All my life I've always been put second, whenever I try to put the spotlight on me, it always shifts to someone else. The fact that I even have to share my birthday doesn't help me feel better. I have a twin brother, Nicholas, he couldn't be more perfect.

It was very unexpected for my parents to have a second child. They have always just wanted one child, but unfortunately they had twins. There's Nicholas the perfect son, the one that they've always wanted. Who has always been the more active child, he played Sports and was popular in High School. Then there's me Nikolai the unseen child, the one is always sitting in a corner reading a boo.

I know that I've always been the quiet child, but I had no choice but to be quiet when my words were always silence.My parents never asked me about my day they've always only asked Nicholas they never asked me about the bruises they see on my body they always concerned about Nicholas. I've never heard them say congratulation to me when I got a math award, but we had to celebrate when Nicholas joined the soccer team.

I hated feeling invisible, I've always wanted to leave this house and find someone who will see me, who will put me first, who will love me for who I am. It all went down in shambles the day I told my parents I'm gay. They did not take this information well, which I don't understand. They've never cared, so why do they care now ? Why can they not accept me? Why do I have to be someone else? Ever since that day things got worse. They would give me weird looks and make me feel abnormal. Which always made me ask myself is this how it was meant to be? Was meant to be alone forever ?

I've tried finding security in dating, but it never helped. Mostly all my relationships have ended badly. The first one was stupid the guy confessed to me, and I didn't want to be rude and break his heart, so I agree to date him. Things were all awkward at first, but then when I thought things were going well he said he found someone else and that he did not like me anymore.

The second one was in college with my roommate. We had a little thing going on,, and I thought that he felt something for me and that we would end up being something together. We had fun and I thought I found someone who can love me for who I am but one day when I walked inside the room I found him with someone else. That was my first heartbreak,, and it left me shattered.

At college I thought a finally found myself good friends until they kept making plants without me, leaving me out of conversations and keeping secrets from me. It felt like I was a third wheel in the relationship. I was confused, what have I ever done to them? Am I not good enough? Will I ever be good enough? Do I not deserve any love ?

I stared out the window of my tiny apartment, the city lights bleeding into the night like fractured dreams. Twenty-five years old, and the only thing I’d ever felt was invisible. My parents’ house had been a museum of neglect, where my brother Nicholas was the prized exhibit and I was the ghost lurking in the corners. They’d never hit me, never screamed. They just… forgot me. The food was served, the laundry was done, but I wasn’t seen.

The one place I did matter was Room 3, Kindergarten B. My kids—Liam, Ava, Mateo—they needed me. Their tiny hands waved at me like sunbeams, their laughter peeled away the rot of my childhood. I was *Nikolai*, the teacher who made stickers rain and read The Gruffalo with dramatic flair. No one else called me important. But here, I was a god.

My phone shattered the peace. Mom flashed on the screen. I hesitated. What did they want?

“Hello?”

“Nikolai, sweetheart,” she said, her voice saccharine. Sweetheart. She hadn’t called me that since I was five. “We need you to come for dinner tonight. 6 p.m. Don’t be late.”

I blinked. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just… family stuff. Your father wants to talk.”

A knot tightened in my gut. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

I arrived at 5:59 p.m., the house unchanged: sterile, beige, a monument to indifference. My parents sat in the living room, Nicholas slumped between them like a trophy. He looked… different. Gaunt. Tubes snaked into his arm.

“Nikki,” Dad said, using the nickname only he used. Mocking. “Sit.”

I sat. Mom leaned forward. “Nicholas has leukemia. Aggressive. The treatment costs R500,000. We… we can’t afford it.”

My chest hollowed. “What about insurance?”

“Denied. We need a solution now.”

Dad cleared his throat. “We’ve… received an offer. A… business arrangement. A wealthy family wants you to marry their son, Rafael. They’ll cover the medical bills *if* you agree.”

I laughed. It was a reflex, a “this-is-a-joke” sound. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” Mom said, her eyes wet. Wet. “Nikolai, we’re desperate. This is Nicholas’ life.”

*“Why me?”* I demanded. “Why now?”

Dad’s voice softened a new tone, one I’d never heard. “We… realize we neglected you, Nikolai. We’re sorry. Do this, and… maybe we can fix things.”

I scanned the room. Fix things? Nicholas cycled through chemo-induced nausea, Mom held a tissue, Dad gripped the armchair like a lifeline. They need me.

“Say yes,” Nicholas whispered. His eyes my eyes—pleaded.

“Say yes, Nikolai,” Mom echoed.

I thought of Room 3. The kids. The only place I’d ever mattered.

“What’s the catch?” I asked.

“The marriage is… symbolic. A year, max. Rafael’s… gentle. Homosexual. No… physical intimacy. You’ll live separately. He needs a ‘respectable’ face for his family’s business. You get 1 million for the year. Help Nicholas. Start you.”

