When Aarav was twelve, he learned that being small wasn't just about height.
It was the way teachers sighed when his name appeared on the attendance sheet.
The way classmates whispered when he walked past.
The way his own report card felt heavier than his schoolbag.
And most of all—
the way he walked half a step behind his sister.
Her name was Ira.
At fifteen, Ira carried the world as if it belonged to her. She walked straight, spoke clearly, and never lowered her eyes. Teachers admired her. Students followed her. She topped exams, cooked meals, and still studied late into the night.
Their parents worked overseas. The house was quiet. Too quiet.
So Ira became many things at once—
a sister, a guardian, a shield.
And Aarav became the boy who followed.
That year, the results arrived.
Aarav failed.
Again.
He stood in front of her with trembling hands, red marks bleeding across the page. Ira stared at the paper for a long time. Too long.
"This is always you," she said at last. Not loud. Not cruel. Just tired.
"You cry, you fail, and you stand here like this."
His eyes burned.
"Sit down," she added. "Eat."
He obeyed.
Then her voice softened.
"Those marks are only numbers," she said quietly.
"Your division is your own. Don't ever compare me and you again.
I like studying—that's why I top. You like something else. Find it.
Don't embarrass yourself. And don't think you're alone.
I am with you, even when you are wrong."
Her hands trembled.
"I study. I cook. I take care of you. I carry Mom and Dad's hopes.
But I'm not a robot, Aarav. I'm human."
Tears slid down her face.
"I promised them I'd keep you smiling. No matter what it takes."
Aarav didn't understand everything she said.
But he felt something heavy shift in the room.
That night, he lay awake beside her, staring at the ceiling. He wondered how she could look into people's eyes without fear. How she could stand so straight. How she could be… strong.
At three in the morning, he woke to an empty bed.
Panic rushed through him.
He found her outside, sitting beneath the moon, eyes closed.
"Go back to sleep," she said without opening them.
"I meditate. Then I run. Strength isn't born. It's built."
He stared.
"An empire," she added, "is built by strong people. Not by the helpless."
Those words cut deeper than scolding.
He returned to bed with a heart full of confusion.
The next morning, everything changed.
"I won't do things for you anymore," she said flatly.
"You will become independent. Your money is yours. My money is mine."
He begged.
She turned away.
"I don't love you," she said.
The house went silent.
That day, he walked to school alone for the first time.
That day, classmates beat him for reasons he didn't understand.
That day, friends turned their backs.
And that night—on his birthday—
he sat in silence while the house ate without him.
Soon after, his parents called him overseas.
Ira stood at the door when he left. Her eyes glistened.
"Find your own place," she whispered.
"Where you can smile, my little love."
Aarav left as a broken boy.
Two years later…
He would return as someone else.
And this time, he would not walk behind her.
He would walk beside her.