Archive of Our Own

A week after Hana’s birthday.

“Have you called Celine to see if we’re still coming for Chuseok this Friday?” Mami asked.

Hana stopped coloring halfway through a planet from her space coloring book and looked up at her moms. Chuseok was a word she knew, but it didn’t quite ring a bell. She knew what it meant; it was a holiday, and that meant she wouldn’t have to go to school. And she also knew they always went to Halmeoni's house to celebrate.

But she didn’t know why they did it.

“Yeah,” Eomma said. “They told us to come in the morning.”

Her moms walked into the kitchen and started talking quieter, like all grown-ups did when the talking wasn’t for her. Hana sighed and rested her head in her hand, still coloring, but slower now. It felt like there were a lot of things everyone else knew already. Big things, important things. And she was always just a little behind them.

When Mami came back into the living room, Hana looked up right away. “Are we going to Halmeoni's house this Friday?”

“Yes, baby,” Mami said, smiling and ruffling her hair. “We are. Are you excited?”

“Yeah!” Hana said. Then she frowned. “But why are we going there?”

“It’s Chuseok, Hana,” Eomma said as she walked by, squeezing Hana’s shoulder before sitting next to Mami on the couch.

“But why?” Hana asked again, louder this time.

“It’s a special day,” Eomma said. “You know how everyone goes to Halmeoni's house at the same time? We say thank you for the food we have and the year we’ve had. We bow to Halmeoni Cece and Halmeoni Aarti and the other grown-ups, and sometimes we wear nice clothes and visit our ancestors. And we eat a lot—especially songpyeon. The squishy ones you like. Remember how we made them and they got stuck to your hands?”

Hana frowned, pressing her marker harder against the page.

She already knew all of that.

That wasn’t what she meant. She knew about the bowing and the eating and the squishy rice cakes. She knew what they did. What she didn’t know was why.

Why was it so important? What was the story behind it? Why did they celebrate?

And Eomma and Mami didn’t seem to understand the question she was asking.

Hana scribbled over the planet until the purple went outside the lines. She found that she didn’t care. The marker made an angry squeaky sound, and that felt kind of good.

“I know that,” she muttered.

Mami tilted her head. “You know what, sweetheart?”

“I know we bow and eat and go to Halmeoni's house,” Hana said. She sat up straighter, closing the coloring book and putting the marker down.

Eomma glanced at Mami. “Okay,” she said gently. “What’s the question you’re really asking?”

“What is it?” she said. “Like, why do we do those things?”

“It’s just how we celebrate Chuseok, Hana,” Eomma said after a moment. “It’s a tradition.”

Hana frowned harder. “That’s not an answer.”

Both of her moms stared at her.

Hana stood up from the floor and held the coloring book in her hands as she said, “Who decided it? Why that day? Why do we have to bow? Why do we celebrate? Why all of it?”

“Hana, like I said, it’s a tradition. People from long ago have been doing this, we have a duty to continue it,” Eomma said.

“What duty? Who are we doing that for?” Hana whined.

“Hana,” Mami reached out for her, but Hana took a step back before she could.

“I’m not a baby,” Hana said. “I can understand things.”

“Ah, I see. Well, why don’t we find out?” Eomma said softly, patting the spot next to them. “Do you want to look it up?”

Hana shook her head. She didn’t want a baseless answer from the internet. She wanted to know more than that, the full story. Neither of her moms understood her.

“Never mind,” she said suddenly, her throat tight.

She didn’t have many words to describe how she was feeling at the moment. Mami taught her to name things she could see or touch, but all she could see was her moms in front of her. She took a deep breath to calm down.

Mami blinked slowly and tried again. “Hana—”

“I said never mind.” Hana hugged her coloring book to her stomach. The planet inside was ruined now anyway. “I’m going to my room to play.”

She turned before either of them could say anything else. Her feet stomped louder than she meant them to as she went down the hallway. She pushed her bedroom door open, went inside, and slammed it shut.

The sound echoed, too loud in the apartment.

Hana threw her coloring book onto the bed and flopped down next to it, burying her face in her pillow. Her heart was still beating fast, like she had run somewhere instead of just walking away.

She didn’t want to cry. She just wanted someone to explain things the right way.

But no one had followed her yet.

So Hana stayed in her room, mad and confused and feeling very, very small, even though she had just said she wasn’t a baby.

—

Friday came sooner than Hana expected.

When she entered Halmeoni's house, Hana was enveloped by a flood of sounds and smells, mostly familiar and some foreign. Voices overlapped from the kitchen and the living room, and underneath it all was the steady roaring sound of the range hood, turned up high. She could smell the sweet red bean paste, the sourness of fermented banchan, and the distinct flower smell that always seemed to permeate around Halmeoni's house. Hana sometimes wondered if the house itself grew flowers inside the walls.

