Jin and Amelia, both American-born Chinese, stood in their cramped apartment, surrounded by gear for their upcoming camping trip. The air buzzed with excitement and nervous energy.
"Jin," Amelia said, folding a map, "did you pack the tent?"
He nodded, checking the straps on his backpack. "Yep. And the sleeping bags, too."
Amelia's eyes sparkled. "Remember last summer? That meteor shower we watched from the rooftop?"
Jin grinned. "How could I forget? You pointed out Orion's Belt, and suddenly the stars felt closer."
They moved around the room, gathering supplies. Jin packed the portable stove, while Amelia sorted through the food—ramen noodles, dried seaweed, and a bag of fortune cookies.
"Fortune cookies in the wilderness?" Jin teased.
Amelia winked. "You never know when you'll need a little wisdom."
As they zipped up their bags, Jin hesitated. "Amelia, there's something I've been meaning to say."
She turned, her expression curious. "What is it?"
He took a deep breath. "I like you, Amelia. More than just a camping buddy."
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. "Jin, I—"
Before she could finish, he pressed his lips to hers. It was a kiss that tasted of adventure, of pine trees and moonlight. The walls of their apartment disappeared, replaced by a star-studded sky.
"Wow," Amelia whispered when they pulled apart. "That was unexpected."
Jin chuckled. "Yeah, well, sometimes the best moments are."
They stepped out into the night, their backpacks heavy but their hearts lighter. The forest welcomed them—the rustling leaves, the distant hoot of an owl. Jin led the way, following the trail toward the campsite.
"Look," Amelia said, pointing at the sky. "The Big Dipper."
Jin nodded. "And there's Cassiopeia."
They set up their tent, their fingers brushing as they secured the stakes. The fire crackled, casting shadows on their faces. Amelia pulled out her guitar, strumming a soft melody.
"Sing with me," she said.
And so, under the vast expanse of stars, they sang. Their voices blended—a harmony of longing and possibility. Jin watched Amelia, her eyes reflecting the constellations above.
"Amelia," he said, "I want to be more than friends."
She set the guitar aside, her gaze steady. "Jin, I've liked you since that meteor shower. But I was afraid to ruin our friendship."
He reached for her hand. "Maybe the stars aligned for a reason."
They kissed again, their lips tasting of marshmallows from the campfire. It was a promise—a shared secret beneath the Milky Way. Jin wondered if the gods were watching—the Chinese ones, the American ones, or maybe both.
As they lay side by side, wrapped in sleeping bags, Jin whispered, "Amelia, let's make this trip unforgettable."
She traced constellations on his arm. "Agreed. From now on, we'll have our own adventures."
And so, Jin and Amelia—the stargazers, the dreamers—fell asleep under the open sky. The forest whispered their names, and the stars winked, as if saying, "This is your story, written in constellations."
