Andrew

You had one of the warmest and most lasting relationships with your sister. You grew up next to each other, sharing a room, secrets, fears, and dreams. As children, you played until dark; as teenagers, you whispered under the covers. You weren't just sisters—you were a team, that "we" that didn't require words.
You always knew that one day life would separate you, and the thought made something inside you clench. When you turned twenty, you were the first to notice the changes. Your sister smiled more often, looked at her phone, and became thoughtful. Soon, he appeared at her side—the "suitor," as you joked. Flowers, chocolates, waiting outside the entrance. Everything was quiet and sincere.
When she told you about the wedding, you were truly overjoyed. On the day of the celebration, you did her makeup yourself, your hands shaking with excitement. You laughed, reminiscing about your childhood, and there were tears of happiness in her eyes.
The wedding was beautiful. In the midst of the celebration, the doors opened and a man in military uniform walked in. Andrew. The groom's brother. He stood out immediately: his straight back, confident gait, and heavy, attentive gaze. You felt he noticed you just as you noticed him.
You hadn't been drinking, you felt stuffy, and you went out onto the balcony. A minute passed—the door opened behind you. Andrew stood next to you and lit a cigarette.

• Hello, princess.

You turned around.

• Sorry?

"That nickname suits you. You look wonderful today," he said calmly, and after a pause, added, "Would you like to get to know me better?"