Hazel pulled up the art hall and killed the engine of her car, looking around the deserted parking lot, and then reaching for her phone. She didn’t want to be there. She wanted to be home, choreographing. She wanted to be away from that damn art hall, but she knew this was important to her parents.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. Slowly, she looked down at it and noted that the caller ID said Piper. Piper was Hazel’s closest friend. They’d known each other since grade 2, when a student made fun of the fact that Hazel’s parents were white and she was not. At the time, Piper had handled the situation by telling an adult, which ended up getting her bullied as well. For years, it was just the two of them against the world, and they kept it that way. Even now, they were planning on moving into an apartment together, since they’d just graduated and were on their way to University.

Hazel slid the green on her phone and pressed it to her ear, sighing. “I’m coming, I swear I just… am taking my time.”

Piper laughed. “Liar. Get your in here before I start telling everyone that your sculpture was made by a blind nun.”

“I’m coming.” Hazel said, ending the call and climbing out of her car. She knew Piper wouldn’t say anything, she was too shy to speak so freely in front of a crowd, but it was the thought that counted in Piper’s funny way of getting Hazel to join her. She walked to the doors of the hall, and looked inside. There were thousands of people already. It wasn’t just her doing an exhibition in the hall, there were other artists, so it wasn’t a surprise that there were so many people, however, it made Hazel nervous.

What the hell was she supposed to say to them? What were they going to ask her about her piece? The same dumb questions they always did, she figured. What inspired your work? Who taught you? Are you a protege? Your parents must not like your talent, what with it bringing in so little money. It drove her insane. They were all wrong. She wasn’t inspired, she was half forced. No one taught her, it just happened. She was a protege, but in a different subject entirely. Her parents were the only reason she sculpted or painted, and it did bring in money.

Money she wasn’t even proud to make.

She in a breath and opened the door. Already, she could see her sculpture. There were quite a few of them, more than Hazel was hoping would be standing there. Piper was waiting among the crowd. Piper was wearing a charming green dress, which drew the red of her hair from it’s brown tone, and intensified her brown eyes. She turned towards the door and smiled at Hazel, as if she’d felt her approaching, and started towards her, her black heels clicking on the floor as she did so. “It’s incredible how many people love your artwork, especially when you hate it so much.”

Hazel gave her a half smile. “Yeah, that’s typically how it works, right? Angry art? Starving artist?”

“You aren’t starving.” Piper laughed. “You should look around though, for sure. There are some incredible works here.” She said, winking. “My favorite has to be the paintings though.”

Piper had a thing for colors. Paintings were kind of like photos, and Piper loved photography, so it didn’t surprise Hazel that the paintings were her favorite. “Well then, let’s take a look, shall we?” She asked, holding her arm out to her friend. Piper smiled and looped her arm with Piper, and they started towards the painting section of the displays.

There were a few that could only be described as a few on an otherwise white easel, but one drew Hazel’s attention immediately. It looked like a picture, but Hazel could see the marks. A tree was displayed in the image, with a thick trunk and short branches that had needle like brush. It was in dull color, and the corner of a roof was all that could be seen other than the tree and the mountains behind it.

It was breath taking.

“It’s of my childhood home,” A girl’s voice said, startling Hazel. She turned to see a woman who was a bit older than her smiling brightly. She had dark hair that was pulled into a bun, much like Hazel’s. She had plain features, and a sharp chin. “The tree was the only thing my mother could get growing in our yard.”

Hazel turned back to the picture. “It’s beautiful,” She said, noting that the roof shape and shingling looked like that from a feudal era. “You said this was your childhood home?”

The woman nodded. “Yes. It was a traditional Hanok. It’s been in my family for generations,” She said, inching closer to the painting. “It was to be mine, but I rent it to my brother, since I live here, in New York.”

“Where is this house?” Hazel asked.

The woman’s brow furrowed. “You don’t recognize a Hanok?” She asked, and Hazel turned to her, her own brow furrowed, her lips parting to ask her why she would, when a voice interrupted.

“Hazel!” Her mother shouted, and both Hazel and the woman turned. “There you are!” She said, pulling her daughter into a hug, even though they’d only been separated for a few moments. “Your sculpture is absolutely awe inspiring! So many people are asking to bid!”

Hazel nodded. “That’s great. Can I, uh, meet you over there in a few moments?” Her mother eyed her, confused, but nodded and started away from her, talking instead to Piper. “What?” Hazel asked, turning towards the woman.

She nodded. “You’re adopted. I see now.” She said, shaking her head. “I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“You don’t know much about your birthplace do you?” She asked, and Hazel made a face. “Did your parents not introduce you to Korean culture?”

Hazel frowned. “How did you know I was Korean?”

“It’s clear in the way you look, the way you present yourself. You may have been raised here, but,” The woman pet just above Hazel’s chest. “Our culture always stays here. You, my dear, are in need of returning home.” She smiled. ‘It will really open your eyes. One should always connect with their own culture. How old are you?”

Hazel was shocked, but answered with a simple “17.”

The woman nodded. “Then it’s high time you were on your way.”

Lena sat in