My brother in his eyes Her brushes hadn't been touched in 4 months. Although the art room smelled the same, there was no inspiration or happiness now. Like herself. Four months ago, Seren and her family faced a huge incident. The car crash. She is physically okay now, but her brother didn't make it. The only one who could truly understand her. Now, he's not here. Probably in heaven. No one knows why she blames herself for his death. Even if she hadn't been on headphones, would it have saved him? Since then, no one saw her smile again. She hasn't entered her art room. Hasn't listened to music. Once the best student with the most cheerful vibe, now she barely attends school. Her friends are too afraid to approach her. Her silence is louder than anything. Her eyes speak clearer than words about all she's gone through. A normal school day. Or not. An unfamiliar student entered the classroom. Another new face. When the teacher asked him to introduce himself, he only said his name—Kian. What a coincidence, he sat next to her. But stayed silent. Time moved like a shadow—unnoticed, but always present. Seren liked observing people. Kian wasn't like others. Quiet, respectful, a bit mysterious. He spoke only when needed. Never distracted her. Like he knew his lines. Finally, big break. Her favorite part of the day. A moment to read in peace. She was always alone during breaks. But not today. He was there too. On his headphones. The song finished. Then came an instrumental—familiar. Too familiar. Her brother's favorite. Her hands began to shake. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Kian noticed. He didn't speak. Just handed her a tissue. Like he understood. The following week, some things changed. From that day, Kian didn't leave during big breaks. He sat there, headphones off, gazing at the ceiling. Seren found herself wondering—was he waiting for something? Maybe her? Next week? Same thing, but with snacks and quiet “hi” s. Kian's greeting became familiar. Unremarkable, yet comforting. She started nodding. Whispering “hi” back. It wasn't much. But it was something. Something she hadn't done in a long time. Days, weeks passed. Hope had been a foreign feeling. But now, she stopped bringing books to school. Because something else mattered more—conversations. They talked about anything. Frog organs, flag meanings, monkey brain functions. She still spoke little, but interest returned. She felt alive again. Some days, she thought she saw her brother in Kian's eyes. Not literally, but the presence. The comfort. The quiet encouragement. His glance told her—move on. For the first time in 5 months, she laughed. Over something silly. Her laugh was cracked, but it was real. That night, she looked for her headphones. A month later, she almost forgot the pain. Almost. Until one day, Kian asked something unexpected. “I heard you're good at painting. Can I see the art room?” She hesitated. What if the memories returned? What if she couldn't handle it? Still, they agreed to go after school. The sound of keys. Then the door. The scent of paint, old paper, dried acrylics. The room felt frozen in time. Kian didn't speak. Just looked around. After some time, he whispered, “You've put so much of yourself in here… it's beautiful.” But Seren was lost in her world. Then she spotted something on the ground—a drawing. Her and her brother, bright colors, joyful strokes. Had he drawn it? Maybe. She didn't cry. She picked it up, placed it on the table, and began searching. Two canvases. Two brushes. She handed one to Kian. “You can't deny I'm better than you.” He smiled. “Okay, but this isn't over. I'll get you next time.” They got lost in that room for over 3 hours. She painted a dove soaring in a bright sky. He painted a family—four figures. But their faces were blurred. All but one. She noticed. Confused. Worried. He saw it. “It's hard to put into words,” he said quietly. “My house… it burned down. I wasn't even there.” His voice cracked. “We had a big fight. I was angry. I left. And when I came back… firefighters were there. White tarps... covering them. I didn't even know what to feel. I didn't know whether to scream or cry.” Tears fell, no matter how hard he tried not to. She spoke softly. “We were in the car, fighting over the seat with the best headphones. You know, the ones with the best sound. Always arguing over it. It's so dumb. I was selfish. I wanted the better seat.” Then he added, “Sometimes, we think we control everything. The fight, the outcome. We blame ourselves. We kill our hope. Stop moving on. But too late, we realize it's not our fault that we survived.”