By the time I was nine, I had already learned more about the universe than most people would in their entire lives. It wasn't that I didn't like other subjects—I did, sort of—but everything I studied, everything I learned, I bent it toward my one goal: the stars.
Every day after school, I'd lock myself in my room with stacks of books. Books about astronomy, physics, rocket science, engineering—whatever I could get my hands on. I didn't tell anyone what I was doing. It was my secret, my dream, and I wasn't ready to share it with anyone. Not even my parents.
"Reina, what are you reading all the time?" my mom would ask, poking her head into my room. She'd smile at me like she was proud but also a little confused. "You should go outside more, you know. It's not good to stay inside all day."
I'd always shrug and give her the same answer. "Just homework, Mom."
She'd nod, satisfied, but I could tell she didn't really understand. And I liked it that way. I didn't want her to know what I was up to. It wasn't that I didn't trust her—it was just... this was my thing. My dream. And I was afraid if I talked about it too much, it would lose its magic.
At school, things were different. The other kids weren't mean to me or anything, but I was... different. I didn't fit in. While they played and joked during recess, I'd sit by myself, flipping through pages of whatever book I'd borrowed from the library. They'd glance at me sometimes, but no one really asked what I was doing. I think they knew better.
In class, I was the quiet one. I'd sit in the back, listening but never raising my hand, never joining in on the discussions. It wasn't that I didn't know the answers—I did. But I didn't see the point in speaking up. Most of the time, the topics we covered were things I'd already learned on my own.
And when it came to astronomy, well... I knew more than the teachers.
One day, Mr. Tanaka brought in a big poster of the solar system. It was colorful, with all the planets neatly labeled, their orbits drawn in smooth, curving lines. The other kids were excited, chatting about how cool space was and which planet they thought was the best.
I remember sitting there, staring at the poster, and thinking, This is all wrong.
"Does anyone know which planet is the biggest?" Mr. Tanaka asked, holding up a pointer and waving it in the direction of the poster.
A few hands shot up, and I could hear some kids whispering. "It's Jupiter!" one boy called out, his face beaming with pride.
Mr. Tanaka smiled. "That's right. Jupiter is the largest planet in our solar system." He turned back to the poster, but I couldn't help myself. My hand shot up before I even knew what I was doing.
"Yes, Reina?" he asked, looking surprised. I rarely spoke in class, so I guess it caught him off guard.
"The poster's wrong," I said quietly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
The room went silent. Mr. Tanaka frowned, and I could feel the eyes of the entire class on me. "What do you mean?" he asked, a little confused.
I swallowed, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. "The distances. They're not accurate. The planets are way too close to each other. If this were a real scale, the distances between the planets would be much larger."
For a second, there was dead silence. Then, some kids started giggling, and I felt my face heat up. Mr. Tanaka, though, didn't laugh. He just smiled at me, like he understood what I was getting at. "That's a good point, Reina. This poster is just to help visualize the solar system, but you're right. The actual distances between the planets are much greater."
I nodded, sinking back into my seat, trying to ignore the whispers and snickers from the other kids. I hadn't meant to show off, but I couldn't help it. It was so obvious to me, and I just... I had to say something.
That night, after dinner, I went back to my room and pulled out the book I was reading. It was an old one I'd found at a secondhand shop—a thick, dusty thing with faded pages. It was called The Wonders of the Universe, and it had everything: the history of astronomy, the physics of black holes, even theories about other life in the galaxy. I'd read it cover to cover at least three times, but every time, I found something new that fascinated me.
As I flipped through the pages, I thought about school. About how no one else seemed to care about the things I cared about. I didn't really blame them—they had their own lives, their own interests. But sometimes, I wondered what it would be like if I could share this with someone. Someone who understood.
But that thought never lasted long. This was my journey. I didn't need anyone else.
Late that night, when the house was quiet and my parents were asleep, I climbed up to the roof again. It was the only place where I felt completely at peace. Just me, the sky, and the stars.
I lay back, staring up at the darkness. The stars blinked down at me, like they were keeping my secret. And maybe they were. I knew I couldn't tell anyone about my dream, not yet. People would think it was impossible. They'd tell me I was just a kid, that I didn't know what I was talking about.
But I knew better. I knew that one day, I would leave this planet. I would build a ship, fly out into the stars, and see things no one had ever seen before. I'd travel to distant galaxies, discover new worlds, and maybe... just maybe, I wouldn't feel so alone out there.
I closed my eyes, letting the cool night breeze wash over me. The stars were waiting. And I would be ready when the time came.
Someday, I thought, drifting off to sleep. Someday, I'll leave this world behind.