Mid-Autumn was always for grown-ups too — we just have to sit down

Full moon night in his hometown. His mother calls from the yard, and the smell of pomelo drifts all the way into the back room. He says "coming" and doesn't move, thumb scrolling past one moon photo after another.

As a kid, he thought the Mid-Autumn Festival belonged to children: star lanterns, lion dances, mooncakes. Few people mention that long ago, the fifteenth night of the eighth month was a festival for adults — a feast laid out, tea poured, the moon watched together. His mother still keeps it that way. The feast is set in the yard, with one chair saved for him. The real moon is right outside the door. He's looking at it online.

For years now he's said the festival has gone flat. He doesn't crave the cakes, doesn't care about the lanterns. He assumed the festival had changed. But this year's moon is as round as it was when he was seven. He's the one who stopped sitting still long enough to look.

Back home, everyone is on their phone. His father does what he does every year: brews a pot of tea, pours a few cups, and sits out on the porch. The tea goes cold and no one comes out. His father doesn't call anyone, doesn't complain. He only wants someone to sit with.

Nothing big needs saying. Being there is enough for him.

This full moon, if you make it home, who will you sit down next to?