After I accidentally discovered my brother reading my diary. I was both furious and speechless. In retaliation, I wrote him into my diary: “I’m a bad girl. How can I have those kinds of feelings for my own brother?” “They say brotherly love is a sickness, it’s not right, I shouldn’t be like this.” “But I really can’t control myself…” From that day on, my brother looked at me like he’d seen a ghost every time he saw me. I suppressed my laughter and, with increasing fervor, wrote things in my diary to scare him. Completely oblivious to how my brother’s gaze, from avoiding me in panic, had slowly morphed into a look of tormented suppression. Until a month later. An old money couple showed up with a paternity test, and without a word, they embraced my brother, calling him their son. Me: ? 1 As far back as I can remember, my brother, Asher, has always been by my side. He was the first person I called after I learned to speak. Dad said I called him "brother" so skillfully, it was as if I was born knowing how to. At my one-month celebration, so many hands reached out to hold me, but I reached past everyone and clung tightly to his finger. And as an older brother, Asher never disappointed. When I was six, I was rushed to the hospital after secretly drinking a bottle of orange-flavored dish soap. Asher stayed by my bedside for two days and two nights, refusing to eat or drink, looking like a ghost. When I was eight, I tried to ride our neighbor, an old lady, across the street, and Dad chased me with a stick. Asher protected me like a mother hen, taking the hits from Dad without backing down. When I was ten, on my birthday, I solemnly made a wish: “I want to be with my brother forever.” Asher watched me, shielding the candle flame with his hand. I slowly looked up, unable to see his face clearly, but I heard him say, word by word: “Little sister, you don’t need to wish for that.” When I was fourteen, Asher watched a TV show where a couple stole their family register to get married, and he frowned, asking Dad: “Why did they steal the family register?” Dad smiled and explained: “Because they want to get married.” “Marriage means putting two people’s names on the same family register.” Asher was nearly six feet tall by then. With handsome features and a tall, straight build, he was the target of many girls’ secret glances at school. After hearing Dad’s explanation, he realized: “Oh, I see.” “Then my sister and I should just get married.” “We’ve been on the same family register since we were little.” Dad nearly dropped his teacup. He grabbed the feather duster nearby and swung it at Asher. Asher dodged, turning his head to earnestly ask me: “Little sister, do you think what I said is wrong?” Without thinking, I nodded directly: “Of course, what brother said is right.” Dad paused, then silently swapped the feather duster for a shovel, chasing him even more fiercely. 2 In the blink of an eye, Asher and I had been inseparable, leaning on each other, as siblings for over twenty years. Last weekend, Asher forbade me from attending a male classmate’s birthday party, and we had a huge fight. He couldn’t argue with me, and in his frustration, he actually recited a passage from my diary. That’s when I realized he had been secretly reading my diary all along. Furious, I kicked him hard and stormed upstairs. Although I also secretly read Asher’s diary every day, I never read it out loud to him! I always laughed to myself in secret. Who’s as shameless as him?! That utterly shameless jerk! The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. To get back at Asher, I specifically went out and bought a new diary with a lock. After half a month of aimlessly jotting down daily occurrences, I started writing furiously: “I’m a bad girl. How can I have those kinds of feelings for my own brother?” “They say brotherly love is a sickness, it’s not right, I shouldn’t be like this.” “But I really can’t control myself. The internet is right, our red thread is hidden…” … I switched to a red pen and drew a crooked heart where the period should be. Asher certainly didn’t disappoint me. The next day, when he brought fruit into my room, his eyes immediately landed on the diary I had deliberately left open on the desk. Perhaps he remembered the kick I gave him a few days ago for reading my diary. Perhaps his conscience finally struck, and he thought an older brother shouldn’t invade his younger sister’s privacy. In any case, he paused for five seconds. But only for five seconds. His slender fingers skillfully flipped open the thin pages. His face still wore that casually lazy expression, his lips even curled in a mischievous “what’s wrong with just one look?” But after reading just two lines, Asher’s upturned lips sharply dropped. His fingers, clutching the diary, trembled faintly, his temples throbbed, and his vision swam. Finally, he stumbled two steps and collapsed heavily into