If you happened to walk down Peach Blossom Lane at exactly 11:11 PM, you'd find a girl with a wild braid, strawberry pajamas, and glitter on her eyelids standing on her rooftop—talking to the moon.
Not wishing. Not sighing. Actually talking.
"Look, Moon," Jia Xúe said, pointing a spoon at the sky like a scolding auntie, "I'm not saying you're slacking off, but hello? Where's my soulmate? You said I'd meet him before my 23rd birthday. You've got five weeks. Do your thing."
The moon said nothing. As usual.
She huffed. "Silent treatment? Fine. But just so you know, I've already made space for him in my blanket fort. And I baked magical brownies today. Magical, Moon. That should count for something."
Downstairs, her cat, Gulabo, yawned dramatically. Jia's magic had rubbed off on the feline over the years, and now she floated whenever she got too relaxed or too offended. Which was often.
Jia leaned against the metal railing, arms crossed over a t-shirt that read "I'm Not Weird, I'm Limited Edition." The city lights twinkled below her, and she liked to think they winked at her every night.
It had always been like this.
Her family—loving but always slightly worried—called her "daydreamer." Her childhood teachers said "eccentric." The local aunty who sold vegetables at the corner shop preferred "mental case," but Jia didn't mind. She just smiled sweetly and made the woman's lettuce float above her stall for three days straight.
People didn't understand.
They didn't see how magic shimmered in the corner of everyday life. How music whispered through flower petals. How books whispered secrets if you pressed your ear to the pages.
They didn't know what it was like to have a storm of butterflies in your chest every time you imagined love.
She did.
And Jia Xúe wasn't giving up on it.
---
Mornings were always a mess.
Jia had a part-time job at a used bookstore called Whispers & Wonders. She liked the smell of the old pages, the way the dusty light fell through the tall windows, and how the books seemed to rearrange themselves on the shelves depending on her mood.
Today she was late. Not fashionably. Just... chaotically.
"Gulabo! Where's my green sock? The one with the sunflowers!" she shouted as she danced through her tiny apartment, one leg in pajama pants, the other in glitter leggings. Gulabo floated above the toaster, lazily batting at an orange spark that drifted from Jia's cereal bowl.
She wore a bright purple hoodie, a skirt with too many patches, and the sunflower sock she found in the fridge (don't ask). Her eyes sparkled with determination. Her hair? Not cooperating. But she had her magical diary in her backpack, her enchanted glitter lip balm in her pocket, and a heart full of delusion—just the way she liked it.
---
On the way out, she paused in front of the cracked mirror near the door. She tilted her head.
"I know I'm a little crazy," she whispered to her reflection, "but maybe that's exactly what he'll fall in love with."
She grinned.
And then the mirror blinked back at her.