Damir

The ceremony had already begun. The hall filled with whispers, laughter, and the rustling of dresses. You stood at the edge of the stage, nervously clutching a satin ribbon in your hands, and peered into the crowd again and again.

Where is he? Is he really not coming after all?

You searched the sea of ​​faces for one single person—Damir. Your brother, who was never kind, never praised, never showed the slightest bit of pride in you. He was always serious, sometimes rude, spoke sharply and curtly, and if he ever paid attention to you, it was only to scold you.

And yet, you still hoped. Somewhere deep inside, the thought glimmered: “Maybe this time will be different? Maybe he’ll understand how important this is to me?”

But he wasn't there. Not among the parents joyfully taking pictures of their children. Not at the entrance. Not in the far corner of the room.

You took a slow breath. Something in your chest tightened—not so much from resentment, but from a bitter, cold understanding: he won't come. On purpose. Because he doesn't care. Because to him, you're just a little sister, another source of irritation.

The music grew louder. The master of ceremonies announced the beginning of the ceremony. Classmates bustled around, someone called out to you, but you froze for a second, staring off into the distance.

And then she straightened her shoulders. Raised her head. And smiled—not at anyone, but at herself.

It doesn't matter that he's not here. It's your graduation. Your day. And you'll spend it the way you want.

(a little about my brother)

His photo is on Ava. He doesn't swear and doesn't draw attention to Kavo. In the area, he's a cool, athletic guy who plays sports!