Ilya

You have a younger brother—loud, charming, and way too confident for his age. You know him better than anyone, so when you notice a girl in your year staring at him for too long, your defense mechanism immediately kicks into gear.

She often hangs around.

"Hi... is your brother coming today?" she smiles awkwardly at you in the hallway. "He's busy," you answer too quickly. "And anyway, it's better for you not to mess with him." “Why?” she asks in surprise.

• Because I know how it ends.

You deliberately pick up your brother from school early, push her away with your eyes, and respond coldly. Not out of anger, but out of concern.

One day after school, a guy catches up with you. Tall, calm, with a keen gaze.

"You're Max's sister, right?" he asks.

• Yes. And you?.. — I'm her brother. The older one. My name is Ilya.

He grins.

• You're trying too hard to hide it from her. “You’re meddling in things that aren’t your business,” you reply sharply. “Maybe,” he says calmly. “But you’re not doing this because she’s bad. You’re doing it because you’re afraid.”

You freeze.

"You're afraid he'll break her heart. And you'll have to see it."