The kitchen still smells like success and a teeny tiny mild disaster.
I made congee tonight using Grandma's recipe – you know, one of those with the careful notes in the margin. It turned out surprisingly good: warm, comforting, with just the right amount of ginger. Grandma would be totally proud (Go Wei-Wei!). There was a small accident during the process; a small (let me emphasize this again, SMALL) fire incident with the scallion oil earlier; however, the kitchen survived. So, I guess mom's "god of kitchen destruction genes" aren't that dominant. Which is a really good thing, because otherwise we would be renovating kitchens all over every couple of months. I know, we don't lack the money, but I somehow think it would send Dad into a frenzy. By the way. I'm still not exactly sure how a single scallion managed to set off the smoke alarm – chill, the smoke alarm is just highly sensitive – but here we are.
I grab my bowl and chopsticks and go sit on the couch. The dead plant on the windowsill stares at me sadly. I misted it again this morning, and in my brain, I know it's gone, but my heart says there's still a chance at recovery, like in those reincarnation novels, so I'm still trying anyway.
When I open the video call, the screen explodes with faces.
"Xiao Wei!" Mom appears first, leaning so close that the camera fills with her elegant cheekbones. "How are you, my love? Have you eaten? What did you make today?"
I lift the bowl like evidence. "I'm good, Mom. And I made congee from Grandma's recipe. It's actually good this time."
She beams. "See? I told you the seaweed would help!"
In the background, Grandma's voice rings out: "Did you remember the seaweed I packed? The special spicy kind!"
"I did, Gran-Gran," I say, laughing. "I brought all forty-seven packets. And Pim also stocked my fridge with three different kinds of chili sauce, so I have more than enough ingredients to add a little 'zing'."
Dad appears beside Mom, "How is the studio? Do you have good lighting?" calm and steady like always. He is like a steady mountain compared to her whirlwind of a personality.
"Yes, very good light," I tell him. "It has an east-facing window, which is perfect for capturing the sunlight in the afternoon. I also pinned up some sketches on the walls."
Grandma and Grandpa wave from behind them, both smiling so wide it makes my chest hurt.
"Xiao Wei! Is the heat too much for you?" Grandma calls out first, leaning in like she can fan me through the screen. "Bangkok is so hot this time of year!"
"It's warm," I say, smiling, "but I'm managing. I stay inside with the air-con on during the worst hours."
Grandpa nods seriously beside her. "And are you sleeping well? You look a little tired, little one."
"I'm sleeping okay, Grandpa. The bed is comfortable. Better than the plane, at least."
Grandma's eyes sparkle with mischief. "Have you met any nice people yet? Tell us everything!"
I laugh softly. "I have, actually. My neighbor Bas is very friendly. He took me out for dinner the other night. He basically knows everyone within a 10-mile radius, or so it seems. And Pim has also been helping a lot."
Mom jumps in, delighted. "See? I knew you'd make friends quickly. What about your classes? Are you enjoying them?"
Dad adds calmly, "And how's that little plant, Wei-Wei? You said your neighbor gave it to you?"
"Err, I don't think it is very alive anymore, but I did try to take care of it just like you said. Unfortunately, I think I gave it too much TLC."
"That's alright. We can talk about it later, and I will explain what went wrong."
Eventually, everyone drifts away, and then it's finally Jingwei's turn.
He walked to his study and sat on his couch, while loosening his tie. Finally, he looks at me with that quiet focus. "How are you settling in, Xiao Lan'er?"
I glance at the windowsill and the sad little plant. "Well, I think. Classes are going well, I have my own studio, and I think I've made a friend, Bas. He gave me a plant as a welcome gift."
Jingwei's mouth twitches, "How long until it dies?"
I sigh dramatically. "Technically… it already died three days ago. But I'm trying to revive it. I've been misting it twice a day and talking to it. I even apologized for my track record."
He lets out a soft laugh – that warm, familiar sound I've known my whole life. "You're misting a dead plant?"
"I am," I admit, smiling despite myself. "I told it I believe in it, but it hasn't responded yet."
Jingwei shakes his head, but his eyes are fond. "You're impossible, Wei-Wei. How many plants has it been now?"
"Really, Gege. You make it sound like I'm some kind of universal plant destroyer," I sulked.
"Aren't you?"
There's a small pause. His expression gentles even more.
"I'm just kidding. Xiao Lan'er, I hope you know how proud I am of you for going," he says quietly. "Really proud; I know it wasn't easy."
