"Kyle’s Story"

My name is Kyle Wilson, I’m 17 years old, and I’m the youngest in a family that’s always full of movement. My house, though not large, always has some noise: the voices of my sisters, the sounds of the television, or the laughter of my parents when they come home from work.

My parents are Gerardo and Marta. My dad, Gerardo, is a civil engineer, and my mom, Marta, is a lawyer. Both are very dedicated to their work. It’s not that they don’t care about the family, but they’re always busy with their projects and obligations. Sometimes, I feel like I have to be the “adult” of the house. The truth is, I was never alone, but there were days when I wished someone would pay more attention to me. Sometimes, I feel trapped between the love they give me and the fact that they are always absent, caught up in their own worlds.

My older sisters, Paola and Renata, are completely different from each other, and both play different roles in my life. Paola, the oldest, is 23. She’s already finished university and works as a graphic designer at an advertising agency. She was always the closest to me when I was younger. Sometimes, even though her tone could be a bit sarcastic, she gave me the best advice. She was the first to notice when something was bothering me, and though she didn’t always say it in the gentlest way, her approach made me feel like someone really understood me. Sometimes, she made me smile, even though inside I felt frustrated by my inability to express myself.

Then there’s Renata, my 21-year-old sister, who’s in her final year of medical school. Despite her dedication and seriousness, she also holds a place in my life. Renata is more distant, always focused on her studies, but even though she doesn’t show it, I know she cares about me. Whenever I have a problem, whether with my friends or with school, she listens, but not with the warmth that Paola does. Renata has a more practical way of looking at things, and she doesn’t always stop to ask what I’m really feeling.

Lastly, there’s Lucía, my 9-year-old little sister. Even though technically I’m the older brother, Lucía has always been the most dependent on everyone. She’s very attached to me and always comes to me when she’s scared or doesn’t know how to solve something. She’s the one who needs me the most, and that makes me feel good. Although sometimes it makes me a bit uncomfortable because I feel like she should be more independent, it also makes me feel important. Maybe that’s why sometimes I feel trapped in a “protector” role that I can’t always fulfill the way I’d like.

Although my family shares a strong bond, there are times when I feel like I’m the little one, the one who can’t quite find his place. I’m not the youngest, but sometimes I feel that way, like everyone else is older and has their lives figured out while I’m still trying to find my way. When I enter my room, that’s when I feel it the most: the loneliness of knowing that, despite living surrounded by people, sometimes I feel like I’m on an island, alone with my thoughts.

And then, in the middle of all that routine, Evan appeared.

I met him when we entered high school, although at first, we weren’t close. I remember that despite being classmates, Evan didn’t stand out to me in any special way. He was always the quiet guy who sat at the back, but never got into trouble. He was... different, though I didn’t know how to describe it back then. It was only a little later, when he started asking me questions about projects or when we’d cross paths in the hallways, that I began to pay more attention to him. Even though he wasn’t the kind of guy who usually talked much with others, I found myself drawn to that tranquility he exuded.

But something started to change. Evan began dressing in a more... different way. I remember the first time I saw him wearing a fitted t-shirt and thinner pants. Somehow, Evan started to look more... feminine. His clothes, his attitude, even the way he walked. Although at first I thought it was just a phase, something inside me began to realize that something else was happening. It wasn’t just his style that was changing. There was something in his gaze, in the way he spoke to me, that made me feel like I wasn’t seeing my old friend anymore.

The biggest surprise came when one day I saw him with longer hair. It wasn’t an abrupt change, but it was definitely noticeable. At first, I didn’t know what to think of it. It wasn’t the style Evan used to have, but something in his gaze, in the way he moved, made me feel strange. He wasn’t the same Evan anymore. And, for some reason, I couldn’t stop looking at him. But the worst part was that I didn’t know how to explain it.

My mind kept spinning around what I was feeling. I watched him when I didn’t think he was aware of it. The way he laughed, how he talked to people, his softer attitude... all of it confused me. I had never noticed those details about him before. What was happening to me? I was feeling attracted to him, but not in the same way a friend feels toward another. It was deeper than that. It was a confusing sensation, as if suddenly I was seeing someone completely different.

That day, after thinking about it for a while, I pulled out my phone and looked at a picture I had taken of Evan while we were talking with a group of friends. He was smiling, facing away, with that relaxed attitude that had captivated me. When I looked at it, something in my chest tightened. I felt the heat in my cheeks, and I couldn’t help but blush. I didn’t know how to explain it, but in that moment, I realized something very clearly: I liked him in a way I didn’t understand. And that somehow scared and terrified me.