On the night the stars fell, I smelled a faint sweetness — colorful, fleeting sweetness. The cloud said, “Those are tears.” I gazed at the reflection in my cup, pondering the meaning of tears. The room fell silent again. Sometimes I thought the cloud had fallen asleep, but when I looked at him, his eyes were slightly open, brown pupils glimmering faintly. I tried to read his emotions.

Outside, everything sparkled, different from the feeling after rain — sweet, making the air feel light. I quietly collected the tails of the stars. I didn’t make a wish, but I spoke my hopes aloud.