I've nearly forgotten why I originally started to put on a stern face.
At first, it was because I didn't want to resemble him too much—Bradley, my father, who laughed like a fool. It could be said that he colored every aspect of my and Rosa's childhood, and perhaps Rosa's optimism was inherited from him. Despite no blood relation, Rosa was strikingly similar to him, a kind of kinship that drew me in.
I felt it was justifiable to display pessimism, no matter how loudly he laughed, it couldn't mask the cruel reality. At some point, I began to loathe his blind smiles, no longer fond of the similarities I shared with him, even though everyone said we were cut from the same cloth. After realizing my feelings for Rosa, I grew even more reluctant to become a carbon copy of my father. Rosa's attitude toward me did not change, just like his.
"You and her seem to have switched identities." That man laughed cheerily, the pat on my shoulder as heavy as ever.
