Mali wanted to approach, but a bell rang—the brass bell from the shop. The lavender sky cracked again, and she was yanked sideways.
Now she stood in a world of perpetual rain. Not water, but threads of light falling upward. People walked with umbrellas made of mirrors. A child ran past, laughing in a language that sounded like the reverse of Thai. khon la lok
Mali touched her own smooth brow. “No.” Mali wanted to approach, but a bell rang—the
Mali ate in wonder. Then she saw a man sitting alone by a canal, crying. His tears rose upward like tiny balloons. She recognized her own father’s face, but younger, softer. Mali wanted to approach
“I only have one.”