I always loved my little brother.

He was cute, clever and smart. His charm was unlike anything I had ever seen — admired by everyone in our house, in our neighbourhood, by every stranger who crossed his path. Our father was occupied with his many duties. Our mother spent her days by his side supporting him. So the responsibility of looking after my little brother came to me naturally — and I loved every moment of it.

We had servants and nannies at home. But when it came to his care, I was the one in charge. He returned that love in everything he did, every single day. Without consulting me first, he never did a thing.

He was so beautiful that it became a regular practice to dress him in girls' costumes. Whether he liked it or not. He looked even more beautiful and everyone passed him around just to celebrate it.

As we grew, our bond grew with us.

But around that time, I started noticing something strange in him.

He was drawn to tall buildings, tall trees — not to climb them the way other boys did, but to stand at the bottom and look straight up. Measuring. Calculating. Something only he could see. It happened so often that it became a growing concern for me.

One day I could not hold it anymore.

"What do you feel inside when you look up at those tall structures?"

Without a moment's hesitation he gave me one sentence that both amazed me and put my concern to rest forever.

"I will build one that is taller than all of these."