Chapter 23
Anna
The university cafeteria is packed to the brim, every inch occupied by extended family members, friends, and people I’m fairly certain my mother just invited off the street.
Korean first birthdays are no joke, but this? This feels like a production. A three-ring circus complete with toddlers running wild, distant aunts fussing over me like I’m still in high school, and my mother orchestrating the entire thing like a general preparing for battle.
I adjust the sleeve of my hanbok, smoothing out the fabric like I’ve done at every major family event since the beginning of time.
It’s a deep green with delicate embroidery, familiar and comfortable, even if the layers are a bit warmer than I’d like.
At least my mom didn’t try to shove me into a new one.
Joel, however—
I press my lips together, trying so hard not to laugh.
He’s standing near the dessert table, looking thoroughly out of his element in his own hanbok, a deep blue number my mother definitely made sure fit him perfectly.
The fabric drapes on him all wrong, like he has no idea how to exist in clothes that aren’t ripped jeans and leather jackets.
He keeps tugging at the collar, eyes darting around like someone is going to attack him with more layers.
I can’t stop the snort that escapes me.
Joel catches the sound and narrows his eyes, pointing at me. “Say one word, and I swear I’m going to grab a mic and tell your entire family about the time you tried to dye your hair blue and it turned out green.”
I grin. “Joke’s on you, my mom already tells that story to anyone who’ll listen.”
He sighs dramatically, flicking at his sleeve. “This is a setup. I look like a Disney prince.” Then he visibly shudders. “God, I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”
I stare at him, horrified, but also on the verge of laughing. That was actually pretty good. Not that I’ll ever tell him that. In fact— “Yeah. What’s wrong with you?”
He groans, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically shake the words out of existence. “No. No, I take it back. That was disgusting.”
“Fully unhinged,” I agree.
He grins. “Absolutely vile.”
“A moment of total insanity.”
“A betrayal of everything I stand for.”
We stare at each other for a beat, the full-body cringe mutual, before I shake my head and chuckle despite myself. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear it.”
Joel nods solemnly. “Please do. I need to live in denial for at least twenty-four hours.”
“Longer, honestly.” I fold my arms, smirking. “Like, forever.”
“Agreed.” He tugs at the collar of his hanbok again, scowling. “This thing’s bad enough. But adding that comparison? I feel like I need to burn this entire outfit after tonight just to rid myself of the association.”
“Oh no, my mom would never let you,” I say. “She’d probably track it down and get it dry-cleaned just in case you ever need to wear it again.”
His expression turns even more horrified. “Your mom is terrifying.”
I sigh. “Welcome to my life.”
Before Joel can respond, a blur of pink and tulle barrels into my legs.
“Auntie Anna—” Mina shrieks, her tiny hands gripping my hanbok with impressive strength for a one-year-old. She’s decked out in full doljanchi regalia, her pink and gold hanbok as pristine as it’s ever going to be before the chaos begins.
I scoop her up automatically, bouncing her slightly as she babbles excitedly. “You ready for your big moment, kiddo?”
She smacks my cheek in response.
Joel snickers. “That’s a yes.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, adjusting Mina in my arms. But then I notice the way he’s watching her—fond, almost thoughtful, his usual teasing smirk softened around the edges. It’s the same way he used to look at my little cousins when we were younger, like he actually enjoyed being around them.
The thought makes something in my chest tighten.
I shove it aside immediately.
Ethan appears from the other side of the room, already looking exhausted as he corrals two toddlers who have decided that now is the time to test their vertical limits via a buffet table.
“Okay, we’re about five minutes from doljabi time,” he announces, barely dodging a flying cookie.
“Anna, Mom wants you and Joel front and center.”
I sigh. “Of course she does.”
Mina wiggles in my arms, reaching for Ethan, who promptly hands off one of the squirming toddlers to Joel like a pro before taking her. Joel catches the kid on reflex, eyes widening in alarm as he suddenly finds himself holding a very sticky, very wiggly child.
I grin at his misery.
“Congrats,” I say sweetly. “You’re officially part of the family.”
Joel groans, holding the child at arm’s length like he’s just been handed a ticking time bomb. “This is some kind of punishment, isn’t it?”
I smirk, but before I can say anything in response, the toddler, either oblivious or completely entertained by Joel’s suffering, giggles and wipes their hands—covered in something sticky and suspiciously red—right across the front of his hanbok.
Joel freezes. “Oh, come on. What even is this?”
Ethan slaps him on the back. “You don’t ask questions. You just accept it.”
Joel mutters something under his breath, shooting me a glare like I personally orchestrated this situation. Which, honestly, I would have if I’d thought of it first.
I’m still grinning when my mom appears, clapping her hands. “Alright, let’s get started! Everyone, gather around!”
The chaos shifts as the crowd begins repositioning toward the doljabi table, where an elaborate display of symbolic items sits, ready for Mina to choose her fate.
I slip into my designated front-and-center spot, setting my hands primly in my lap as if that will somehow stop the impending doom I can already feel brewing.
Joel plops down beside me with a sigh. “So what are we betting?” he asks, nodding toward the table as he tries to wipe away the red goo.
I glance over at Mina, who’s already eyeing the objects in front of her like she’s assessing battle strategy. “Mom’s praying for doctor. Ethan’s betting on judge. Dad’s convinced she’s going to be in business.”
