Shadows and Spotlights

The dining room was a masterpiece of subtle opulence: a long mahogany table polished to a mirror shine, an extravagant chandelier bathing everything in a warm, golden glow, and dinnerware so fine it seemed criminal to touch it. This wasn't just a meal; it was an event, the kind my parents orchestrated to remind everyone of the family's standing.

We hadn't had a sit-down dinner like this in months, and from the moment I walked in, I could feel the weight of it. My father sat at the head of the table, his posture stiff and commanding. My mother, ever the gracious hostess, flitted between the kitchen and dining room, ensuring everything was perfect. Dorian was already seated, effortlessly relaxed, as if he belonged in this scene more than any of us.

I took my usual spot, a few seats down from Dorian. It didn't matter where I sat—I always felt small at this table.

The evening started pleasantly enough, with the usual small talk about the food and the weather. But it wasn't long before my father steered the conversation to his favorite topic: Dorian.

"Your presentation last week was phenomenal, Dorian," he said, his voice brimming with pride. "I've been hearing nothing but praise from the board."

Dorian smiled modestly, the kind of smile that said he was used to this level of attention. "Thank you, Dad. It was a team effort, really."

"Nonsense," my father replied, waving a hand dismissively. "You're a natural leader. Always have been. It's no surprise they're already talking about moving you up. You've got the charm, the intelligence, the work ethic—everything you need to go far."

I focused on cutting my steak, my knife moving a little too forcefully through the tender meat.

"And Leonard," my father continued, turning his attention to me. My chest tightened. I knew what was coming.

"You could learn a lot from your brother," he said, his tone shifting to one of disapproval. "You're smart, Leonard, but intelligence isn't enough. You've got to put yourself out there, make people notice you. Right now, you're just... coasting."

The word hit me like a slap. Coasting. As if all the work I'd been doing—quiet, meticulous work—meant nothing because it didn't come with a spotlight.

"Dad," my mother interjected gently, "let's not turn this into a lecture."

But my father wasn't done. "It's not a lecture; it's the truth. Leonard needs to hear it. The world doesn't reward people who hide in the background. Look at Dorian—he's proof of that."

Dorian, to his credit, looked uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to say something, but I didn't want to hear whatever platitude he was about to offer.

Sensing the rising tension, my mother quickly tried to change the subject.

"Speaking of accomplishments," she said brightly, "let's talk about Jacob. He's been doing so well in school lately. Did you know he's been offered a scholarship to that summer program for young scientists?"

Jacob, my younger brother, looked up from his plate, clearly caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. It's just a preliminary offer, though."

"Nonsense," my mother said, beaming. "It's a huge deal! We're so proud of you."

The shift in focus was a relief, but it felt hollow. My father nodded approvingly at Jacob, but it was clear his mind was still on Dorian's brilliance and my supposed shortcomings.

I stayed quiet for the rest of the meal, nodding and murmuring when necessary but mostly keeping my head down. The food tasted like nothing. Every bite was overshadowed by the simmering frustration that had been building inside me for years.

How could he not see it? The effort I put into everything I did? The constant comparisons, the endless praise for Dorian while I was left to scrape together crumbs of approval?

I glanced at Dorian, who was engaged in a lighthearted conversation with Jacob about video games. He made it look so easy, this effortless charm that seemed to draw everyone to him like moths to a flame. And then there was me—the quiet one, the cautious one, the one who never quite measured up.

The bitterness settled in my chest, heavy and unyielding. But I couldn't let it show. Not here, not now.

After dinner, I retreated to my room, shutting the door behind me and leaning against it for a moment. The tension from the evening clung to me like a second skin.

I crossed the room to my desk, where the old family photo sat in a silver frame. It was the one from years ago, back when we were just kids. Dorian was in the center, grinning confidently, his arm slung around my shoulder. I was standing stiffly beside him, smiling awkwardly at the camera.

I picked up the photo, running my thumb over the glass.

"I'll make you notice me," I muttered, my voice low and steady. "One way or another."

The words felt like a vow, a promise to myself that I wouldn't stay in Dorian's shadow forever. Whatever it took, I'd find a way to step into the light.