Gentle. Respectable. A million rand.

“Okay,” I said. The word felt like ash.

Mom sobbed. Dad patted my shoulder. “Thank you, Nikolai.”

Nicholas smiled weak, real smile. “I’ll… get better.”

I stood. “When do I meet Rafael?”

“Tomorrow. 3 p.m. The café on Fifth.

“One condition,” I said, voice firm. “After this, _leave me alone. Let me breathe.”

Mom nodded, tears streaming. “We’ll… try.”

I left the house. The night swallowed me whole.

*Later, alone in my apartment:*

I wrote in my journal, pen scratching:

They want me now. Not for me, but for him. What does it cost to be seen? A brother’s life? A stranger’s name?

But… the kids. Liam’s “Mr. Nikolai!” still echoes. I can save Nicholas. Maybe… maybe they’ll try.

Or maybe I’m just a tool. Again.

I closed the notebook. Tomorrow waited like a ghost.

I arrived at the café on Fifth Street at 2:45 p.m., the scent of roasted coffee and anxiety clingling in the air like an uninvited guest. Rain dripped down the window, distorting the world outside into a watercolor mess, just like my thoughts. The plan was to meet Rafael, the stranger I’d “marry” to save Nicholas. I ordered a black coffee, extra bitter, and slid into the corner seat, watching droplets race each other down the glass.

3:00 p.m. ticked by. 3:15. 3:30.

No Rafael.

I pulled out my phone and texted Mom: He’s not here. What now?

No reply.

The barista wiped the counter for the fifth time, eyeing me like I was a ghost who’d overstayed my welcome. I sipped the coffee, now lukewarm and too sweet. _lIs this my life? Waiting for people who don’t show? For families who don’t care?

*Thoughts spiraled:*

- _What if he ghosted me? Does he even exist?

- _What if this is a scam? Did my parents lie?

- _What if I’m still invisible?

- _What if I say no? Throw it all away?

The café’s noise clipped laughter, hissing steam, a toddler crying felt like a scream. I checked my watch: *4:10 p.m.* Screw it.

I called Mom. “Hello?” she answered, her voice annoyingly cheerful.

“Rafael didn’t show,” I said, voice flat. “What’s going on?”

“We’ll sort it, Nikolai,” she said. “Don’t worry. Maybe he got delayed.”

“Delayed? For two hours?” I snapped. “Tell me the truth.”

“Trust us. You will meet him. Just… be patient.” She hung up.

I left the café, rain soaking my shoes, seeping into my socks. Trust them? The same people who forgot my birthday every year?

The walk home was a blur. I replayed the conversation:

“Nikolai, sweetheart…”

“Sweetheart.” Like I was five, not 25.

“We’re sorry.”

Sorry for what? For breathing?

*Saturday, 10:00 a.m.*

Mom’s text arrived: Don’t meet Rafael until the wedding. The family wants it “dramatic.” The wedding’s in *3 weeks*. Pack a suit. We’ll handle the rest.

I stared at the screen. Dramatic? What, like a bad rom-com?_l

I dialed her. “What does that mean?”

“Nikolai, this works for them. Just… cooperate. Nicholas needs you.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” I demanded.

“The family wants control. Stop overthinking. Do this.”

“Control me, you mean.”

“Nikolai, *don’t make this harder.*”

Click.

I dropped onto my couch, numb. No interview. No choice. No escape._The walls closed in. I opened my journal, pen tearing the page.

*Journal Entry, 4:00 p.m.:*

*They treat me like a pawn. “Cooperate.” “Trust.” Like I’m nothing._l

What if Rafael hates me? Ugly. Boring. Unlovable?

*What if *I hate him? Cold. Entitled. Cruel?

But… Nicholas. The kids. R1 million.

What’s the cost of being a ghost in a suit?

A text buzzed: Nicholas: “Thank you, Nikki. I owe you.”_

I typed: *don’t thank me. I’m not doing it for _you._ I’m doing it for me._l

*6:00 p.m.*

I paced my kitchen, a plan forming:

*Research Rafael’s family.* Who are they?

*Talk to a lawyer.* Loopholes? Prenup?

*Tell the kids.* “I’ll be gone a year, but I’ll call.”

*Buy a suit.* Black. Like my future.

The fridge creaked open. A leftover apple. I bit it. Sour.

The phone rang. *Dad.*

“Nikolai, the wedding planner will contact you. Cooperate.”

“Dad… why me?”

“Because, kiddo,” he said, a crack in his voice, “we owe you. This… fixes it.”

Fixes it. Like a broken toy.

I hung up. I’m not broken.

*11:00 p.m.*

Rain stopped. The city glittered. I wrote:

Tomorrow, I’ll search. I’ll fight. I’ll see.

The clock ticked. Three weeks. A suit. A stranger’s hand. A life I didn’t choose.

What now, Nikolai?