I am tired. Truly tired of all these romance riddles to which I can never find the answer.
My gaze is vacant, staring at the chalkboard in front of me. Why does Zemiro have to be so silent? Why can't he be just a little bit more like Simon? At least Simon would get up, walk toward me, and sit right in front of me just to chat about trivial things. But he is different.
I let out a slow breath, resting my chin on my folded arms. My mind begins to wander elsewhere. Maybe I don't actually need a boyfriend. I just want to have an older brother. Is it possible that having an older brother is much better than being trapped in romance drama like this?
At the very least, a brother will always be there without me having to fear he will leave out of boredom or because of an age gap. He would protect me without demanding 'affection' in return.
I feel as though I just need someone who can make me feel safe, not someone who constantly makes me question my own worthiness of being loved.
***
Zemiro sets his bag down just as his ears catch a faint sob coming from behind his three-year-old brother's bedroom door. He nudges the door open slightly.
In the room, his little brother sits huddled on the floor. In front of him, a toy model robot lies shattered in pieces. Sigit is crying. Sigit's small face is flushed, wet with tears that refuse to stop.
Sigit looks up, staring at his brother with trembling lips. "Bubba..." his voice is hoarse, nearly drowning in sobs. "It hurts... the robot hurts."
He points to the robot's head, which lies far apart from its body. "Can't walk anymore. Is Sigit naughty, Bba? Dad said Sigit was wasting time... then... then he smashed it." Sigit clutches the edge of his shirt, trying to hold back the tears that instead burst forth again.
To a child that small, a broken toy isn't just a damaged object, but a judgment that what he loves is a mistake.
Zemiro is silent. His eyes stare blankly at the ruined robot, but his jaw tightens for a moment. He doesn't immediately pull Sigit into a hug with warm, comforting words.
Zemiro simply kneels on the cold floor, ignoring the dust clinging to his expensive school trousers. Without a word, he begins picking up the pieces of the robot's arms and legs one by one.
"Sit," Zemiro commands softly, not shouting, but firm enough to make Sigit stop crying out of surprise.
Zemiro begins snapping the plastic joints back together. His movements are quick and efficient. Sigit watches with wide eyes, letting out occasional small hiccups, seeing his brother's magical fingers bring the robot back to shape.
"This doesn't hurt," Zemiro says finally, his voice very low, almost like a whisper to himself. "It just needs to befixed. You do, too."
Once the robot is standing upright again, Zemiro stands up and pats the top of Sigit's head with a single, slow, brief touch.
He is about to turn and leave, but his steps are halted when he feels a small tug at the hem of his school shirt.
Zemiro looks back. Sigit is still sobbing, but his tiny hand offers a strawberry lollipop with a slightly crumpled wrapper from his pocket.
"For Bubba... so you don't hurt too," Sigit murmurs innocently.
Zemiro pauses for a moment, staring at the cheap strawberry candy that looks so stark against his clean hand. The corners of his lips do not lift, his face remains as flat as usual, but he accepts the candy and tucks it into his shirt pocket, right over his heart.
"Go to sleep. Tomorrow, the robot needs to be able to fly," Zemiro says quietly.
As he steps out and closes the bedroom door, Zemiro pockets the candy.
***