They had taken a plane to get here, which Hana loved. She loved being above the clouds, closer to the atmosphere. Eomma had let her sit by the window, and Hana pressed her forehead against the glass so she could stare at the clouds below her and the moon fading away with the morning dawn. She wished she brought her telescope, the view from Jeju was always better for looking at the moon. But Eomma had said no. She said they were only staying a few days, and Hana told herself she could look at the moon again when they got home.

Sometimes they took the train or even a ferry, which Hana also liked, but Mami said sitting that long made her knee hurt, and Hana didn’t like thinking about Mami being in pain. Even if she was still a little annoyed at them.

“Where’s our favorite granddaughter?” Hana heard Halmeoni Aarti call out, her voice clear even over the noise, breaking out of her thoughts.

She dropped her mini, child-sized suitcase—the one with Sailor Jupiter on it, because Sailor Jupiter was strong and smart and cool—and ran. The suitcase tipped over, but that didn’t matter right now. She threw her arms around Halmeoni Aarti’s neck, almost knocking her back.

“Halmeoni Aarti!” she shouted.

“Hi, my little astronaut,” Halmeoni Aarti said, hugging her tight. “What space fact do you have for me today?”

Hana’s brain flipped through all the facts she knew. “Did you know,” she said seriously, “that Jupiter has the biggest storm ever, and it’s called the Great Red Spot, and it’s been there for hundreds of years? It’s bigger than Earth.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Halmeoni Aarti said, like Hana had given her a precious gift. She kissed Hana’s cheek, and Hana giggled because her kisses always tickled. “Thank you. Now go say hi to your less favorite grandparent.”

“I can hear you, you know?” Halmeoni Cece said from nearby, glaring at their partner.

“Only speaking the truth,” Halmeoni Aarti shrugged.

Hana laughed because she loved it when they teased each other. It reminded her of her moms, the way they joked back and forth, pretending to be annoyed but never really meaning it. She ran over and hugged Halmeoni Cece around the waist, putting her cheek into their neatly pressed clothes.

“Hello!” she said, loud and happy.

“Hi, Hana. Always nice to see you,” Halmeoni Cece said, resting a hand on Hana’s head and smoothing her hair the way Hana liked. “And you two as well, of course.”

“Hi, Appa,” Eomma said, her voice softer now that she was closer. She stepped in and gave Celine a side hug, leaning into them just a little.

“Hi, Celine,” Mami said next. She smiled and bowed. Then she turned and bowed again to Halmeoni Aarti before presenting both of them with the fruit basket that they bought on the way here.

“Thank you, Zoey,” Halmeoni Aarti said, sounding truly pleased. She accepted the basket with both hands and then pulled both of her moms into a hug.

Hana watched this carefully. Mami rarely ever bowed here to them, and Hana had noticed that before, even if she hadn’t thought much about it until now. It made Hana think that bowing was one of the traditions Eomma was talking about, something someone did intentionally, for a reason. She wondered what the reason was here. Was it because this was Halmeoni's house? Or because they were older? Or because it was Chuseok? Should she be bowing to Halmeoni Cece and Halmeoni Aarti?

Hana looked up at Halmeoni Cece and tried to copy what her mom had done, bending forward just a little. She wasn’t sure if she did it right. Only Halmeoni Cece seemed to notice; the others were already talking among themselves. Hana felt Halmeoni Cece’s hand settle on her shoulder, and when Hana straightened, Halmeoni Cece was smiling down at her in a way that made Hana think she hadn’t messed it up.

Maybe that was why Mami bowed. It was just another way of showing respect, like saying “please” or “thank you,” just without words. Though she still didn’t understand what made it so important.

“Have you eaten?” Halmeoni Cece asked.

“No,” Hana said, shaking her head.

“You must be hungry then,” Halmeoni Cece said. “Do you want to come look in the kitchen with me?”

Before Hana could answer, Halmeoni Cece was already guiding her away, one hand light on her shoulder, pulling her gently out of the room.

—

The day grew tiring.

First, she played jegichagi with her older cousins, but they ran faster, kicked the jegi higher, and never seemed to get tired. Sometimes she managed three kicks in a row, but sometimes it dropped immediately, and her cousins laughed—not in a mean way, but in the loud, booming way older kids laughed. She didn’t even really know why they were playing this game.

After that, she followed Eomma around the house while she was cleaning, carrying napkins and stacking plates. She liked helping Eomma; it made her feel big and useful, but today it just made her feel confused and more irritable. Everyone around her moved like they already knew what to do, like they were following invisible instructions written in the air. Hana felt like the only one who didn’t know.

