“Tell me a story,” I ask. Grandma sits in her chair, smiling at the rain: pitter-patter. I watch her unfold magical kingdoms of flying jellyfish and rainbow oceans. She says, “Look—puddles of stars.” I dive into silence, wonderstruck. Over ten years, I swim into libraries and hospitals—exploring seas of imagination and distress. The last time Grandma visits, I help her walk up the stairs. There, I tell her, songs of the creaking wood, broken but beautiful. Our hands squeeze pain and promise after each step. Reality still breathes musical miracles. Pausing for Grandma’s voice, I only hear her footsteps: pitter-patter.
Chelsea Zhu is a high school writer who loves figure skating, dancing, and matcha lattes.