The dim glow of the fading sunset filtered through the narrow windows of Grandma Mai's humble wooden cottage, casting long shadows that danced quietly across the worn floorboards. I nestled into the corner by the hearth, the warmth from the fire wrapping around me like an old, familiar blanket. Grandma Mai’s voice rose and fell rhythmically, spinning yet another tale steeped in the mysteries of our village's past.

Outside, the world was settling into evening. My mother’s gentle hum drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the soft crackle of the firewood. Though the village was small and steeped in old traditions, I had been away for so long—years spent studying abroad had reshaped my view of the world. Now, returning to this quiet place, I felt both a stranger and a daughter yearning for connection.

“Long ago, there was a young maiden much like you,” Grandma began, her eyes glinting with the reflection of the flames. “One evening, she crossed the wooden bridge that arcs over the river, promising her mother she would be home before the sun sank beneath the horizon.”

I leaned in, the familiar cadence of her storytelling pulling me back to childhood nights when magic seemed real. The cottage was still except for her voice and the faint shuffle of my mother preparing dinner. Outside, my father sat silently on a small stool at the door, puffing on his tobacco pipe, eyes closed though never truly resting.

“As she stepped onto the bridge, a voice called her name,” Grandma said softly, her tone lowering. “In those days, it was said you must not turn unless you knew who beckoned you. If you turned for a stranger’s call, some say a spirit might seize your soul and drag you into the depths.”

She paused, shaking her head with a faint smile that held sorrow. “But this girl forgot the warning. The voice was a man’s, smooth and alluring, pulling at her very being. She glanced back and saw him—half-draped in moonlight, his smile as enchanting as a prince’s. She returned the smile, captivated.”

My heart quickened at the image, the crackling fire filling the silence as I pictured the scene. Grandma’s eyes met mine, steady and deep. “He was a trickster, though. That night, she followed him, and when the sun finally touched the horizon, she vanished without a trace.”

“Her mother searched everywhere, across the bridge, along the water’s edge, but no one saw the girl again.” Grandma Mai’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “Every year since, a maiden disappears. Some villagers swear they’ve seen a towering dragon rise from the black waters of the lake, claiming the chosen one.”

I swallowed hard, the room suddenly colder despite the fire. “Do you believe these stories, Grandma?” I asked, my voice barely above a breath.

She chuckled gently, the warmth returning to her tone. “The question is, do you believe?”

I wasn’t sure. The idea of dragons lurking beneath the lake’s surface was both thrilling and terrifying—a secret I wanted to embrace and yet, feared to face.

Just then, my father entered, closing the creaky door behind him with a faint click and the soft slide of the old lock. His heavy footsteps crossed the floor as he approached my mother for a quiet exchange, their voices low and murmuring.

I turned back to Grandma. “Has anyone gone missing this year?” I asked, the unease in my chest growing.

Before Grandma could answer, my mother’s voice cut through gently but firmly. “Your grandmother is just telling tales, Anna May. These are old legends, nothing more.” She moved toward the stove, unfolding a wooden table near the hearth to prepare for our meal.

Grandma winked at me playfully, undeterred. My father soon returned, carrying a steaming bowl of noodle soup, the fragrant steam curling upward. “Go wash up, Anna. Dinner will be ready soon,” he said with quiet authority. Though I was twenty-five, the respect ingrained in me for my elders moved me to obey immediately.

Carrying a small lantern, I stepped outside into the cool night air. The village’s bamboo water system murmured nearby, sending a thin stream of clean water from the mountain springs to a fountain beside the lake. The scent of damp wood and fresh earth mingled under the stars.

I placed my lantern gently on a clay pot and washed my hands, the cold water awakening my senses. Suddenly, a rustle in the nearby bushes drew my attention. I glanced toward the shadows but could see nothing beyond the faint glow of my lantern. The darkness was thick here, the lake’s surface barely visible, rippling softly in the night breeze.

Choosing not to dwell on the eerie feeling, I finished washing and made my way back, the lantern casting long, wavering shadows as I walked.

We gathered around the fire for dinner—a simple meal of blanched vegetables dipped in soy sauce, steaming noodles, and freshly cooked rice. The warmth of the fire and the familiar flavors grounded me, even as the stories and unspoken worries lingered in my mind.