Later, she stood on a stool in the kitchen, pressing songpyeon dough between her palms. The rice cake was soft and warm in her hands, and usually she liked that, but now it just stuck to her fingers in annoying little patches. Mami worked while humming a song under her breath, folding the dough neatly between her fingers, the edges pinched perfectly like a tiny moon. Hana’s looked wrinkled and crooked.

“Why do we have to make them like this?” she asked.

“We always make them like this, Hana,” Halmeoni Aarti said gently, smiling as she fixed the shape of Hana’s lumpy crescent. “It’s tra—”

“Tradition,” Hana finished the word grumpily.

She frowned down at the dough. If tradition was so important, why didn’t anyone explain it properly? Why did everyone just expect her to understand? She pressed the dough a little too hard, and it split at the side. She felt something tight and hot build in her chest; frustration was bubbling there with nowhere to go.

Every time she opened her mouth to ask another question—Why do we have to do this? Why do we put the food like that on that table? Who is it for?—someone just shrugged and said, “It’s Chuseok,” like that explained everything. But it didn’t explain anything at all.

One of her relatives even said, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Hana hated that sentence.

By the time the sun began to lower outside the windows, Hana’s legs felt wobbly, and her thoughts felt tangled. The house was still loud, but everything sounded far away to her. She slipped away when no one was looking, padding down the quieter hallway near the working kitchen. She liked knowing she had a place to disappear to. Everyone was getting on her nerves lately. They pinched her cheeks, asked her questions, and told her how tall she was getting (even though she felt exactly the same).

It was nice, sometimes, to choose to be unseen. She thought that maybe astronauts felt like that, too, when they found a star no one else knew about.

Hana looked around. This side of the house always felt different. The noise didn’t reach as strongly here. She leaned her back against the wood-paneled wall and let her head thunk lightly against it. She wasn’t sure if she was tired or just full—full of questions, full of noise, full of things she was supposed to do without knowing why.

The wall in front of her was covered in family photos. She had walked past them a hundred times before, but today she really looked at them. Every visit, it seemed like a new picture of her had appeared. She traced the timeline with her eyes, starting at the newest frame. There she was in her school uniform, holding up her space project with a proud, slightly crooked smile. Next to it was a picture of her as a toddler, gripping a spoon bigger than her palm, her mouth open to eat something. Then one even smaller—her with round cheeks that looked like steamed buns, staring at the camera in Mami's arms.

She studied each one carefully before moving on.

Next were photos of Eomma and Mami before Hana was born, holding each other and smiling in a way that made Hana feel strange. It was odd to see them in a time that did not include her. She tried to imagine the world before she existed. It felt empty, like the sky without its stars.

Hana shook her head quickly, as if she could scatter the thought away, and kept walking. Slowly, Mami disappeared from the photos. The pictures grew older but Eomma looked younger in each one. It was just pictures of Eomma now. Eomma with shorter hair with Halmeoni Aarti standing behind them, Eomma missing front teeth, Eomma standing stiffly in a hanbok with Halmeoni Cece, looking far too serious for a child her age. Hana snickered under her breath.

And then there was a photo of Eomma being carried by a person she recognized, but was distant in her mind. It was Eomma's Eomma.

Halmeoni Miyeong. The grandmother who had died.

It felt unfair, somehow, that she had three grandparents but only knew two. She wondered what Halmeoni Miyeong’s voice sounded like. Was it soft like Halmeoni Cece’s? Or bright and loud like Halmeoni Aarti’s when she laughed? Did she like sweets? Did she braid Eomma's hair the same careful way Eomma braided Hana’s?

Hana stepped closer to those pictures, her earlier frustration slowly quieting into something heavier and softer. She knew she was finally looking at the oldest pictures now. In the faded photographs, three of her grandparents stood close together, arms looped, smiling at something beyond the camera. Their smiles were bright, even though the actual photos’ colors had dulled with time.

She studied Halmeoni Miyeong’s face carefully. Her eyes drifted to the one photo of her alone. Her hair was braided neatly, tiny flowers tucked into each pleat, her smile caught mid-laugh. She looked kind.

Hana reached up and lightly touched the glass over the picture.

“She was pretty, right, Hana?”

Hana startled and turned around. Halmeoni Cece stood a few steps behind her, their voice soft.

“She was very pretty,” Hana agreed, nodding at them.

Halmeoni Cece smiled at her answer and moved to stand beside her. For a moment, they both just looked at the photo.

“Rumi was only a little older than you when Miyeong died,” they said gently.

Hana scrunched her face. She didn’t want to imagine losing one of her moms. She tried, just for a second, to imagine losing Eomma or Mami forever. The thought hit her so fast it made her eyes sting. It felt wrong. She tried to imagine instead what it would feel like to live in a world without the sky, or without the sun.

She couldn’t.

