Jia Lissa had always been part of a we. A sister, a daughter, a teammate, a face in a crowd of faces. But the we had a weight. It was a warm, familiar weight—like a heavy winter coat—but it pressed on her shoulders just the same.
Her mother had cried. “Too dangerous.” Her friends had laughed. “Who travels alone? That’s sad.” But Jia had just smiled, a small, secret curve of her lips. She wanted to find out who she was without the echo of someone else’s opinion. jia lissa travelling alone
In Tokyo, she stood outside a ramen shop, paralyzed. The line was full of couples and laughing groups. Her stomach growled. She almost turned away. But then she remembered: No one is watching. No one cares. She walked in, sat at the counter, and ate the richest tonkotsu ramen of her life. The silence was loud, but not uncomfortable. It was just... hers. Jia Lissa had always been part of a we
Jia smiled, looking at the stars. For the first time, she heard the sound of her own wheels rolling over the earth. And it was the most beautiful music she’d ever known. It was a warm, familiar weight—like a heavy