Afterward, I helped clear the table, the quiet rhythm soothing. Later, in my room, I read by candlelight from one of my father’s poetry books, the gentle verses a balm to my restless thoughts. Sleep came slowly, the flickering flame casting dancing shadows across the ceiling.

The following morning, laughter and splashes echoed around the lake’s edge as I joined the village children. Dressed simply in a t-shirt and shorts, I dove into the cool water, playing a lively game of Marco Polo. The sun sparkled on rippling waves, the children’s joy contagious as we shouted and chased each other.

“Marco!” I called out, eyes closed, feeling the water envelop me. “Polo!” came the reply, a chorus of giggles and playful shouts.

But amid the familiar voices, I heard a call closer than the others—soft and tempting. Turning toward the sound, I smiled knowingly, swimming toward what I thought would be an easy catch. Yet suddenly, a light, fleeting touch brushed my cheek, as delicate as a kiss, sending a ripple of shivers through me. My eyes snapped open, the children’s laughter ringing behind me as I realized I had drifted farther from shore than intended.

Frowning, I scanned the water but saw no one. Samuel, my neighbor’s boy, approached with a teasing grin. “You were way off,” he said, nudging me playfully.

I glanced back toward the lake’s dark center. “I thought I heard someone,” I murmured, unsettled.

“You can’t go too far. The elders want us close to shore,” Samuel warned.

I nodded, still feeling eyes linger on me as I washed off in the shallows and wrapped myself in a towel on the grassy bank. One last glance toward the lake left me shivering, a silent question in the depths that no one answered.

That evening, the kitchen was alive with the gentle bubbling of tofu simmering in a heavy pot. My father sat outside once more, tobacco smoke curling around him like a quiet veil. I changed into a soft, knee-length cotton nightgown, draping a shawl over my shoulders before settling beside Grandma Mai on her low wooden stool.

“How was school?” she asked, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face.

I sighed, turning my head to the side. “It was alright. I missed this—missed you all.”

Her laughter was a soft melody. “We missed you too, child. The house felt empty without your spirit.”

“How much longer until you’re done with your studies?” she inquired gently.

“Not much longer. I’ll be home for good soon.”

She exhaled, a hint of concern in her eyes. “You know, Anna May, you’ve passed the age when girls here traditionally marry.”

I snorted lightly. “We’re not in the old days, Grandma. I don’t need a man to complete me.”

“I understand your ways have changed, but your roots run deep here. Fourteen was the age to marry once, and yet here you are, twenty-five and still unwed,” she chided, though her tone was soft.

My mother’s voice floated from the stove, teasing yet serious. “Your grandmother calls you an old lady now.”

I opened my eyes, smiling at the playful jab. “In America, I’m still considered young.”

Laughter filled the room, even my father’s lips twitched into a faint smile despite his usual quiet demeanor.

“The village leader’s son, who is also studying abroad, stopped by earlier today. He asked after you—and I believe he intends to ask for your hand,” my mother revealed, her voice steady.

My heart skipped, a mix of surprise and unease flooding me. “What?” I sat up straighter, wincing as Grandma gently tugged a strand of hair to smooth it.

“He is educated and honorable. Such a match would bring great fortune and respect to our family,” my mother continued, eyes bright with unspoken hopes.

“Am I just a bargaining piece?” I burst out, voice rising with frustration. “A commodity to be traded for status and wealth?”

My father’s voice rumbled from the doorway, firm yet weary. “Enough, Maya. Leave our daughter be.”

“I’m not insisting she marry,” my mother said firmly. “But this is tradition. If the leader comes to ask, will you refuse?” she challenged my father.

He opened his eyes slowly, meeting her gaze. “We will deal with it in time.”

The conversation ended there, the air heavy with unsaid words as we ate in silence. Afterward, I retreated to my room, the slivers of moonlight casting pale streaks across my ceiling.

I pictured the village leader’s son—handsome, wealthy, admired by many girls. Yet none of that stirred my heart. I longed for something different, something deeper.

Turning onto my side, I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come. But this night, dreams took me elsewhere—a man of godlike beauty appeared, his gaze both fierce and tender. When his lips met mine, breath caught in my chest, and the world beyond vanished, leaving only a whispered promise of mysteries yet to unfold.