a chair, clearly scared half to death by the diary’s contents. And I, hiding by the door, watched his world-shattering reaction, covering my mouth and laughing so hard I couldn’t stand straight. Heh heh. That’ll teach him to read my diary. He deserved it. 3 Asher practically fled my room. At nearly six feet three, he used his hands and feet, running as if tumbling and crawling. He didn’t even see me hiding by the door, observing him. He simply transformed into a stubborn fish, diving headfirst into the bathroom, splashing water on his face. I waited until the sound of running water in the bathroom stopped. Only then did I walk over and ask: “Brother, what’s wrong?” The sounds inside abruptly ceased. After a long moment, Asher’s unsteady voice finally replied: “Nothing…” I said, “Oh.” “Then I’ll go back to my room.” “Wait!” The door was abruptly pulled open. Asher stood at the doorway, still dripping water from his face, staring at me with a complicated expression, wanting to speak but holding back: “Willow, are you… do you have someone you like recently?” I feigned confusion, frowning: “No, I’m busy looking for an internship lately. I don’t have time to think about romance.” Asher fell silent. He looked me over gravely, and only after confirming I truly wasn’t lying, did he breathe a sigh of relief, as if escaping a disaster, and wiped the water from his face. Right. The “brother” written in the diary might not necessarily be him; it could be some male celebrity. No problem, no problem, the sky hasn’t fallen, the home hasn’t been destroyed, sister is still sister. I subtly pursed my lips: “Brother, if you’re all right, I’ll go back to my room now.” With that, I turned around. I pulled a manga book from my backpack and casually dropped it on the floor. A loud thud echoed in the empty room. Asher instinctively looked towards the sound. On the title page, several glaring big words— “Sister Becomes Wife.” “…” Asher’s breathing abruptly stopped. Then, trembling, he pressed his finger to his philtrum. 4 Before I could react, the manga book was snatched from me by Asher. His captivating eyes widened, and his voice trembled slightly: “Willow! You, you, you, if you dare buy such trashy books again, I’ll tell Mom!” I obediently lowered my head: “Got it, brother.” Asher hummed, expressionless. Then turned. And scrambled upstairs, using both hands and feet. On the surface, I calmly watched him leave. But inside, I was practically cackling with laughter. To confirm once again that I hadn’t misjudged, I figured Asher would definitely sneak into my room tonight to read my diary again. I pulled out my phone. I found a bunch of sentences and copied them into my diary: “My brother, who raised me, suddenly stopped talking to me. Is he tired of me? Is he going to leave me?” “What should I do, how can I keep him forever?” “One hundred and eight plans to trap my brother by my side for life…” I closed the diary. I stretched. Went downstairs to heat some milk. When I returned, I immediately noticed a subtle shift in the diary’s position, and a partial footprint on the carpet. I took a contented sip of milk, then snuggled comfortably into bed. Half asleep, half awake, the deadly silent room next door, which had been quiet for most of the night, suddenly erupted in a heart-wrenching wail and a sound like a donkey’s braying cry: “Dad! Mom! I’m a beast!! Ahhh-woo-woo-moo-moo-moo…” 5 The next morning, I ran into Asher on the stairs. My mind wasn’t fully awake yet. My habitual greeting was: “Bro, morning.” Asher’s thin lips pressed together, but he didn’t respond, his face stern as he quickly walked past me. I paused, then called out to his retreating back: “Asher? Asher, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering?” “…” Asher finally stopped. But he didn’t turn around. His voice was calmly detached, like a customer service agent: “Do you need something?” His icy tone sent a shiver down my spine. I subconsciously said: “No, nothing…” Asher started walking again. He went downstairs without looking back. Dad came out of the kitchen with breakfast. Seeing Asher leaving me far behind, he couldn’t help but laugh: “What’s wrong with you two? Did you have a fight?” Before I could speak, Asher, who had just sat down, abruptly stood up. His voice was cold and firm: “Dad, I am me, and Willow is Willow. We cannot use ‘we’.” My mom was startled when she heard that. “Well, I’ll be damned. Aren’t you two usually inseparable?” Asher didn’t rush to answer. He pondered for a few seconds, then slowly looked up at me: “Mom, Willow and I are both grown up now.” “As the saying goes, boys and girls are different. Willow and I should also maintain some distance.” “Later, Willow will marry, and I will take a wife. Then we will be two separate families.” “Willow, do you think what I’m saying is right? You can’t always cling to me anymore. Brother needs his own life, and so do