Mei never understood why grief felt so heavy. It was as if her whole body had turned to lead, and each step she took was a struggle to lift herself from the ground. It had been six months since her father passed, and the world hadn’t stopped for even a moment to let her catch her breath. The same routine, the same bus rides, the same emptiness. She thought she’d feel better by now, but every corner of their little house reminded her of him—especially his room. One rainy afternoon, while she was clearing out his things, she found an old, leather-bound journal wedged between two dusty books. The journal felt warm in her hands, its cover smooth and worn, as though it had been held and opened countless times. Her fingers traced the faint initials J.H. , her father's name, before she flipped it open to the first page. In bold, loopy handwriting, the words "Stars to Visit" stared back at her. Beneath the title, there was a list: The Warm Sea The Quiet Mountain The Blooming Gar...