Home and Heavy hearts

Li Mei entered her house quietly, the warm glow of lanterns outside failing to brighten the tense atmosphere inside. The small home, though simple, felt heavy with expectations. The faint scent of her mother's herbal tea filled the air, but it brought little comfort.

Her older brother, Li Jun, sat at the main table, his brow furrowed as he worked through a stack of papers. He had taken on many responsibilities as the eldest, leaving little time for much else. Across the room, her younger sister, Li Xia, adjusted her hair in front of a small mirror, fussing over her appearance. She often tried to appear carefree but was always seeking approval in her own way.

Their parents sat by the small hearth, speaking in low voices about matters Li Mei didn't want to think about—arranged matches and family futures. Her father, a merchant, cared deeply about stability, while her mother tried to balance tradition with her daughters' happiness. It rarely seemed to work, especially for Li Mei. Her blindness set her apart in ways that the family never fully understood, leaving her feeling both sheltered and distant.

She lingered near the doorway, unnoticed at first, her heart weighed down by the same conversations she had avoided earlier. The expectations placed on her felt suffocating. She missed the quiet under the willow tree, where she had felt free—if only for a moment.

Li Mei's thoughts wandered to a time before the darkness had taken her sight. She had been only eight years old, her world then filled with vibrant colors and boundless curiosity. The day everything changed had begun like any other. She had been playing with Chen Wei by the riverbank, their laughter ringing out as they chased dragonflies.

"Careful, Li Mei!" Chen Wei had called out as she edged closer to the water, but her fearless spirit had gotten the better of her. She slipped on the wet rocks and tumbled into the river. The cold water swallowed her, the current pulling her under before Chen Wei could reach her.

She remembered waking days later, the sounds of her mother crying and the village healer whispering apologies. The fever that followed had left her blind, her vision fading into shadows she would never reclaim.

Chen Wei had been by her side through it all, blaming himself for not pulling her to safety sooner. He would sneak away from his chores to sit with her beneath this very tree, describing the world to her in vivid detail—the way the sun painted the sky at dusk, the shimmer of lanterns on the water during festivals, and the blooming of the lotus flowers in spring.

"It's all still here," he had told her once, his voice steady even as hers broke with frustration. "You just have to feel it differently now. Those words had stayed with her, guiding her in the years that followed. 

Later, when the house had quieted, she found herself sitting with Li Jun. He glanced up from his papers and gave her a small, knowing smile. "You've seemed distracted lately," he said gently. "Did something happen at the festival?"

Li Mei hesitated before shaking her head. "Nothing important."

Li Jun studied her for a moment, then nodded. "If you need help with anything, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

Li Mei nodded silently, but the words didn't ease the weight she felt. Li Jun meant well, but he could never fully understand the maze of emotions she navigated each day. She smiled faintly at him, then slipped away to find solitude.