A Lonely Child Of Space

Beginning of Everything

It all started with a small girl staring up at the stars.

Every night, she'd sit on the roof of her house, eyes locked onto the endless sky above. To her, the stars weren't just lights twinkling in the distance. They were places—each one a distant, unexplored world, calling out to her in a way no one else could. She didn't have many friends, or any, really. Not because people didn't like her, but because she didn't know how to talk to them. She was always shy, always unsure of how to act around others. So she'd stay quiet, keeping to herself. It was easier that way.

Her parents loved her, of course. They always told her she was special, that she could do anything she set her mind to. But they didn't understand her dreams. They didn't know why she'd spend hours reading books about the universe or learning everything there was to know about space.

Ever since she was little, she'd dreamed of leaving Earth. Of flying far, far away, into the stars. She didn't want to be stuck here, on this small planet, with all its noise and people and confusion. The sky was quiet. The stars were still. And that's where she wanted to be—alone, but free.

By the time she was ten, she had already read all the astronomy books in the local library. Physics, engineering, rocket science—she devoured it all, understanding things people her age weren't supposed to understand. It wasn't long before she was smarter than most of her teachers. They'd ask her questions, and sometimes, she'd just stare blankly, because the answers were so obvious to her. She didn't want to be rude, but it was hard to pretend she didn't already know.

At school, it was the same story. The other kids played games and hung out in groups, laughing and chatting. She stood on the sidelines, never quite fitting in. She didn't mind, though. She had her own world. And in her world, there were no cliques, no jokes she didn't get, no awkward conversations. Just the stars, and her endless curiosity.

Her parents started to worry about her. "Why don't you go outside more?" they'd say. "Why don't you try to make some friends?" But the girl would only smile and nod, pretending to agree. The truth was, she didn't need anyone else. She had space. She had her dream.

Years passed, and as she grew older, her dream only became clearer. She would leave Earth. She would go where no one had gone before. She would explore every inch of the universe, all on her own. The idea thrilled her, even if it scared her a little, too. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but that was part of the excitement. Challenges never bothered her. If anything, they made her more determined.

By the time she was a teenager, she had already built her first rocket engine. It was small and rough, made from scraps she'd found here and there, but it worked. When it launched into the sky, leaving a trail of smoke behind, her heart raced. This was it—the first step. She could feel it.

But building rockets in your backyard wasn't exactly normal. Her parents were proud of her skills, but they didn't know what to make of her obsession. They kept asking her if she wanted to go to college, to do something practical with her talents. But she had other plans, plans she kept secret, even from them.

When she wasn't studying, she was designing blueprints for a spaceship—a real one, capable of taking her beyond Earth's atmosphere. It started as sketches in her notebook, then evolved into complex designs on her computer. She calculated everything down to the tiniest detail: the fuel, the trajectory, the life support systems. She knew that if anyone saw her work, they'd call her crazy, maybe even dangerous. But she didn't care. This was her dream, and nothing was going to stop her.

And then, one quiet evening, it happened.

She stood on her roof again, like she always did, staring up at the stars. But this time was different. The usual peace she felt was replaced with a deep, aching restlessness. It was like something inside her had snapped. She couldn't wait anymore. She had to go. Now.

That night, she made up her mind. She would leave Earth. She'd finish her spaceship, gather everything she needed, and take off—alone, into the vast unknown. She didn't tell anyone, not even her parents. She knew they wouldn't understand. They'd try to stop her, tell her she was too young, too inexperienced, too reckless. But she wasn't afraid. She was ready.

And so, she worked in secret, for months, late into the night. Every day after school, she'd disappear into her workshop, building, tweaking, perfecting her ship. It wasn't easy. There were setbacks, failures, and nights where she felt like giving up. But every time doubt crept in, she'd look up at the stars, and the fire inside her would reignite.

Finally, after what felt like forever, her spaceship was finished. It wasn't fancy or big, but it was enough. Enough to take her away from Earth, to the places she'd dreamed about since she was a little girl.

On the night of the launch, she snuck out of her house, carrying only a small backpack with the essentials: food, water, a few personal items. She knew she might never come back, but she wasn't sad. Earth wasn't her home. The stars were.

She climbed into her ship, her heart pounding with excitement. The control panel lit up, the engines roared to life, and before she knew it, she was soaring into the sky, leaving everything behind.

As the Earth grew smaller and smaller beneath her, she felt a strange mix of emotions—relief, excitement, and a touch of fear. But mostly, she felt free. For the first time in her life, she wasn't just dreaming about the stars. She was among them.

And so, her journey began.

She was alone in the vastness of space, but she didn't feel lonely. Not yet, anyway. There was too much to see, too much to explore. And somewhere, out there in the endless cosmos, she knew she'd find what she was looking for.

Whatever that was.