The words land softly and heavily at the same time. Something in his voice tugs at my heart. My throat tightens. The apartment tilts just a little.
I swallow. "Thank you, Gege."
He studies me for a moment, as if he can see right through me. "You sound tired. Are you sleeping?"
"A little," I say honestly. "It's… a lot. Sometimes the memories visit me, but not so much anymore. So, it's pretty good."
Jingwei nods slowly. "If it stops being good, you tell me. Immediately."
"I will," I promise, even though we both know I'll try to handle it alone first.
The silence stretches, comfortable and full. Then he says, softer, "I miss you, Xiao Wei."
My chest aches. "I miss you too, Gege."
****
Flashback — Little Blue
Jingwei
The alley behind the old market was darker than usual that night. My backpack felt heavy on my shoulders as I cut through the shortcut. I was supposed to be home already, but I had stayed late at school for extra math practice.
That's when I heard it.
A tiny, thin cry. Not loud. It sounded more like a kitten.
I stopped. My heart jumped into my throat.
There, tucked against the wall next to the garbage bin, in a bundle of old blankets, was a baby. So small and blue from the cold. His little face was scrunched up, fists waving weakly like he was too tired to fight anymore.
I looked around, but there was no one there; just the distant sound of cars and the smell of street food fading in the night air. Did some just leave this little baby here? Did they throw him away like trash?
I didn't think; I just knelt down.
"Hey… hey, it's okay," I whispered, even though my voice was shaking. "I'm here, you're safe now. No one's going to hurt you."
He was so light when I picked him up, he barely weighed anything. Aren't babies supposed to be a bit heavier? I zipped open my jacket and tucked him against my chest, then zipped it up carefully so only his small face peeked out. He was freezing. I could feel his tiny heartbeat against mine, fast and scared.
I started running.
By the time I got home, my legs were wobbly and burning, and my mind was racing with every excuse I could think of. I snuck in through the side door and went straight to my room.
I laid him on my bed and stared at him. He made a small sound, almost like a little sigh.
I needed a plan. What do I do with a baby I just picked up from the street? Right, formula. Babies need formula. Now, I needed to find some. And bottles, or… something.
I crept into the kitchen, trying to act normal.
"Mom… I was wondering… how much formula does a baby need?" I asked, voice too high, too casual.
She turned from the sink. One look at my face and she knew.
Within minutes, the whole family was there. I stood in the living room, still holding the baby inside my jacket, tears starting to spill even though I was trying so hard to be brave.
"I found him," I said, voice cracking. "He was all alone. I couldn't leave him."
No one yelled. Father's face was serious but calm. Mom's eyes were soft with worry and something warmer.
Mom took one gentle look at the tiny blue baby and said, "He needs a doctor. Jingwei, sweetheart, let's take him to the hospital, OK?"
We went within an hour. The doctor confirmed he was small and underfed, but he would be okay with care. When they asked for a name for the papers, I didn't hesitate.
"Xiao Wei," I said quietly. Little Wei because he looked so small.
Later, back home, I sat on the edge of my bed with him sleeping against my chest, finally warm. Mom sat beside me and brushed a hand over my hair.
"You did a brave thing tonight," she whispered.
"I didn't have a plan," I admitted, voice small.
She smiled, soft and sure. "Sometimes you don't need one. Sometimes the most important thing is just showing up."
He was so small. But from that moment on, I knew that I would always be there to protect him, my little brother.
****
The memory fades slowly, like mist burning off in the morning sun.
I'm still sitting in my study, the lamp casting a soft circle of light on the desk. On the screen, Wei-Wei is quiet, eyes a little distant, the way he gets when the past brushes too close.
I watch him carefully. He says nothing for a long moment; he just stares somewhere past the camera.
"Xiao Lan'er," I say gently.
He blinks, coming back to me. His voice is soft, almost fragile. "I'm here, Gege."
"That's good."
We stay like that for a few heartbeats – no need for words. I can see the small tremble in his shoulders and the way he tries to smile even when the pain is still raw. My little brother traveled halfway across the sea to build a new life, trying so hard to be brave.
"Call me anytime," I tell him. "Even if it's three in the morning here."
He nods, his tiny genuine smile finally breaking through. "I will. Goodnight, Gege."
"Goodnight, Xiao Lan'er."
The screen goes dark. I hope the city is kind to you, Little Blue.