Chapter 3

To celebrate Henry’s 'new beginning', my parents decided to throw him a grand banquet. I was expected to attend as his replacement.

Mom took it very seriously. She even searched for clothes that Henry used to love wearing and gave them to me. It was a style from 20 years ago, and it was completely outdated.

They were old clothes she had dug out from secondhand markets and relatives’ closets. Some collars were stretched out. Some sleeves were already coming apart. All of them carried a stubborn smell of mildew that refused to fade.

When I was little, Mom forced me to wear these clothes to school, causing my classmates to laugh at me behind my back.

This time, I calmly put them on.

The moment Mom saw me dressed like that, her eyes suddenly turned red. I knew she was looking at Henry through me again. That loving gaze had never truly fallen on me.

“Don’t smile too much when you’re there, but make sure you speak sweetly. Henry was closest to your uncle and your aunt. Make sure you talk to them more.”

Mom reminded me of every little detail, as though she was afraid I would make a mistake and one wrong move would reveal that I was not her son. It was like everyone would be forced to wake up from the dream they had built around Henry.

She did not know that after 18 years of imitating Henry, his every habit and mannerism had already been carved into my bones. I knew him better than she ever could.

On the day of the banquet, every relative and family friend who saw me sighed in surprise.

“Harry looks so much like Henry...”

“Twenty years have passed so quickly. Back then, Henry wore the same clothes and greeted everyone as they arrived.”

“Exactly. Just like Henry, he’s smart, charming, and knows exactly what to say. Listen to him giving those toasts, one after another.”

Everyone was looking at me, but they were remembering him. It had always been like this since I was little.

“Harry likes red too? He even wears the same kind of shirt Henry used to wear.”

“Harry is just like Henry. He can’t sit still. He always wants to run outside and play.”

In the beginning, I used to silently argue in my head.

No, I was nothing like Henry.

I did not like red. I did not like wearing button-up shirts.

I preferred staying home to read and draw. I did not want to go outside and play.

Nevertheless, as the years passed and as I spent more and more time pretending to be him, I began to lose track of myself.

What color did I actually like?

What did I enjoy doing in my free time?

What kind of food did I actually prefer?

If Henry had never existed and if I had been my parents’ first child, what would my name have been?

“Harry!”

A young woman’s voice suddenly called out from behind me.

I turned around in surprise. It was my aunt’s daughter and my older cousin, Sienna. She was three years older than me, and she was the only person there who had never met Henry.

She was also the only person who never called me other names except for Harry.

Three years ago, she left for college in another city. We had not seen each other since.

“It’s been a while, Harry.” She handed me a gift box. “This is your gift for getting into college.”

I stared blankly as I accepted it and opened the box. Inside was an entire set of expensive art supplies.

Sienna smiled awkwardly. “I remember you liked drawing when you were little. I'm not sure if you’d still find a use for these.”

Then she handed me another gift bag. “This one is from my mom. You’re going to college now, so she picked out two outfits that young men your age would actually wear. I hope you like them.”

I looked down.

Inside was a white tracksuit and a gray T-shirt. Those were simple designs, nothing fancy. Yet the moment I saw them my eyes turned red.

The smile that belonged to Henry was still hanging on my face. At that moment, what would the real Harry say? What would he do? I could not remember anymore.

That was when I finally realized I did not need to wait until the day before college started to drown. The real Harry had died long before that. The person standing here now was nothing more than Henry’s pathetic imitation.