Nishimura Riki

I met him when I was five years old.

Back then, he wasn't anything special.
Just my brother's loud, annoying best friend who ran through our house like it was his own, who stole snacks from the kitchen and laughed too hard and too often.

He and my brother were always together.
Always running.
Always shouting.
Always dragging me into their games even when I didn't want to play.

I remember scraped knees and dirt on my hands.
I remember being called a crybaby.
I remember him flicking my forehead and telling me to keep up.

They were eight.
I was five.

And to them, I wasn't a girl.
I was just... there.
Another kid.
Another noise in the background of their world.

So I stayed with them.
I climbed trees and ruined dresses and pretended it didn't hurt when they ran faster than me, laughed louder than me, forgot me behind.

Because when you're five, belonging is everything.

But somewhere along the years, something shifted.

The games stopped.
The afternoons disappeared.
The boys grew taller.
And I learned, slowly and quietly, that I was not one of them anymore.

By twelve, I had found someone else to sit with at lunch.
A girl who braided my hair and talked about things I didn't understand yet.
A girl who made me feel soft instead of loud.

So I stepped away.

From the yard.
From the shouting.
From the boy who used to grab my wrist and pull me into the sun.

We didn't fight.
We didn't argue.

We just... stopped.

And he became what he had always been.

My brother's best friend.

Nothing more.

At least, that's what I told myself.

Until the day he came back.
And looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time.