At that moment, Mina reaches forward, grabs the money first, then immediately yeets it over her shoulder.
The room bursts into laughter.
“She said absolutely not to capitalism,” Joel murmurs, chuckling.
I shake my head. “She’s my favorite person alive.”
The laughter dies down as Mina makes her second attempt, zeroing in on the microphone.
The collective gasp from the room is immediate.
My mom practically vibrates in place. “She’s just like you, Anna.”
I groan. “God, let’s not start that.”
Joel leans in. “I don’t know, Ace. Seems like fate.”
I elbow him in the ribs. “Shut up.”
He chuckles softly.
But I can’t ignore the way my mother is looking between the two of us now, a glint in her eyes that makes me deeply uneasy.
And then she says the words I’ve been full-on dreading.
“Since our little star has chosen music, I think it’s only right that Anna and Joel play something for us to celebrate.”
I exhale slowly, schooling my face into something neutral as the room shifts. People murmur excitedly, already repositioning to get a better view, while my mother beams.
Joel leans in slightly. “No escape now, Ace.”
I resist the urge to stick my tongue out. Instead, I stand, smoothing down my hanbok before picking my way through the crowd toward the makeshift performance area.
Joel follows with a little too much ease, like he’s enjoying this way more than he should be.
Aunties and uncles clear a space around the small stage setup—just a keyboard, a mic stand, and enough room for Joel and me to not actively kill each other on stage.
As I settle onto the bench, I glance up, scanning the crowd. My mother is practically glowing. My father is nodding approvingly. And Ethan—
Ethan just winces slightly, like he’s sorry for everything.
You should be, bro. You should be.
Joel finishes adjusting his guitar strap and gives me a quick nod. “Ready?”
I flex my fingers over the keys. I know this. We practiced this. We have a plan.
I nod back. “Let’s go.”
I take a breath, centering myself over the keys as Joel strums a quiet chord, testing the sound. The murmur in the room fades as people turn their attention toward us.
We know this setlist. We planned this setlist. This is fine.
I let the familiar melody settle into place under my fingertips, the opening notes smooth, practiced.
Joel’s voice slides in effortlessly.
And just like that, the noise, the crowd, the chaos—it all falls away.
For the next half hour, it’s just music.
Just us.
And it actually feels good.
The harmonies land, the rhythm stays perfectly in sync, and even though we haven’t performed together in years, it still feels easy.
When we hit the last chorus of the final planned song, I feel it—relief.
I survived.
The last notes fade into silence, and then—thunderous applause.
I can feel my shoulders finally unclench as I lift my hands from the keys, already pushing back from the bench, ready to retreat.
And then—
“Actually…”
Joel’s voice is smooth, too smooth, but I hear the shift underneath it. The quiet determination.
My stomach drops.
I whip my head toward him. Oh, you absolute menace.
He flashes me a knowing look, adjusting his guitar strap. “I’ve got one more. This one—” His voice lowers just a fraction, like the words are meant just for me. “This is for you, Ace.”
The crowd erupts, completely oblivious to the fact that I am currently having a full-blown existential crisis. What in the hell is he doing?
I glance out into the crowd.
My mother is glowing.
My dad—he’s just open and curious.
Ethan is narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Yeah, smart.
I turn back to face Joel, because running doesn’t feel like an option at this point. My mother would kill me.
The first chords ring out, clear and full, vibrating straight through me like they can rearrange my DNA.
I know this song.
I knew it when it was just an idea. I knew it when we sat in my living room, working through the chords together.
But now?
Now, it feels whole—like it’s found its voice.
The arrangement is fuller, the music layered, and for a split second, I don’t breathe.
Because something is different.
The weight in the air shifts, pressing against my ribs, heavy and unrelenting.
The room has gone completely still.
People aren’t just watching.
They’re waiting.
I can feel my mother’s excitement radiating from across the room, my father’s quiet curiosity, and Ethan—
Ethan leans forward slightly, a subtle suspicion creeping onto his face.
Yeah. Smart.
Joel’s voice breaks through the quiet, steady and sure, weaving through the space between us.
The lyrics hit like a slow, unfolding realization.
I feel them before I understand them.
Every single note, every word, feels like a confession.
Not just a song. Not just music. Isn’t that what he said last night?
This is something else.
And suddenly, it’s happening.
That awful, twisting tightness in my throat.
The sting behind my eyes.
I blink hard, once, twice, like I can push it back down—like I can stop whatever this is before it starts.
This is not the place.
But I can’t.
The words keep coming, and my chest cracks open, too wide, too much, all at once.
I need to leave.
I need to get out before—
Before—
I turn sharply, shoving through the crowd, my breath coming too fast, my pulse hammering in my ears.
I hear Joel’s voice behind me, but I don’t stop.
I don’t turn around.
I don’t dare let myself see his face.
Because if I do—
If I see Joel looking at me—
If I see what I think might be in his eyes—
If he sees it mirrored in my own….
I’ll never be able to pretend I don’t know the truth.
I’ll never be able to take it back.
So I keep moving.
I push through the doors, into the hallway, into the cold—into anywhere but here.
I don’t let myself think.
I don’t let myself name it.
Because if I do—
If I let the words form—
Then I can’t undo them.
And I don’t know who I am if I admit what this is.