Maybe she should be grateful that there were things she had yet to understand. How did Eomma feel when she lost her Eomma? Did it feel like the world was ending? She didn’t understand the feeling and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

The sunset poured into the hallway then, soft orange light stretching across the wooden floor. Their shadows grew long, brushing against the faces in the frames.

“She would have loved you,” Halmeoni Cece said.

Hana stared at Halmeoni Miyeong’s smiling face and tried to imagine her bending down, calling her name, smoothing her hair the way Halmeoni Cece did.

“If you and Halmeoni Aarti loved her,” Hana said slowly, her earlier anger dissipating fully now, “then I would have loved her too.”

Halmeoni Cece laughed softly, but Hana noticed that their eyes shone. They squeezed Hana’s hand once.

“Would you like to come with us to visit her tomorrow?” Halmeoni Cece asked.

And for the first time all day, standing in between the past and the present, Hana felt like maybe she was finally understanding something about tradition. Though she didn’t know quite what it was yet.

—

Hana woke up really early the next morning. The sun was still coming up, just starting to stretch its rays over the hills. She stretched too, lifting her little arms high above her head until her shoulders popped.

Eomma led the way outside with Hana following close behind her, still rubbing one eye. Halmeoni Cece held the screen door so it wouldn’t slam, catching it with one hand. The air outside felt cooler than she expected. When she stepped into the yard, the rising sun flashed in her eyes, and she had to squint, lifting her hand to block the brightness.

They walked along the narrow path behind Halmeoni's house. Hana recognized it; she played near this path before, but she never ventured up the hill by herself. Together, they passed the curve near the old persimmon tree, the patch of wildflowers that grew near the path, and walked past where the grass grew softer.

When they stopped, Hana nearly bumped into Eomma's back.

She looked up.

The hill sloped gently upward, and scattered across it were small graves, each one marked and tended.

“You did a good job cleaning it up, Rumi,” Halmeoni Aarti said, pointing to the gravestone closest to them.

“The others helped too,” Eomma replied. She crouched down and pulled a stray weed from the edge of the stone, brushing dirt from her fingers.

They walked a little farther in until they stopped in front of one grave in particular. Something about the way everyone slowed down made Hana slow down too.

She stepped closer and read the plaque, moving her lips silently over the words.

Hana wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel. She tried to find the right word inside herself, but she couldn’t. Weirdly, all she could think about was that she felt sad. It felt sad to see their family displayed before her like this, generations of their family, resting quietly beneath their feet. Did they all feel this way too? Was this a part of tradition?

The wind moved suddenly across the hill, rippling through the grass. The sound was soft and whispery near her ears, giving her goosebumps. Eomma crouched beside her and gently took her hand, staring in front of her.

“Eomma,” Hana said softly, leaning her small body against her side.

“Yes, gomdung-i?” Eomma wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Halmeoni,” Hana said, glancing back at her grandparents.

“Yes, Hana?” “What is it, Hana?” They answered at the same time.

Hana hesitated, then asked, “Can I talk to Halmeoni Miyeong?”

There was a brief moment when no one spoke, and Hana was afraid she might have said the wrong thing.

But then all of them sat down in front of the grave. Halmeoni Cece smoothed their hands over their pants before placing some songpyeon and a small cup of rice wine carefully in front of the stone.

“Miyeong-ah, someone very special wanted to talk to you today,” they said. Their voice wavered just a little.

“Jagiya,” Halmeoni Aarti said with a small, watery smile, “she gives the best space facts. You have to listen carefully and remember them, okay?”

And somehow, without anyone saying it, Hana knew it was her turn.

“Hi, Halmeoni Miyeong,” she began, folding her hands in front of her. “I’m Hana, but I think you already know that.”

The wind brushed past her again, gentler this time.

“Um… did you know that Jupiter has, like, ninety-five moons? And one of Jupiter’s moons has volcanoes on it? It’s called Io. And it’s also the planet with the biggest moon in the whole solar system.”

She paused, swallowing once, before continuing. “I like learning about space. I think it’s really cool but also really beautiful.”

She took a deeper breath this time.

“I hope I can come again and tell you more things. Please keep watching me grow up.”

And then, because it felt like the right thing to do, she bowed. Three gentle hands rested on her back when Hana straightened up.

“Hi Eomma,” Her Eomma whispered. “Thank you for always looking over Hana like you did for me. I miss you every year.”

Hana watched her Eomma's face when she said it. It looked the same as always, but also not the same at all.

For a moment, she tried to imagine Eomma as a little girl, standing in this exact same spot. Holding Halmeoni's hand the way she was holding Eomma's right now. Talking to her own Eomma. Talking and not getting an answer back. The thought made something inside Hana ache.

