My sister was beautiful and brilliant, always effortlessly winning people over.
Compared to her, my plain self was like a timid little mouse.
My parents used to say, “How can you even compare yourself to your sister?”
My childhood friend said, “Jiajia and you don’t look like sisters.”
I asked him, “Then what do we look like instead?”
Sniffling, he replied:
“Like a princess and her maid.”
That was until I met Cen Yi.
My parents were clinging to my sister, introducing her to his family and boasting about how exceptional their daughter was.
I stood off to the side, stealing glances at the cookies on the table.
But he bypassed everyone else and pulled me into a tight embrace.
“Mine,”
he said.