Only My Mia Cara

The sun peeked through the half-open curtains, painting the marble floor with strokes of gold. The scent of jasmine from the garden lingered faintly in the air. I was already in the kitchen, letting the warmth of the stove chase away the traces of last night's dreams—the ones I didn't talk about, not even when they left my heart aching.

The kettle hissed softly. I poured the water with slow grace into the porcelain teapot. The smell of cha curled up like a memory, and I smiled quietly to myself.

"Of course it's my Xinyi cooking, as always," Mama's voice came from behind, soft and filled with affection. She walked in, wearing her silk robe and that gentle, proud smile that never failed to warm my heart.

"Your favourite cha is there, Mama," I said, placing a cup before her.

She smiled, her eyes glowing as she leaned forward and kissed my cheek. "Xièxiè, baby," she whispered, her voice full of love as she sat at the dining table.

"Go wake Zixuan, he has work," she added with a chuckle.

I nodded and made my way down the hall. I knocked once—twice—on his door. No answer. Of course. I opened it carefully. There he was, sleeping like a child, his arm dangling off the bed, hair a mess, soft snores filling the room.

A small laugh escaped my lips. "Gege," I called gently, shaking his shoulder. "Get up."

"Fifteen minutes," he murmured into his pillow like a ritual.

I shook my head, amused. "Alright, alright…" I stepped out of the room, leaving the door ajar behind me.

Just then, I heard soft footsteps and turned to see Xingqi, my little sister, rubbing her eyes, her hair a tousled halo around her sleepy face.

"Morning, Jiějie," she mumbled, her voice still laced with sleep.

"Morning," I said softly, draping an arm around her small shoulders, drawing her close.

She smiled up at me, and I smiled back—one of those unspoken smiles only sisters shared.

Dad walked in next, stretching with a yawn, his silver-rimmed glasses slightly crooked on his nose.

"Morning, my daughters. Did you sleep well?" His voice was deep and raspy with age, but always comforting.

"Morning, Dad." I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around his sturdy frame, still smelling faintly of cedarwood and tobacco. He held me for a moment longer than usual.

"How is my Xinyii?" he asked, pulling back and ruffling my hair.

"I'm good, Baba," i said with a tiny grin.

"And you?" I asked, tilting my head as I watched him chuckle.

"Good as always. Not even age can slow me down." He gave a half-coughing laugh that made my chest squeeze a little—he always did that now.

Mama called from the kitchen, her voice ringing like a bell. "Xingyi! Look at the time—you'll be late for university."

"Oh! Right!" I jumped like a startled cat.

"I'll eat breakfast," I said quickly, already heading back toward the kitchen to serve.

But as I reached the table, my eyes lingered for just a heartbeat too long on the empty chair across from mine. It was a beautiful morning, surrounded by a family that loved me beyond measure… but somewhere in my chest, something pulsed with an ache that refused to go away.

Dante.

I sat beside Mama at the dining table, the scent of warm rice and sautéed greens rising gently into the air. The porcelain dishes clinked softly as we served ourselves, and for a while, the silence felt like a soft blanket wrapping us all together.

Then Dad's voice, calm and strong as always, filled the room."How is photography going? Isn't Zhejiang University good?" he asked, raising his brows slightly as he sipped his morning chá.

I looked up, my smile blooming like a quiet flower. "The bestest in China," I replied, my voice light but honest.

"Hǎo, hǎo," he said with a nod of pride. "I trust you know what you're doing."

Photography had long stopped being a mere hobby for me—it had grown into a calling, something I could feel in my bones every time I raised my camera. Maybe it was because of Uncle—his voice still echoed in my memories, the way he used to hold his camera like it was a living thing. He'd once said to me, "A good photograph doesn't just show the world, Xinyi—it feels it."

So I chose it, not just for myself, but for him too. And because every time I looked through the lens, I felt like I was getting closer to something… something I couldn't explain.

I looked at Mama, then at Dad, my eyes soft. "Thank you… for giving me all this. The love, the freedom… this life."

