I think I was six when I first looked up at the night sky and wondered what it would be like to leave this planet. I can't remember exactly what I was thinking at the time, but I do remember how it made me feel. The stars were so... still. So distant.

It felt like they were calling out to me. Maybe that sounds silly, but in my tiny six-year-old mind, I truly believed it. They weren't just random points of light; they were places. And I wanted to go there.

I remember sitting in the backyard, the cool grass tickling my legs, while my parents talked quietly on the porch. I could hear their voices, but the words didn't matter. I was too busy staring at the sky, trying to imagine what was up there.

"What are you looking at, Reina?" my mom asked, her voice soft as she came up behind me.

"The stars," I whispered, almost afraid to break the silence.

She sat down beside me, her arm gently wrapping around my shoulders. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

I nodded, but beauty wasn't what I was thinking about. No, I was wondering why we couldn't reach them. Why did they have to be so far away? Why was everyone okay with just looking at them?

"Mom," I said quietly, "do you think we could ever visit the stars?"

She chuckled lightly, her fingers brushing through my hair. "Maybe one day. But that's a long, long way from now. Right now, it's impossible."

Impossible. That word stuck with me. I didn't like it. I didn't want it to be true.

"But... why is it impossible?"

She paused, looking down at me like she was thinking of how to explain. "Well, we can go to space, but the stars are very far away. It would take thousands of years to get to even the closest one."

I frowned. I didn't understand everything about time and space yet, but the idea of something being impossible? That didn't sit well with me. "What if I try?" I asked, my voice more serious than a child's voice should be.

Mom smiled, but there was something behind her eyes—something like pity. "You're so smart, Reina. Maybe someday, people will find a way. But for now, we just enjoy looking at them."

For now? I didn't want "for now." I wanted "right now."

As Mom went back to the porch, I stayed there, staring at the stars again. I stretched my hand out, like I could touch them if I tried hard enough.

I want to go there, I thought. I want to see what's out there.

And that was the beginning. The beginning of a dream that would follow me for the rest of my life.

Over the next few years, my obsession with space grew. I didn't care much about other things—school, friends, even the toys that other kids loved. They just seemed boring compared to the idea of flying among the stars. I spent every spare minute reading about planets, stars, rockets—anything I could find.

My parents didn't understand why I didn't play with the other kids. "You should try to make friends, Reina," my dad would say. "It's important to be around people."

But I didn't care. I didn't need people. I had the universe.

One day, I was sitting in class, staring at the window, not really listening to the teacher. They were talking about something—maybe math? I wasn't sure. My mind was elsewhere.

"Reina?"

I blinked, snapping back to reality as I realized everyone was looking at me. The teacher, Mr. Tanaka, was standing right in front of me, his eyebrows raised.

"Sorry," I mumbled, sitting up straighter in my seat.

"I asked you a question," he said, his voice kind but firm. "Can you answer it?"

I had no idea what he'd asked, and I could feel my face turning red. I glanced down at my notebook, where I had been doodling spaceships instead of taking notes.

"The answer is... space?" I tried, hoping I wasn't completely off base.

The class burst into laughter, and I felt a sinking feeling in my chest. Mr. Tanaka shook his head, though he wasn't angry. "Not quite, Reina. We're talking about fractions, not outer space."

Fractions. Right. Of course. But the moment the laughter faded, I was back to thinking about space. The stars were so much more interesting than numbers.

That evening, after another long day of pretending to pay attention at school, I climbed up to the roof of our house. It was my favorite place to be, especially at night. Up there, no one could bother me. It was just me and the sky.

I lay back, letting the cool night air wash over me as the first stars began to appear. I thought about what my teacher had said. About how I should focus more, how I should pay attention like the other kids. But I didn't want to be like the other kids. I didn't care about the things they cared about.

All I wanted was to leave this world behind.

Someday, I told myself. Someday, I'll build a ship and leave. I'll go farther than anyone's ever gone. And when I get there, I'll see things no one else has seen.

I felt a strange sense of calm wash over me as I made that promise to myself. It didn't matter what anyone else thought. It didn't matter that people laughed when I talked about space. I knew what I wanted, and I was going to make it happen.

The stars were waiting for me.