Her Name Was Aira

They brought her home on a quiet afternoon.

The kind where the sky feels heavy, but nothing falls. No rain. No words. No answers.

I stood by the stairs when I saw her for the first time.

She was smaller than I imagined. Pale. Her white hair framed her like a forgotten painting. Her eyes didn’t meet mine, but I couldn’t stop staring.

My parents said, “This is Aira. She’ll be staying with us now.”

They didn’t explain more. Maybe they didn’t know more. But somehow... I felt like I already knew her.

Like she belonged here. With me.

And before I knew it, I was hugging her. Not just politely—but like I was trying to shield something fragile from the wind.Then, without even thinking, I kissed her softly on the cheek. Not in a strange way. Just the way you do when something inside you says: “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

I didn’t care who she was. I didn’t care where she came from.

All I knew was this: She didn’t have anyone. So I became her brother.

And from that day, I promised myself— If anyone touched her… If anyone hurt her… I would become something they’d regret ever meeting.

Because her name… Her name was Aira.