She imagined herself years from now. Older and doing the same thing for Eomma and Mami. Standing where they were standing. Bringing food and wine and saying hello and probably pretending not to mind that the replies would only be wind and grass.

Her throat tightened. Tears welled up before she could stop them, blurring the letters carved into the stone.

The hill felt bigger than before. Not just wide, but long—stretching backward and forward like it never ended. And Hana thought, very fiercely, that she didn’t want that day to ever come. She didn’t want to stand here without Eomma beside her.

She still didn’t know the name of this feeling. It wasn’t just sad. She knew it was a different kind of sad. And she didn’t know what to do with herself, so she just listened. She listened to Eomma talk about Hana and Mami, listened to Halmeoni Aarti talk about a new recipe she learned, and listened to Halmeoni Cece talk about how the persimmon tree was finally growing properly.

And as the three of them began exchanging small stories at the headstone, Hana finally started to understand a little more about tradition.

Someone, a long time ago, must have stood here feeling exactly like this. Someone must have looked at the grave of their own loved one and felt their chest hurt in the same confusing way. And even if they didn’t have the right word for it, they had still come back the next year. And the next, and the next.

She finally understood why Eomma had said people long ago had been doing this and why it was their duty to continue it. Eomma had spent most of her life coming here once a year to kneel down and say hello to her own Eomma. It did feel like a duty to come back every year and do this.

“Eomma,” Hana asked quietly, slipping her arms around Eomma's neck and hiding her face there, “can we come back next year?”

“Of course, gomdung-i.” Eomma hugged her back. “It’s tradition.”

Hana squeezed her tighter.

Next year felt far away. But also, somehow, already waiting for them to come back.

—

The rest of the time at Halmeoni's house, Hana felt better.

The tight feeling in her chest didn’t disappear completely, but it softened a bit. Halmeoni's house felt warmer and busier. Hana tried to listen and watch carefully this time, paying attention to all the traditions that came with the holiday. She knew that this wasn’t just a random holiday now, but something that felt beyond her, connecting all of them together with the past. She finally understood—at least a little—how special Chuseok was for their family.

When it was time to leave, Hana stood at the gate and waved hard at the house. Halmeoni Cece and Halmeoni Aarti stood in the doorway, waving back. And before she turned away, Hana lifted her hand one more time and gave an extra wave past her grandparents, past the house behind them

To the missing grandparent. To the generations of the Ryu family resting quietly on the slope.

The wind brushed over her again in a fleeting way, tugging gently at her sleeve before disappearing.

This time, it didn’t make her sad. It felt almost like a reply, and Hana smiled.

—

On the final night of Chuseok, Eomma and Mami invited Mira over for dinner. Hana was excited to see her. The last time Mira had come around was on Hana’s birthday, and she had been waiting ever since for another excuse to play together.

They were in the middle of playing Overcooked when Hana asked, “Did you go home to celebrate Chuseok, Mira?”

Mira’s little chef walked straight into a hole in the floor.

Hana was surprised and quickly paused the game. She looked up at Mira, expecting her to laugh or groan about the fall. Instead, Mira’s face had gone still. Her mouth wasn’t smiling anymore, and her eyes looked far away.

“No,” was the only answer Mira gave. And Hana strangely felt that she might have asked the wrong question.

Heat crawled up her neck as she nodded and quietly said, “Oh… okay.”

She had wanted to tell Mira all about her time in Halmeoni's house. About the way the grown-ups stayed up too late talking and gossiping, and how she learned how to arrange the food according to a compass, and how the imperfect songpyeon tasted better than the perfectly made ones. But now the words felt too big in her mouth, and it wouldn’t come out.

She unpaused the game instead to continue to play, but her mind was elsewhere now. They failed to get three stars on the level, and when the round ended, Hana closed the game.

“Thanks for playing,” she said to Mira, even though they hadn’t really played very well at all.

She went to Mami and asked if she could go out to the balcony to look at the moon. Mami nodded, kissing the top of her head and telling her to be careful around the edge. Hana nodded and slipped outside.

She set up her telescope carefully, the way Mami had shown her, and aimed it at the moon. It was big tonight, the brightest Hana had ever seen it before. Through the lens, it looked close enough to touch, covered in dents and shadows and craters.

Hana liked the moon because it was always there, even when she couldn’t see it. Even when she didn’t yet know it existed, even when it disappeared sometimes, it hadn’t really gone anywhere. It was just hiding on the other side.

She wondered if people could be like that too.

If maybe “no” didn’t always mean nothing. If maybe it meant there was a whole other side she couldn’t see. The strange feeling from earlier came back. The way Mira had said “no”. Hana thought that Mira was like the moon sometimes.

“What are you looking at?”

