My brother jumps and spikes the ball towards the opponent's net. He yells as if he won from a war while his opponents cry from loss. They are my brothers, but not by blood. We've treated each other like siblings over my years of staying with them under the same roof. I am not the youngest, yet they treat me like their little sister.

The calming sea breeze tries to blow my tightly ponytailed hair and my thin white dress. I sit comfortably on the deck chair and tame my dress. When I hear another triumphant cry, my eyes did not look at my overreacting brothers but settled on a boy. He seems very focused on the game, eager to win the competition between him and my brothers. I sound like I am separating him from them–well, yes I do. His room is on the same floor as mine, but we barely talk to each other. He's always on the other side of the table in the dining hall. We barely make eye contact and it seems that he doesn't really want me there. Although, I know his eyes are black as charcoal, I wish I could gaze at them long enough. 

I watch him chase the ball that lands outside the lane. The white sand coats his toes, but he doesn’t seem to care. He bends to pick up the ball and returns to the court. I know I should be focusing on the game, but my eyes have their own will to look at whoever and whatever they want.

I watch his black hair dances with the afternoon breeze and his forehead creases because of the blazing sun. I almost leaned excessively on my chair, creating a creaking sound, but I am quick to regain my composure. My eyes follow his every move. His spikes, his jumps, and how he puts his wrists together to bounce the ball to the other side. 

My other brother, the youngest after me, smears his chest with sand mockingly. Looking at him, he is the person who doesn't give a damn at all. He has this serious façade that would make people hesitate to approach him but when he smiles, it's a rare moment that needs to be captured by a film camera. 

I know I'm not seeing things that aren't actually present. I nearly screamed when he landed his eyes on me. It was just a quick glance, yet I see him panting. Sweat drips on his philtrum, and his eyes beam at me like the rays of the sun.

Oh, my.

In the name of the beach god. It feels wrong to be madly attracted to this guy. Please protect me. Among the boys in the house, he's the only one that I never saw as my brother. We have never been intimate, never laughed together, and never comforted each other. This feels weird because I am expected to treat him like a brother. Oh well, I'm just a guest of their household anyway. Three years from now, I will leave the house and build a life of my own. 

Surely, I will miss him. Or maybe, my feelings for him will slowly go away. He will forget me too – I'm certain. With his I-don't-care demeanor, I know for sure he doesn't see me like the way I do. Who would lay their eyes on me and admire like I'm a sort of a painting anyway? No one. Especially him.

“Turnip!” My brother calls me by my nickname after dodging the ball. 

I quickly cut off my stare at him and stand on my feet without looking back. 

© ladyly.

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