth remained on her bed, leaving it messy and perhaps dangerous if she slept on these needles.

I exhaled and began placing them back into the box one by one. Put it near the clothes hook where she regularly keeps her belongings so she doesn't forget.

"How many times have I told you, Mamá, not to knit in bed?" I yelled as I took a biscuit from the container in the kitchen drawer. "Esta mujer, te lo juro!"

"I know, right?"

The sound caused me to put down the biscuits I was chewing. That comfortingly familiar voice. One I haven't heard in a long time, and one I always cherish in prayer. I turned my head and witnessed the voice that I believed was only in my head become real. He was there in front of me, flashing his irritating smile. With glittering eyes, he looked at me.

"Leo?"

My legs had had enough and jumped at him, which he caught by wrapping his arms around me and laughed loudly. I clenched my arms to ensure that this wasn't all in my head and that I wasn't dreaming. My eyelids were still securely shut until I noticed my cheeks were damp and my face was heated.

I couldn't help but notice his transformation. For the first time, his height. There was never a single person who never left a statement that made Leo feel less confident every time they greeted us. Even if he was my brother, someone who was born before me, that didn't make him taller than me. In fact, I was slightly bigger than him. As a result, he was regularly exposed to criticism and mockery from his friends.

Some of those words bothered and upset me more than Leo. Every time he picked me up from beauty pageant practice, he would tell me to go to a field near our house. I recall wanting to convince him to distract himself-and just maybe chill at home-because I knew what he wanted to do when we finally showed up. And God knows I couldn't just watch him play while accepting their mocking.

But then, when I understood that the most important thing was that he was right in front of my eyes, the thoughts that were racing through my mind were irrelevant. I knew it wasn't my imagination since I felt agony when I scratched my palms with my fingernails. Leo was really here, my brother was here with me.

"Bella. I'm here." My grin broadened as a response. Like he knew what was on my thoughts. "Estoy en casa."