Mira’s voice drifted out behind her. It felt like a hand resting gently on Hana’s shoulder, pulling her back from wherever her thoughts had wandered.

Hana stepped away from the telescope and turned around. Mira was standing close to her now, and Hana had to crane her head way back to see her face. Mira was very tall. Hana thought about how her relatives said she was getting taller, but still, she didn’t feel quite that big yet. Mira probably saw things Hana couldn’t, not just because she was taller, but because she was older, too.

Maybe the world would be different if she were older. Maybe things made more sense.

“The moon,” Hana replied, trying to sound normal. She turned back to it quickly, like that was all she had meant to say.

Mira stepped beside her and leaned against the balcony railing, her arms stretched out behind her. She hummed softly under her breath, not rushing to fill the quiet. Hana liked that about her. It was different from her moms.

Hana figured one of her moms must have sent Mira out. She wasn’t supposed to be on the balcony without an adult looking at her. Rules were rules, and Eomma especially liked rules that involved heights. Hana peeked back through the glass door into the living room. The lights were on, but neither Eomma nor Mami was there anymore. That meant Mira was the watcher now, and Hana decided that was fine.

“Sorry about just now, Hana,” Mira said, her voice lower now. “I meant to say that I didn’t go home for Chuseok.”

Hana perked up at Mira’s apology and smiled, the strange feeling already going away.

“As an apology,” Mira added gently, “would you like to hear a story about the moon?”

Hana gasped. “Yes!”

“Do you know the story of Houyi and Chang'e?”

Hana shook her head. “Who’s that?” She liked names she hadn’t heard before.

“Well,” Mira said, smiling a little, “it’s a pretty famous story I learned a long time ago.”

Hana liked learning about old things. Space was one of the oldest things she knew about. It was there even before the Earth. She stayed quiet so Mira could keep going.

“Once upon a time,” Mira said, “there was an archer named Houyi. One day, ten suns rose into the sky together. It got so hot that plants burned up and rivers dried away. People didn’t have enough food or water, and everyone was scared that they would die.”

She wondered if the suns knew they were hurting anyone. Maybe they thought they were helping. Suns were supposed to help things grow. But too much of a good thing could still ruin everything. Mami said that once.

“That sounds really bad,” Hana said.

“It was,” Mira agreed. “So the Emperor asked Houyi to help. Houyi climbed the tallest mountain with his bow and arrows and shot down the suns one by one until only one was left.”

Mira lifted her arm like she was holding a bow and squinted one eye, aiming at the moon. The moon, of course, remained in the sky, but Hana watched her anyway. It was a little silly, and the silliness made her giggle.

“He told the last sun to rise and set properly, like it does now. The land grew green again, and the rivers flowed back to normal. The people were safe. And Houyi became a hero. Even the Empress of Heaven was so grateful that she gave him an elixir that would make him immortal. But he did not drink it.”

"Why?"

Mira’s voice softened. “Houyi had a wife he loved very much. Her name was Chang'e. She was kind and beautiful. He loved her so deeply that he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her behind. So he gave the elixir to her to keep safe instead. He would rather grow old beside her than live forever alone.”

Hana smiled without meaning to. “So it’s a love story!”

“Sort of,” Mira said. “But not a very happy one.”

Mira sat down in one of the plastic balcony chairs and patted her lap. Hana climbed up easily, fitting there like she was getting used to, her back resting against Mira’s chest. Mira felt warm, her arms wrapped around her body like she wasn’t going anywhere. She wished Mira would stay longer sometimes.

“One day,” Mira continued softly, “while Houyi was out hunting, a greedy man tried to steal the elixir from Chang'e. She couldn’t stop him. So to protect it, she drank it herself.”

Hana’s stomach twisted a little. “Wait! But then she would ascend to heaven forever,” she said.

Mira nodded. “She did. The elixir lifted her higher and higher until she reached the moon.”

Hana looked up again and tried to picture Chang'e on the moon. Realistically, she knew that there really wasn’t a person living on the moon, immortal or not. But Hana lifted a hand and gave a small wave, just in case, maybe she would say hi to Chang'e every time she looked at the moon now.

“When Houyi came back,” Mira said, “he ran and tried to reach her. But every time he moved closer, the moon moved farther away. So all he could do was look up and see her there.”

Hana leaned back more fully into Mira and stayed quiet for a long time. She thought about how awful it would be to see someone you loved and not be able to touch them. It felt worse than losing them completely. She thought back to her time in Halmeoni's house, where all her ancestors were together. People who had loved and lost and stayed. The traditions that grew because of it. The feeling of connection that it brought.

“Mira,” she said finally, “isn’t Chang'e lonely?”

Mira smiled, but it wasn’t a sad smile. “She has the Jade Rabbit up there with her.”

Hana blinked. “A… rabbit?”

