"A brand new day for adventure!", Ae-cha exclaimed. "We're going to the skate park today, and I have brand new roller-skates. They're sunny yellow and have cat stickers on them!"

Soon after, her father came downstairs.

"We've made some changes to today's plans. I need to drop off some mail and do the laundry, so we won't be going to the skate park today."

Ae-cha gasped in shock. "But you promised!"

He tried to reassure her. "We can go next week."

"But next week is so far away! I wanted to try my new roller-skates today!", Ae-cha whined.

He tried to explain. "I'm so sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it right now."

Ae-cha hated errands.

They were always slow and boring and she was never allowed to buy what she wanted to buy. On that bright Saturday morning, she trailed behind her father through the outdoor market, counting the cracks between stones and pretending they were rivers she had to jump over. Her rollerskates in her backpack bumped softly against her back with every step, a reminder of where she really wanted to be.

The skatepark was only three streets away. She could almost hear it—the clack of wheels, the scrape of boards on concrete, the shouts of kids landing tricks.

Her father stopped to inspect a stand of oranges, leaning in to talk with the vendor. Ae-cha slowed, then slowed a little more. Her fingers tightened around her bag.

Just a minute, she told herself. Just a look.

She slipped sideways into the crowd, heart thumping like she was already skating downhill.

The streets opened up as she ran, sunlight flashing off shop windows. When the skatepark came into view, Ae-cha laughed out loud. It was alive—kids flying down ramps, music spilling from a tinny speaker, chalk drawings on the concrete like secret maps.

She strapped on her skates and pushed off.

Fear vanished the moment her wheels rolled. She carved around a curve, hopped a small ledge, nearly wiped out—and saved it at the last second. A few older kids nodded at her. One even cheered.

Ae-cha tried something new, something she’d been practicing in her head for weeks. She missed the landing, skidded, and ended up sitting on the ground, laughing at herself. Her palms stung, but she felt proud anyway.

Then she noticed the time.

Her stomach sank.

She pulled off her skates and sprinted back, every step heavier than the last. When she reached the market, her father was there, scanning the crowd—worried, relieved, and a little stern all at once.

“Ae-cha,” he said, pulling her into a hug before she could speak. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I just—wanted to skate. Just for a bit.”

He sighed, then looked at the bag under her arm. “Next time,” he said, “you tell me. Adventures are better when people know where you are.”

Ae-cha nodded, cheeks warm. But as they walked home together, her legs still buzzing from speed and sunlight, she smiled.

She’d had her adventure.

And next time, she’d bring it with her instead of slipping away.

Ae‑cha woke up early the next morning, long before her alarm. Her legs still hummed with the memory of yesterday’s skating, and her palms tingled where she’d scraped them. She held them up to the light—tiny red marks, nothing serious. Proof of bravery, she decided.

Downstairs, her father was already at the kitchen table, sipping tea and reading the newspaper. He looked up when she entered.

“Morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”

“Mm‑hmm,” Ae‑cha replied, pouring herself cereal. She waited for the lecture she half‑expected—about responsibility, about staying close, about not running off.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, her father folded the paper and said, “I was thinking… maybe after lunch, we could go to the skatepark together. You can show me what you’ve been practicing.”

Ae‑cha nearly dropped her spoon. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really. I want to see what you love.”

Her heart soared. She tried to play it cool, but her grin gave her away. The skatepark was quieter on Sundays. A few kids practiced tricks on the far side, and chalk drawings from the day before still decorated the concrete—dragons, stars, a giant smiling octopus.

Ae‑cha strapped on her skates while her father watched from a bench, arms crossed but expression soft.

She pushed off, gliding into the familiar rhythm. The wind tugged at her hair, and the world blurred into motion. She hopped the small ledge again—clean landing this time—and circled back, proud.

Her father clapped. “Nice!”

She felt ten feet tall. That’s when she noticed someone new.

A girl about her age stood at the top of the biggest ramp, a bright green helmet gleaming in the sun. She held a skateboard under one arm, tapping her foot nervously. Her dark hair was braided with neon ribbons, and she wore mismatched socks—one striped, one covered in tiny cartoon cats.

Ae‑cha skated closer.

“You going down?” she asked.

The girl startled, then laughed awkwardly. “I’m trying. I’ve only done it once. And that time I screamed the whole way.”

Ae‑cha grinned. “Screaming helps.”

The girl smiled back. “I’m Min‑seo.”

“Ae‑cha.” Min‑seo set her board down, toes trembling on the edge. “Okay. Okay. I can do this.”

Ae‑cha nodded encouragingly. “I’ll go after you.”

Min‑seo took a breath, pushed off—and zoomed down the ramp, wobbling wildly but staying upright. She reached the bottom and threw her hands up triumphantly.

“I didn’t scream!” she shouted.

Ae‑cha cheered and followed her down, wheels singing against the concrete. They met in the middle, breathless and laughing.

“You’re good,” Min‑seo said.

“You’re brave,” Ae‑cha replied.

They skated together for the next hour—racing, practicing turns, comparing bruises like badges. Ae‑cha’s father watched them with a thoughtful expression, as if seeing something new in his daughter.

Eventually, Min‑seo plopped onto the ground, panting. “I come here a lot,” she said. “My mom works weekends, so I’m usually on my own. You should come more too.”

Ae‑cha hesitated. “I want to. But… yesterday I kind of ran off without telling my dad. I got in trouble.”

Min‑seo nodded sympathetically. “Parents worry. Mine texts me every hour.”

Ae‑cha laughed. “Mine might start doing that.”

Min‑seo leaned back on her hands. “Well, if you ever want someone to skate with, I’m here. And I can teach you how to drop in on the big ramp. If you want.”

Ae‑cha’s stomach fluttered. The big ramp was legendary. Terrifying. Amazing.

“I want,” she said.

Min‑seo grinned. “Then we’ll do it. Together.”

Ae‑cha glanced toward her father. He waved at her, smiling.

For the first time, she felt like her two worlds—home and adventure—weren’t fighting each other. They were meeting in the middle, like two skaters rolling toward the same point.

And she couldn’t wait to see where they’d go next.