𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

JULY 9TH, 2011
HOUSTON TX
2:30 PM

★

A twelve-year-old Kasama sat on his therapist's soft cotton couch, legs swinging as he stared at the rainbow-colored walls. Cartoon characters stared back at him, but he kept his gaze down, focusing on his fingers. His therapist, Ms. Julia, sat across from him, her expression warm but persistent.

"Kasama," she began gently, her voice filling the small room. "Talking about what happened can be hard, but bottling everything up won't make it disappear. When you hold things in, they grow heavier, and I don't want you carrying all that weight alone."

Kasama's gaze didn't lift. He dug his nails into his palms, focusing on the sharp sting rather than Ms. Julia's words. His throat felt tight, like if he spoke, all the things he had buried would spill out and never stop. In the corner, his father, Kenneth, rubbed his temples, but Kasama didn't look at him either. It was easier to pretend neither of them were here.

He wished Kasama would say something—anything. Since Kasama and his sister came to live with him, the silence had become a wall between them. He knew bits of what happened, enough to feel the weight of it, but he couldn't piece together his son's pain.

"Alright, that's all for today," Ms. Julia sighed softly. "Kasama, this week, I'd like you to draw something that makes you happy." She handed him a small sketchbook. "Sometimes, art can help us share what words can't."

Kasama took the notebook without a word.

"Goodbye, Kasama," she said kindly, watching him stand. He muttered a low goodbye, and Kenneth sighed, giving Ms. Julia a tired nod before following his son out.

⇩⇩⇩⇩

THAT NIGHT
2:41 AM

Kasama lays curled in his bed, stifling his sobs with his pillow. He bit down on his lip, trying to hold back the torrent of tears, whispering to himself, "Think about happy things. Think about happy things."

But the words felt useless. Nothing in his life had been happy—not for as long as he could remember. His heart was heavy with confusion and anger. Why was he the one left with the scars of other people's mistakes? Why did life have to be so unfair?

"Kasama?" His sister Karisma's soft voice broke the silence.

He froze, holding his breath, hoping she'd go back to sleep.

"I can hear you crying," she whispered, moving closer. He felt the bed shift as she settled next to him, wrapping her arms around him like a shield against the darkness.

"I'm good, Karisma," he managed, his voice thick.

"You don't sound good," she murmured, holding him tighter.

"You can talk to me"

Karisma was the only person Kasama ever let in. She was his twin, his confidante, the one person who shared every part of his world, both the good and the bad.

"I just... don't get it," he choked out. "She's gone, so why can't I let it go?"

Karisma was quiet, her hand gently rubbing his back. "I don't know, Sama. It just doesn't work that way."

He looked up at her, eyes red and swollen. "Then how do you do it? You're so strong... like it never happened."

Karisma's gaze softened, and she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. "I don't know. I guess I just try to forget... pretend it's not there. But it doesn't make me stronger than you. We're just different."

Kasama closed his eyes, letting her words sink in, even if he didn't fully believe them. He was certain she was stronger than him, ten times stronger.

"I love you, Karisma," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Karisma pulled him closer, resting her chin on top of his head like she used to when they were little. "Love you too, Sama," she murmured, squeezing him like she could hold his broken pieces together.