Mira laughed softly. “Yes.”

“What?”

“That’s another story,” Mira said. “Do you want to hear it?”

Hana thought very seriously about this. She liked learning about stories, and it seemed like this story was important for Mira, but the last one had hurt a little.

“Is it sad too?” she asked.

“This one isn’t as sad,” Mira promised, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Hana studied her face for a second to make sure she meant it. Then she settled back into Mira’s front and nodded for Mira to start. Mira started by pointing up at the moon, and suddenly the moon looked a little bit different in her eyes. It didn’t just look bright. It looked kind. She wondered if Chang'e was smiling at them from up there.

“A long time ago,” Mira began, her voice even quieter than before, “there was a Jade Emperor who needed help making an elixir of life. He thought humans might be too selfish to trust with something so powerful. So he decided to look for an animal instead.”

Hana’s eyebrows pulled together. “Humans are selfish?” she asked. She thought about Eomma cleaning dozens of graves for hours and hours. About Mami making hundreds of songpyeon until her hands were stained red. About Halmeoni Aarti and Cece pouring wine in front of Halmeoni Miyeong’s grave. About Mira coming out to the balcony to apologize and tell her stories.

None of them seemed selfish.

“Sometimes,” Mira said. “But you shouldn’t worry about that yet.”

Hana frowned anyway. She didn’t like answers that ended with yet.

Mira noticed and laughed quietly. “Do you want me to finish the story or not?” She redirected.

Hana hesitated, then nodded. “Yes,” she said, even though she was still thinking about it.

“So the Jade Emperor came down to Earth disguised as a poor, hungry old man. He went into a forest and cried out for help, hoping someone would hear him. Three animals came. A monkey, a fox, and a rabbit.”

“Why those animals?” Hana asked.

“Huh, I don’t know. They were the only ones that came when he asked for help, maybe?”

“Okay, and then, what did they do?”

“The monkey climbed trees and brought fruit. The fox caught fish from the stream. But the rabbit searched and searched, and he couldn’t find anything at all.”

Hana felt that tight little feeling returning, somehow knowing that this was when the story took a turn. She imagined the rabbit standing there, wishing he had something to give.

She felt sorry for the rabbit.

“When the rabbit returned,” Mira said, “he saw the old man sitting by the fire, eating the fruit and fish. The rabbit felt very sad that he hadn’t been able to help. He thought for a long time, and then he decided the only thing he could give was himself.”

Hana’s eyes widened. Her mind filled with pictures she didn’t want. “No!” she nearly shouted.

“The rabbit jumped toward the fire,” Mira said gently, not raising her voice, “because he believed helping someone was more important than saving himself.”

“You said it wasn’t sad,” Hana protested, her fingers tightening in Mira’s sleeve. Her heart was beating too fast now.

“And it isn’t,” Mira assured her. “Because before anything could happen, the old man revealed himself. He turned back into the Jade Emperor and stopped him.”

Hana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and settled back to Mira’s lap, sated at the fate of the rabbit.

“The Jade Emperor saw how kind and brave the rabbit was. He knew he had found the one he was looking for. So he carried the rabbit up to the moon. Up there,” Mira continued, “the rabbit learned how to make the elixir. He worked very hard, pounding herbs together carefully, over and over, until he learned how to make the elixir of life properly. The Jade Emperor was so proud of him that he made the rabbit’s fur shine bright white. So bright it looked like jade.”

“Ohhh so that’s why he’s called the Jade Rabbit,” Hana said quietly.

Mira smiled. “Exactly.”

“So the Jade Rabbit stays there with Chang'e?”

Mira’s arms wrapped a little more securely around her. “That’s what some people believe,” she said. “He stayed there to keep Chang'e from feeling lonely.”

Hana liked that. She liked the idea of staying. She imagined Chang'e sitting on the moon with a white rabbit beside her, both of them looking down at Earth. It didn’t feel so lonely when she pictured it like that.

“Does Houyi know?” Hana asked. “That she isn’t alone anymore?”

Mira thought about that for a moment. “I think he does,” she said. “When he looks up and sees the moon shining so brightly, he knows she’s being taken care of.”

Hana nodded, satisfied with that answer.

She stayed quiet for a second, then asked, “Is this story important to you?”

Mira’s chin rested lightly against the top of Hana’s head. “Yes,” she said. “I don’t celebrate Chuseok, not the way your family does. But when I was studying dance in Hong Kong for a few years, one of my friends from the company told me this story.”

Hana tried to imagine Mira being younger, listening to this story as aptly as Hana did. Everything was finally connecting in her head.

“They celebrate the holiday a little differently there,” Mira continued. “And this story is how I choose to remember it.”

“Were there any traditions that you did?” she asked.