you, understand?” Of course, I understood. I just hadn’t expected that those two pages of my diary could have such a profound impact on Asher. A brother who had been so eager to control his sister. Was now actively trying to maintain distance. And even emphasizing his own life… I was utterly shocked. Asher wiped the corner of his mouth. He slowly stood up: “I’ve eaten enough. You two eat. I’m leaving.” He paused. He looked up at me. And said, word for word: “Don’t follow me. I won’t be taking you with me today.” Me: “…” My mom finally noticed something was off and turned to ask me, “What’s wrong with your brother?” I rubbed my temples and said, “Maybe it’s puberty.” My mom’s eyes widened: “He’s twenty-six and still in puberty?!” Me: “…Uh, some people mature late.” My mom was half-skeptical: “That’s a bit too late, isn’t it…” 6 Asher was true to his word. For the next few days, he left early and returned late, deliberately avoiding any time he might run into me. Even if we accidentally bumped into each other at home, he would immediately get up and walk past me with an expressionless face. The times I saw him were few and far between. If it weren’t for the mysterious braying sounds I kept hearing from his room in the middle of the night, I would have thought he hadn’t been coming home for days. Estimating the time, I figured it was about time to tell Asher the truth. But the crucial evidence—the diary—had vanished. I searched everywhere, turning the house upside down, frantically sweating. If those diary entries were seen by my parents, it would be disastrous; our family would be ruined! Just as I was catching my breath from exhaustion, my best friend called, inviting me to a bar. I glanced at the time and instinctively wanted to refuse; Asher definitely wouldn’t let me go out at this hour. But then I thought, Asher had been keeping his distance from me lately because of the diary, so he might not care… I pondered for two seconds, then agreed to meet my best friend and hurried downstairs to find Asher. He was sitting on the sofa, reading a book. The warm yellow light framed his profile, his eyelashes casting a small shadow on his eyelids. Just sitting there, his mood was inexplicably somber, like a melancholic god. I stopped: “Brother, my best friend invited me out tonight. I might not be back until tomorrow morning…” The words hung in the air. Asher paused in turning a page. I waited for a long time, but still no answer. I asked softly again: “Brother, can I not go?” “Why not?” After a long silence, Asher smiled. He subtly pressed his slightly trembling fingertips together: “Of course, you can. We both should have our own lives. Brother won’t control you. Go ahead…” My eyes lit up: “Really? Brother, are you telling the truth?” Asher maintained his smile. His voice was very soft. Almost hollow: “Of course, it’s true. Didn’t I say the other day? We both should have our own lives. We are both free, little sister, you are free…” I bounced upstairs: “Okay! I’ll get changed and leave! Bye, brother!” Asher slowly let the smile fade from his face. He casually tossed the book he was holding aside. His voice remained gentle: “Alright, bye…” 7 For years, Asher had always been so controlling. My wardrobe had almost no suitable clothes for going to a bar. But now, life had suddenly gotten better. Asher no longer treated me like a grandchild. I even started to hesitate whether to tell him the truth about the diary. Never mind. I’ll think about that later. I pulled out all the clothes from my closet. They were strewn all over the bed. Then I tried them on one by one in front of the mirror. White dress? Too plain. Black dress? Too gloomy. This off-the-shoulder one, the neckline was a bit low, and the back was quite open. I held the dress against myself in the mirror, pondering whether to try it on. Suddenly, the back of my neck tightened, my back felt cold, and a strong sense of unease welled up inside me. I instinctively looked up at the mirror. In the mirror, Asher stood silently in the half-open doorway. I gasped. I didn’t know how long he had been standing there. I didn’t know when he had arrived. I didn’t know why his footsteps made no sound at all. Asher just stood there. Half of his body was hidden in the hallway shadows. The other half was illuminated by the room light. Revealing an expressionless face. He was watching me. Not with that deliberately distant gaze from before. But with a damp, sticky quality, something I couldn’t quite identify. His gaze fell directly on me from the mirror, landing on the backless dress in my hand. 8 The dress in my hand almost slipped. I turned to look at him: “Brother, what are you doing standing there? You scared me…” Asher seemed to be yanked back from some deep place by my words. He suddenly snapped back to reality. