This Raksha Bandhan, I just want one thing, “Mujhe meri behen theek chahiye. Bas.

I’m 12. I should be thinking about toys, games, or maybe new clothes for the festival.

But all I can think about… is my little sister, Dhanita.

She’s 9. And since the day she was born, we knew something wasn’t right.

A lump sat above her tiny nose, small at first, but growing slowly over the years… turning into something painful, something that’s taken over more than just her face.

I’ve never known a time when she didn’t carry this with her. But even then, she would try to smile. She’d hum songs, make silly faces at me.

But I could always see it the way she looked away from mirrors, the way she’d fall silent when other kids stared.

Now, it hurts her. She holds her face sometimes and winces quietly. She hides behind her dupatta even at home.

Not because we say anything but because the world has taught her to be ashamed of something she never asked for.

Last night, she came to me, and said in her soft, shaky voice:

“Bhaiya… agar main theek ho gayi na, toh main sabke saamne dance karungi.”

“Brother… if I get better, I’ll dance in front of everyone.”

And I smiled. But inside, I wanted to scream.

Because I don’t know how to make her better.

And I hate that.

In school, when someone mocks her, I shout,

“Meri behen ke baare mein kuch mat kehna!”

“Don’t you dare say anything about my sister!”

But how do I protect her from the pain I can’t see?

How do I fight something that lives inside her, grows every day, and makes her question her own worth?

The doctors say she needs surgery. That it’s possible. That there’s hope.

But the cost ₹12,20,000.

It feels like saying another language to me. A number so big… It scares me.

My mother works all day in the sun and earns ₹300. We’ve sold what we could. We’ve gone from clinic to clinic.

Still not enough.

“Maa… iss Raksha Bandhan mujhe kuch nahi chahiye. Bas Dhanita theek ho jaye.”

“Maa, I don’t want anything for this Raksha Bandhan. I just want Dhanita to get better.”

I’ve never asked for much. But this… this is the only thing I want.

For her to stop hiding. For her to stop hurting. For her to finally, finally, feel free.

I see her sometimes standing in front of the mirror, tears running down her cheeks.

“Maa… main sab jaise kyun nahi dikhti?”

“Maa… why don’t I look like everyone else?”

And Maa… she has no answer. Just folded hands. Silent prayers.

And me? I’m just a brother. But I’m folding my hands too now.

Can you help? Can someone’s ₹100, ₹500, or whatever they can give… bring my sister back her confidence, her health, her peace?

This Raksha Bandhan, I don’t need a gift. I need a miracle. I want to see her dance. I want to see her stand tall.

I want her to live the childhood she’s never really had.

“Mujhe meri behen theek chahiye. Bas.”

“I just want my sister to be okay. That’s all.”