“We lit incense,” Mira said, counting softly on her fingers. “We ate mooncakes. And we made paper lanterns and released them into the sky, up toward Chang'e.”

“Why?”

“Some people believe that Chang'e could grant wishes,” Mira explained.

“Did you do those traditions this year then?”

Mira shook her head once. “No.” And for the second time tonight, that word made her feel strangely sad again.

Hana didn’t like feeling this way. She thought about all of the traditions she had been taught by Eomma and Mami, and how it was important to them. Then she thought about Mira not being able to do them this year.

“Let’s do them then!” she suddenly declared, causing Mira to startle.

Before Mira could answer her, Hana slid off her lap and grabbed her hand.

“We can make lanterns,” Hana said quickly, already tugging her toward the door. “I have paper. And Eomma always has those little candles. And maybe we can ask Mami for mooncakes. And incense! Do we have incense? I don’t know, but we can look!”

She pulled Mira inside, already calling for her moms, her heart beating fast in the good way now.

If Chang'e had the Jade Rabbit so she wouldn’t be alone, then Mira shouldn’t have to celebrate alone either.

After explaining everything very seriously to her moms, Hana helped gather supplies to make a lantern at the dining table. She ran around the house to find paper, string, thin wooden sticks, tape, and scissors. When she collected all of them with the help of Eomma, she dumped them all on the table.

Mira sat beside her and showed her how to build the frame first. Hana tried to bend the stick the way Mira did, but her hands were too small. The stick slipped, wobbling out of shape.

“It’s okay,” Mira said softly. “Let me help.”

She held the ends steady while Hana wrapped the string around and around. Mira’s fingers guided hers, showing her how to loop it twice before pulling it tight. “That way it won’t slip,” she explained.

Hana stuck her tongue out a little while concentrating. When she finally pulled it tight enough, Mira gave her a high five for doing a good job. They worked together slowly. Mira helped her smooth the paper across the frame so it wouldn’t wrinkle. She showed her how to press gently along the edges so it would lie flat and not tear. Every time Hana thought she’d messed it up, Mira only adjusted it quietly.

After building them, they decorated the lantern.

Surprisingly—though maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising at all—both Eomma and Mami knew the story of Houyi and Chang'e. Grown-ups seemed to know more stories than they let on.

Eomma painted Houyi standing tall on a mountain, bow drawn, nine suns falling from the sky in bright streaks of orange and gold. The last sun burned fiercely above him. It felt weirdly appropriate that Eomma would choose to paint that scene.

Mami's lantern was different. It wasn’t a scene from the story at all. She painted the sun, the sky, the stars, and the moon together in one wide stretch across the lantern. It looked simple at first, but Hana thought that she understood. Everything looked like it belonged together, even if they were apart.

Mira’s lantern showed Chang'e sitting on the moon, her dress flowing around. The Jade Rabbit sat beside her with a small mortar in front of him. Mira managed to paint the moon glowing behind them. It was the prettiest one, Hana thought.

Hana’s lantern didn’t look as neat as the others. The circles weren’t perfect. The stick lines showed through in places. But she loved it the most.

She had drawn four small people standing on the moon, holding hands—her, Mami, Eomma, and Mira. Around them were dozens and dozens of small rabbits.

It didn’t look exactly like the story. But it felt right because when she held it up for everyone to see, Mira went very still. Then she noticed Mira’s cheeks had turned pink.

Hana made sure of something very important. She had drawn Mira holding Mami's hand on purpose

Mami made a small choking sound that turned into a laugh. Eomma cleared her throat and complimented her lantern. Mira looked down at the paper again. Her fingers brushed lightly over the tiny drawn hands with a smile. Hana grinned, satisfied with this outcome.

They didn’t release the lanterns into the sky, which made Hana a little disappointed. She had imagined watching them float higher and higher until they turned into tiny star wishes.

Though she understood why they didn’t. There was no way it could actually reach up to the moon, and Eomma said that it was like littering when the lantern eventually fell again. And she knew littering was bad.

Instead, they placed their lanterns on the floor of the balcony and made their wish.

Hana squeezed hers shut.

She imagined the moon above them. She imagined Chang'e and the Jade Rabbit sitting there. She imagined Houyi somewhere, looking up at the night sky.

Then she thought about Halmeoni's house. About the graves on the hills. About Halmeoni Miyeong, Halmeoni Cece, and Halmeoni Aarti. About how she was grateful that she still had Eomma and Mami beside her.

About how Mira said no. About the stories she shared. About lanterns that didn’t have to float up to the sky to matter.

Then she made her wish.

I wish all of us could continue this tradition every year so that no one I love would ever have to celebrate alone.

And that night above them, the stars twinkled brightly, listening to one of their own wish for something.