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. When he opened them again, his eyes had regained their calm. He leaned against the doorframe. Shrugging helplessly: “Nothing, just passing by.” “Come on, Willow, don’t I have to pass your room to get back to mine?” His tone was light, as if the person in the mirror just now had been my imagination. I stared at him for two seconds. Then realized: “I know, brother, you don’t want me to go, do you?” Asher paused. Then he curved his lips, smiling effortlessly, with a hint of helpless indulgence. “How could that be? I haven’t changed my mind, don’t overthink it, little sister.” “Willow, brother still says the same thing. We are both free. What kind of brother would always want to control his sister for no reason?” “Controlling her until she’s eighteen is fine, but still controlling her after eighteen, isn’t that too much, too annoying? I’m not that bored…” As he spoke, his gaze seemed pulled by something, irresistibly drifting downwards. Landing on the dress in my hand. Just one look. Then he immediately shifted his gaze: “Don’t worry, brother won’t control you anymore, Willow. From now on, you can do whatever you want.” “Alright, you pick your clothes. Brother won’t disturb you for now.” “Oh, right, if you run out of money, just ask brother. You can’t go out without money.” 9 Asher’s footsteps gradually faded. But I stood rooted to the spot, unable to fully process what had happened. This was the Nth time today. Asher had said he would no longer control me. I slowly sensed something abnormal. Asher’s words were too decisive and practiced, as if he had drafted them long ago and rehearsed them a hundred times in his mind. I held my breath. A terrifying thought suddenly surfaced in my mind. Had he already considered distancing himself from me even before seeing my diary…? Was he tired of me? Did he no longer want me as a sister? Would he have found a way to abandon me, regardless of that diary? Did my prank diary just give him an excuse? … The more I thought about it, the more logical it seemed. I hugged my arms tightly, my fingertips touching my skin, only to realize my hands were cold. That year I was ten, Asher had sworn to me that we would be together forever. He was only twenty-six now. Had he forgotten everything already? Or rather, from beginning to end, was I the only one who remembered? I clenched my back teeth tightly. I raised my hand. And threw the dress in my hand hard at the mirror. 10 When I went downstairs again, Asher was still sitting there, reading. As if nothing had happened. He heard my footsteps. And looked up at me with a smile: “Willow…” I expressionlessly averted my gaze. As if I hadn’t seen him at all. I walked straight out. And slammed the door shut. Inside. Asher still sat rooted to the spot. Maintaining his raised head. He stared at the door I had slammed. His handsome face, turned pale, inch by inch. 11 I cried into my best friend’s shoulder for two whole hours. Muffled, I asked: “Bestie, can you teach me how to swear?” My best friend looked at me in surprise: “Sweetie, why do you suddenly want to learn swear words? Didn’t you say your brother doesn’t let you swear?” “Hmm, he doesn’t, but this time it’s different.” “How is this time different?” I wiped away my tears, fiercely declaring: “This time, I’m going to curse at him!” My best friend spat out a mouthful of drink: “Willow, are you crazy? You dare curse at your brother?” I: “Why wouldn’t I? If he doesn’t want me, he deserves to be cursed at. Just teach me.” My best friend put down her glass, looking at me strangely: “…Alright.” “Willow, remember, when you curse, always include family.” “No matter what swear word, always put family first. That way it’ll have more impact.” I wrote it down in my notebook: “Include family, put them first, that makes it impactful…” My best friend sighed helplessly: “I can tell your brother really pissed you off this time…” I didn’t say anything, just took a big gulp of the drink on the table, preparing to tell my best friend the whole story. But who would have thought, after one glass of wine, my head started spinning. I leaned on the bar to steady myself, but my body swayed uncontrollably backwards. In that precarious moment, someone from behind grabbed my hand. It was my best friend’s younger brother. I didn’t know when he had arrived. Last summer, he even gave me a love letter, but my brother saw it and he ran two miles out of fear. Before I could retract my smile, that hand was violently pushed away by another hand. The force was so great that my best friend’s brother stumbled two steps. The next second, my waist was encircled from behind, and I was scooped into a cold embrace. I looked up, bewildered. It was Asher. His lips were tightly pressed together. His jaw was clenched into a straight line. His chest heaved violently: “Willow, come home with me.” “If you ever come to a place like this again, I swear I’ll die.”
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