Born Wrong

02. a girl who has a brother

Kala Roshan

The first thing I did when I woke up was to check on Bright.

I wanted to know if he survived through the night. He may have no longer been bleeding by the time I was done with the stitching, but I don't accredit myself well on the surgery. Sure, he survived the bleeding, but there were other factors that could've complicated things: infections, re-openings, internal bleedings.

I just didn't trust myself to be good.

I ran out of my room to the living space, where Bright slept on the couch, just to find it empty. The blanket and pillows I had given him were neatly tucked out of sight and no splat of blood stained the good furniture.

"You're up early." Rihaan announces to the silence, causing me to jump. Both hands land on my heart, I feel the thumping of my pulse pouncing through my veins.

"You scared me, bhaiya," I say, performing small breathing exercises to calm my heart. I turn to find him standing behind our kitchen peninsula, a mug in his hand, despite having pulled out one of the foldable high chairs we keep in the storage of our pantry. "Did you just get home?"

He nods, the dip of his chin holds heavy. "I got back about an hour ago." He sips on his coffee, just as I notice the plate of half-eaten breakfast in front of him. How did I not smell that? "I'm glad to see you survived the night."

I boast in pride, putting both hands on my hips and shouldering a grin. "I did. I told you: I can take care of myself."

It wasn't that Rihaan doesn't believe in me, it's the fact that I needed to hear it. Throughout my childhood, there was no one I could rely on, except for Rihaan.

Perhaps, too much.

He was the golden child of the family; the prized possession of the Roshan household. Everything he wants, he gets and everything he has, was handed to him on a silver platter. Rihaan could've chosen to turn the other cheek when it comes to how our parents treated me but he didn't.

He took care of me.

He loved me.

He did so much for me, to get me here, that I wanted to prove to him that it wasn't all for nothing.

Rihaan chuckles, taking another sip.

"How was your shift?" I slip into the unoccupied seat in front of him, picking up an abandoned spoon on the countertop and begin fidgeting with it.

He tilts his head. "Since when did you start caring about my job?"

"Since I heard the night shifts were bad."

He gives me a curious look and I know what it means. "Where did you hear that?"

Bright, my response came immediately, but I didn't tell him that. To tell my brother about his best friend means I have to explain when I talked to him, which will lead into why I talked to him, which can only end in a story about an impromptu operation on the floor of our apartment for a wound that was almost life-or-death.

He needs to know I can handle it.

"Isn't it generally though?" I skip past his question, hoping he doesn't catch the slight-pitch in my tone. "I know the site is barely safe in the morning, I can't imagine how much worse it is at night."

He sighs deeply and for the first time since we were kicked out, I realize how much Rihaan has grown. He has allowed his wavy dark hair to grow past his neck, his skin has darken from long hours under the blazing sun and tiredness rings around his eyes in dark circles. Rihaan has done a lot to keep us afloat—dropping out of high school, picking up odd jobs, securing a place to sleep after a long period of homelessness—and it didn't occur to me how much that weighed on him.

Another reason why I can't add onto it.

"It was a slow night." He yawns, rubbing the bags under his eyes. "We mainly did electric and wiring. We don't build at night, it's too dark for us to see."

"That's what I thought," I hum in agreement. "I'm just glad you made it back safe."

He gives me an odd look. "Is that why you nearly tripped on your way out of here?"

No, I was checking to see if your best friend had survived the night and seeing as he left the apartment without a blood trail leading up to the door, I believe I succeeded in my operation.

I push myself off the chair, dropping both feet on the cool tiled floor. "It's a new day," I grin, stretching my arms out. "I'm just happy to be alive."

Rihaan gives me another look, one that is trying to understand his younger sister, but choosing not to ask. I've always been like this. Except when I wasn't, and he knew about those dark days. The days where I couldn't get out of bed, where I cried at every small sound, where surviving felt like a chore. I think I speak for the both of us when I say he prefers the oddness and weirdness of my current presence than the days where I wasn't.

"I almost forgot." He chimes, setting the mug down on the counter and leaving for his bedroom. He comes out a few moments later, with a familiar red string in his hands. "A rakhi for my little sister."

I burst out in a grin, holding out my wrist for Rihaan to wrap the rakhi around. It's a simple thread with woven patterns from white, red, and orange.

Normally, for Raksha Bandhan, sisters tie the rakhi around their brothers—not the other way around—but we're not the conventional family.

He wraps the warm rakhi around my wrist, clasping it with a knot. "I was going to add more to it," Rihaan scratches the back of his neck, looking away shyly. I can't contain the growing smile on my lips. "But I didn't have enough time—"

He didn't get the chance to finish before I tackled him into a hug. The bluntness of my force topples him backwards a couple of steps, trying to stabilize us, before he does and returns the warmth with the wrap of his own arms.

"Thank you," I mumble into his chest. "I love it."

He scoffs, like it isn't a big deal, when it is. Raksha Bandhan is a traditional holiday; it's a day that signifies the bond between brothers and sisters. Though our way is more unorthodox, it still matters. Every single time he gives me another rakhi, every year another thread, it doesn't matter what's going on in my life, I feel like everything is going to be okay.

Rihaan moves to put a hand on my head and dishevels my hair—forcing me to shove him off.

"You're so mean." I say, trying to straighten my tousled hair with a breath of annoyance. "You know how long it takes for me to tame this."

He gives me a soft boyish grin, one that reminds me of the before, and says nothing.

"Do you want any breakfast?" Rihaan prompts, moving around the kitchen peninsula to the stoves. "You're supposed to be in school in about—" He checks his watch, "—an hour. Wow. You're really up early."

When it comes to school, I'm known to cut it very close. I'm always in a rush to make it out the door, onto the public transit, and to my class before the bell rings. Most times, I succeed.

I walk back to the kitchen. "What can I say? I just miss my brother."

Rihaan turns to me, cocking a dark brow, and I take the opportunity to lean forward and grab his face into my palm, squeezing his cheeks. He pushes me off lightly, without inflicting damage, and rolls his dark brown eyes at me.

"Go get ready. I'll make you some puttu."

I nod, heading to the bathroom while admiring the rakhi around my wrist, when a voice calls out from behind me.

"Behen," Rihaan echoes throughout the small apartment.

"Yeah?"

"Have you seen my tee? I just bought it."

—

author's note

hello lovelies! i've been getting ahead on my classes but i've also been writing offline. yo girl does not know what she wants to do for her major so she's literally maxing out her class units. wish me good luck!