Mama turned her head, gently dabbing her lips with a napkin. "You don't need to thank us," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "You don't have to."

Dad, sitting on my other side, smiled and reached out, ruffling my hair the way he used to when I was small. "We are proud of you, nǚ'ér. So proud."

I felt it then—that quiet ache in my chest. The kind of ache that comes from being full. Of love. Of memories. Of longing.

I love my family. Each of them. I would never trade this for anything in the world.

After breakfast, Mama stood up, brushing off her qípáo sleeves. She leaned over and kissed my cheek, her hands warm even against the early morning chill.

"Alright, I will get going," she said softly. Her heels clicked against the tile as she made her way to the door, her silhouette tall and graceful in the muted light.

I stood in the quiet house for a moment longer, holding onto the fading warmth of her kiss, and listening to the whisper of wind outside as it swept against the glass windows.

But I couldn't be late.

I picked up my camera bag and slung it over my shoulder, adjusting the strap with practiced ease. My boots clicked softly against the polished wooden floor as I headed out the door, stepping into the crisp morning air. The sky was brushed in muted shades of peach and pale blue, and the cold breeze gently bit at my cheeks. I took a breath, one deep enough to feel the sting of it in my lungs.

"Come on, sissy! You're gonna be late for uni," a familiar voice called.

I turned toward the driveway, just as Zixuan—my Gege—unlocked the car with a beep. His tall frame leaned casually against the driver's side door, his messy hair somehow still styled enough to make girls swoon. I laughed under my breath and jogged over to him.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I said, sliding into the passenger seat.

He grinned as he started the engine, the soft strum of a familiar melody filling the car—"Fairy Tale" by Michael Wong.

Of course.

He always played it. Every drive, every morning, like it was stitched into his bloodstream. He was obsessed with that singer. I guess I was now too. The song was bittersweet, laced with nostalgia, and somehow it always reminded me of a place I had locked away long ago.

We drove in silence for a few minutes, the music doing all the talking. My gaze drifted out the window to the blur of trees and buildings, the world passing by too fast for my thoughts to catch up.

Then his voice broke the rhythm.

"Are you okay if I ask you something?"

I blinked and glanced at him, caught off guard by the seriousness in his tone. I hummed in reply, keeping it light.

"Really?" he pressed, eyes fixed ahead now, one hand on the steering wheel, the other drumming anxiously on his thigh.

"Yes?" I said, curious now.

He was quiet for a moment, like he was choosing each word with care, weighing the weight of what he was about to ask.

"Why do you cry every night?"

I froze.

The world outside the window seemed to stop moving, like someone had pressed pause. The hum of the engine, the song, even my breath—they all quieted into nothingness.

"I don't—" I began to deflect, but he cut in gently.

"Don't lie, sissy." His voice wasn't angry. It was soft. Real. "Don't think I haven't noticed. You zone out all the time, you have nightmares, and last night wasn't the first time. A few days ago, I came to grab a snack late at night, and I heard you crying through your door."

He paused, exhaling a shaky breath before pulling over at the side of the road.

"And the day before your birthday… you were crying in your sleep. I tried to wake you up, but you grabbed my hand and whispered, 'Don't leave me.' You said it again and again."

My heart thudded painfully.

The tears stung before I even realized they were forming. I turned my face slightly away, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"I didn't mean to worry you..." I murmured.

He said nothing, just watched me with that same unwavering calm that only a big brother could have. Like he was waiting for me to trust him again, the way I always did when we were kids.

"I... I miss someone," I whispered. 

There. I said it. I didn't want to hide now, it was eating me up and i trusted Gege.

And for a long moment, I thought maybe he'd press more. Ask me who. Why. How long. But he didn't. He just nodded slowly. Like knew.

"I figured," he said simply. "And if it's someone worth crying over, then they're worth finding, Xinyi."

I met his eyes, startled.

"Find him?" I repeated, barely able to form the words.

"Yes. You love him, don't you?"

The tears slipped down, silent and hot. And I didn't say anything.

Because yes. I did.

And I still do.