Wondering about my life

 The Kitchen 

Ginger and soy sauce filled the apartment air as Chen and his father stood side by side at the stove, sleeves rolled up. In the middle of the recipe book spread open, "Perfect Congee (Don't Burn It This Time)" was underlined in Chen's mother's handwriting with playful wobbly loops.

She knew you'd need this, his father said, grinning as Chen nearly dropped a spoonful of sesame oil.

"Shut up," Chen laughed, dodging a mock punch.

They burned the first batch. The second was too salty. But the third—steaming and golden, topped with green onions—tasted like memory. As they ate, his father hesitated, then said, "She'd want us to laugh more, you know.".

Chen's chest grew warm. For the first time, the kitchen didn't feel like a shrine. It felt like home.

 The Track Meet

Chen's sneakers pounded the track, the roar of the crowd fading to a hum. Luna's voice cut through: "Pace yourself! Breathe!" He crossed the finish line third—his best time yet.

Afterward, Jia found him gulping water under the bleachers. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"You okay?" he asked.

She twirled a pink strand of hair. "My dad's… sick. Pancreatitis. They're running tests."

The words hung between them. Chen froze, a water droplet sliding down his neck. Not her too.

"I don't know how to do this," she whispered.

He handed her his medal. "You don't have to. Just… let me help."

Fractured Friendship

Miguel's text lit up Chen's phone: Movie night? Your pick. But Chen was elbow-deep in college applications, his mother's journal open to a page circled in red: "Chen will change the world. I know it."

When Miguel barged in unannounced, Chen snapped. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Miguel threw his hands up. "You're always busy now! Too good for us?"

"Maybe I just don't want to waste time!"

The silence that fell was colder than the slap Chen deserved. Miguel left without his jacket.

The Call

Jia's father died on a Tuesday. Chen found her in the art room, shredding a charcoal sketch of her dad's hands.

"They said it was quick," she said hollowly. "Like that makes it better."

Chen didn't speak. He sat beside her, gathering the torn pieces. Together, they rebuilt the hands—wrinkled, strong, holding nothing.

At the funeral, Chen stood beside Jia as she recited a poem. When her voice broke, he slipped his hand into hers. This is how we survive, he thought. Not alone.

 The Grave Visit

Rain soaked Chen's shoes as he knelt at his mother's grave. His father's umbrella appeared overhead.

"I used to hate her for leaving," his father admitted. "Now I'm just… grateful she loved us enough to make it hurt this much."

Chen placed a origami crane on the headstone. "Jia's leaving. Moving to her aunt's."

His father squeezed his shoulder. "Then let's make sure she knows she's not gone."

The Project

Chen's idea snowballed like wildfire: "The Thousand Cranes Run." Kids folded paper birds during lunch, each carrying an inscription about a memory of loss or hope. Luna planned the route. Ms. Alina got them the permits. Miguel showed up with a box of markers and did not speak, but sat silently.

Race day, Chen pinned his mom's red journal to his shirt. Cranes flitted above the track, hung between the trees like a constellation.

Jia stood at the starting line, her pink hair stuffed under a bandana. "For the dads."

"For the moms," Chen said.

They ran.

Epilogue: The Letter Unsent

That night, Chen added a new line to his stack of unsent letters:

"Mom, I'm still scared. But I'm not alone. And neither are you."

He folded it into a crane and placed it on his windowsill, where the moonlight turned it silver.

 Night of Forgiveness

Miguel stopped answering Chen's texts and made sure to steer clear of him in the halls for days. However, one night on his way back from a convenience store, Chen saw him slumped on a bus bench, staring at half a sandwich.

"Still mad?" Chen asked as he sat beside him.

Miguel shrugged. "Nah. Just… tired."

Chen recognized the hollow look in his friend's eyes. "What's wrong?"

Miguel hesitated. "My mom lost her job. We might have to move."

The confession sat between them in the still air. Chen thought of the origami cranes, the way they carried wishes into the sky. "You should have told me."

"You have enough going on," Miguel muttered.

Chen tossed the sandwich into a trash can. "Come on. Let's go build that treehouse we never finished.

They worked until dawn, hammering plywood to the old oak in Miguel's backyard. By sunrise, it was lopsided and leaking, but Miguel grinned. "Still a disaster."

"Still ours," Chen said.

The Last Lunch

Jia's last day at Greenvale arrived too soon. At lunch, she handed Chen a small wooden box. Inside lay a paintbrush and a note: "For the next masterpiece."

"You're giving up art?" Chen asked, stunned.

"No. But my dad bought this for me," she said, her voice cracking. "I need to leave it with someone who gets it."

Sophia slid a folded crane across the table. "Open it."

Inside, the group had scribbled messages:

"You're stuck with us. –Luna"

"My aunt lives near your new school. I'll stalk you. –Rafi"

"Write to us. Or else. –Sophia"

Jia laughed, tears spilling onto the paper. "You're all terrible."

 The Panic Attack

College applications loomed. Chen's father wanted him to study engineering" Stable, secure, no risks" but Ms. Alina had circled a line in his essay: "I want to write stories that make people feel less alone."

One night, Chen's screen blurred as he typed. His chest tightened, his breaths shallow. He stumbled into the hallway, sliding to the floor.

His father found him there, gasping. "Breathe, bǎobèi. Match me." He pressed Chen's palm to his chest, inhaling deeply.

"I don't know what to do," Chen choked out.

"Neither do I," his father admitted. "But we'll figure it out. Together."

The Hospital Garden

The hospital where her father died hosted Jia's goodbye party. "Morbid, right?" she said, leading Chen to the rooftop garden. "But it's where I last felt… close to him."

They sat among potted marigolds, the city lights twinkling below. Jia pulled out her phone, playing a voicemail: "Hey, kiddo. Pick up milk on your way home. Love you."

"I listen to it every night," she whispered.

Chen gave her a crane with his number written inside it. "Call me. Anytime."

The Surprise Caller

Chen was jolted during finals week by a knock on his door. Ms. Alina was standing in front of him, holding a stack of envelopes.

"Your essay," she said. "It won a national competition. Full scholarship to the writing program at State."

Chen stared at the letter, his mother's journal peeking out of his bag. "Chen will change the world. I know it."

"She'd be proud," Ms. Alina said.

"We both would," his father added, appearing behind her with a tray of burnt cookies.

The Goodbye

At the train station, Jia hugged Chen so tightly his ribs ached. "Don't forget me," she said.

He slipped a crane into her pocket. "Impossible."

As the train pulled out of the station, Rafi blasted some cheesy '80s ballad from his phone, and Luna led the group in an off-key singalong. Chen was laughing so hard his sides hurt, the sound mingling with the clatter of wheels on tracks.

The First Letter

That night, Chen wrote:

"Dear Mom,

Today, I chose myself. It hurt. It also felt like freedom.

Love,

Chen

He folded it into a crane and let it soar from his window, watching it catch the wind like a promise.