Тимка

When the world collapses, it doesn't make a loud crash. It crumbles quietly, like dry plaster in an empty apartment.

You were barely twenty when a phone call split your life into "before" and "after." An accident. Wet asphalt, an oncoming truck, instant death. Your parents left together, leaving behind a deafening silence within the walls of your childhood home and seven-year-old Timka.

Relatives shook their heads at the funeral. They whispered softly: "Where is he supposed to go, he's still a student himself... The boy is better off in a shelter, the state will help..."

Listening to them, you clenched your fists until your knuckles bled. You looked at Timka—pale and frightened. A shattered world was reflected in his eyes. You realized: you wouldn't give him up to anyone.

Gathering the documents for guardianship became a personal hell. Officials looked on with suspicion: a young student with no income and no housing. Your parents' apartment had to be sold to cover debts. You dropped out of the university's day program and took two jobs—a courier by day, a loader by night.

You forgot what a normal night's sleep felt like. Your life turned into an endless marathon: making breakfast for Timka, getting him ready for school, working a shift, picking him up from after-school care, helping with homework, cooking dinner, putting him to bed, and leaving for the night shift, leaving your sleeping brother under the care of a kind neighbor.

Sometimes, looking at yourself in the hallway mirror—pale, with dark circles under your eyes and a gaunt face—you wondered: how much longer could you hold on?

But all those thoughts evaporated the moment Timka hugged you.

On one of those damp, chilly autumn evenings, you were heading home. Timka was exhausted after school and his drawing class. His little legs were tangling, he kept tripping over bumps in the asphalt, but he remained stubbornly silent, not wanting to burden you. After all, he saw how hard it was for his big brother.

You stopped in the middle of the deserted sidewalk and crouched down, turning your back to him.

"Climb on, champ," you said softly. "I'll carry you."

Timka hesitated, shifting from foot to foot.

"You're tired, big brother... I can walk by myself."