“You failed?” she repeats, her voice free of judgment. There’s only concern and more patience than I deserve. “At what?”

“Everything,” I say tearily, not even bothering to hold together the last cracks in my composure anymore. I fumble for the right words in Chinese. “My life. I—I have no idea what to do or where to go. Everyone else has their own talents, like a sport or an instrument or a subject in school, and they’re all heading off to college with some idea of what they want, and it’s like they were all made for something. But I’m not smart enough, and I’m not athletic, and I’m not particularly likable, and I’m not that funny or interesting, and I don’t even have a five-day plan, let alone a five-year plan. Maybe I’ll never be better than this,” I whisper, still patting the cow. It’s the closest thing to comfort that I have right now. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for anything.”

If I were the woman, and a stranger had just given me this deeply depressing speech while using my cow as their emotional support animal, I would probably be fleeing into the distance.

But she smiles at me, and with a sharp pang, I remember how my nainai would smile across the dinner table at me while I ate the chicken soup noodles she’d cooked, like I was the most precious thing she had ever seen. Like the simple fact that I existed was a joy.

“It’ll work out,” she tells me.

My voice trembles. “But—what if it doesn’t?”

“Look at the sky,” she says.

“What?”

“Look at the sky,” she repeats steadily.

I do, and at first I have no idea what I’m meant to be looking at. There’s nothing. But then the sky opens up. The stars are brighter than I’ve ever seen them, like pinpricks in the velvet darkness, letting the light in. Entire constellations lie above me, endless, eternal, and there’s a feeling I can’t name stirring deep inside my chest, like reaching the bridge of your favorite song. The fresh gash of the memory doesn’t disappear from my mind, but it’s just one star of many, glistening in the night.

Slowly, I breathe out.

“Leah?”

I spin around at the sound of Daisy’s voice. She’s stopped a yard away from me, her arm half-outstretched, hesitant, like she’s not sure what to do next, but maybe that’s just because I’m standing next to a cow. Then she sees the tears dampening my face or maybe just the look in my eyes and she rushes forward.

The old woman steps politely to the side, leading the cow out of the way.

“Are you okay?” Daisy asks, squeezing my hand.