She was the firstborn daughter, carrying the weight of responsibility from an early age, her heart woven with threads of resilience and quiet strength.
He was the youngest son, always seen as the one who needed guidance, still finding his place in the world.
She held the steady ground he’d never known he was missing, a presence so constant it felt like a home he'd been searching for.
And in her arms, he discovered a refuge, a warmth that shielded her from a world that often forgot she, too, needed care.
He saw through the strong front she showed the world, reaching the tender parts she hid even from herself.
And though she had always been a pillar for others, she found herself letting go with him, her softness held gently, as if it were a secret only they shared.
In his quiet moments of affection, she realized that even a pillar can lean, even a firstborn can be vulnerable.
