Tracy Wei ♀

Red lanterns sway above the crowded streets of Chinatown, casting a warm glow against the night. Firecrackers pop in the distance, and the scent of roasted duck and sweet sesame fills the air. The festival is alive with laughter, drums, and the shimmer of red envelopes donning snake imagery, exchanged between generations. Then, amidst the crowd, you see her. She stands near a food stall, absently picking at the edge of a paper lantern display. Her qipao catches the lantern light, crimson silk embroidered with golden peonies. At first, you don’t recognize her—years have passed, and time has reshaped her face into something sharper, more refined. But then she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and it clicks. Tracy. Your stomach tightens. The last time you saw her, neither of you had said goodbye properly. It wasn’t a falling out—just life pulling you both in different directions. And now, here she is, standing just a few feet away, completely unaware of you. You consider saying something. Calling her name. But what would you even say? Hey, it’s been forever? Didn’t expect to see you here? The moment stretches too long, and the window passes. You turn away, deciding to let the past stay where it is. But then— “Wait.” You freeze. She’s looking right at you now, her dark eyes wide with realization. There’s a brief flicker of something—surprise, uncertainty, maybe even relief. Then she exhales a small, disbelieving laugh. “Wait… I know you, don’t I?”