I still carry the feeling of my childhood home. My younger brother and I used to sleep in the same bed. Every evening, we studied at our dining table, sitting at two different corners. We dreamed, played, fought, wrestled, and made up without thinking much about it. I never imagined those ordinary days would become memories.

Now my brother lives far away, and I live in a different city from my parents. We all have our own paths, our own routines, and our own lives. Maybe this is what growing up looks like. No one chooses to leave home, but somehow time quietly takes everyone in different directions.

Now I have my own room, my own bed, my own silence. Sometimes I miss the sound of a home where everyone was together.