The first rays of morning filtered through the gaps in the rickety structure where Aya and her family lived. The children stirred one by one, their laughter breaking the dawn's stillness like birdsong. Aya was already awake, sitting cross-legged beside him, her small face turned toward the soft, brightening hues of the Celestines in the sky.
She hadn't said anything yet, and for once, her endless chatter was absent. Instead, her hands worked methodically on a thin strip of cloth, weaving tiny knots and loops. The air between them was peaceful, almost reverent, as if the Celestines themselves demanded silence for a moment.
Then, her voice broke the quiet, soft and thoughtful. "Mister, do you know how to make something beautiful out of nothing?" She held up the piece of cloth, revealing an intricate pattern of knots forming the shape of one of the Celestines—a circular cluster of intertwining lights. "Tanya taught me how to make this. She says it keeps us connected to the Celestines, even if we can't talk to them."
She placed the cloth gently in his lap and tilted her head, waiting for his response. He raised his bony fingers to touch the delicate weaving, careful not to snag the threads. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though acknowledging her gift with the gravity it deserved. Aya's smile widened, a mix of pride and happiness. "You like it, don't you? I knew you would."
For Aya, the Celestines were more than just lights in the sky—they were a source of hope, a reminder that even in a broken world, there was something constant and beautiful. "Do you want to know a secret?" she whispered, leaning closer as if the Celestines themselves might overhear.
She didn't wait for his nod, though he gave it anyway. "Sometimes, when I look at them for a long time, I feel like I can hear them singing. It's not like any song I've ever heard, though. It's… it's soft and warm, like a hug." Her voice faltered for a moment, and she glanced down at her hands. "I think it's their way of telling us that everything will be okay. That even if we're small and forgotten, they're still watching over us."
He watched her carefully, her small frame illuminated by the soft glow of the morning. Aya's innocence and belief in the Celestines were unshaken, a stark contrast to the harshness of the slum around her. And yet, her words held a quiet strength, an unyielding hope that seemed to breathe life into the desolate space they called home.
Aya stood abruptly, brushing the dirt from her knees. "Come on, mister," she said, her tone suddenly bright and commanding. "We've been sitting here for too long. Let's go somewhere special today." She grabbed his hand, her fingers curling around the gloved hand without hesitation, and tugged him to his feet.
She led him through the narrow, winding paths of the slum, her steps quick and purposeful. The older children called after her, asking where she was going, but she waved them off with a laugh. "I'll be back soon!" she shouted. "I'm showing mister something amazing!"
The two of them walked until the cramped structures of the slum began to thin out, replaced by patches of open ground littered with the remnants of a world long gone. Aya's steps slowed as they reached the base of a small hill. At its crest stood the skeletal remains of what might have once been a tower, its spire reaching toward the heavens as if in defiance of the decay around it.
"This is my favorite place," Aya said, her voice soft with reverence. She glanced up at him, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Come on, mister. You have to see it from the top."
The climb was steep and uneven, the ground littered with loose stones and twisted metal, but Aya moved with the ease of someone who had made this journey many times before. She glanced back occasionally to make sure he was following, her smile encouraging.
When they reached the top, the view stole what little breath he had. The Celestines dominated the sky, their light cascading over the land in waves of color. From this vantage point, the slum seemed small, its chaos muted by the glow of the celestial bodies above. Aya stood beside him, her hands on her hips, grinning with satisfaction.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said. "I come here whenever I feel sad or lonely. It makes me feel like… like I'm a part of something bigger. Like even if I'm just Aya, and I don't have anything special, I still matter."
She turned to him, her expression serious for once. "Do you ever feel like that, mister? Like you don't belong anywhere?"
Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He didn't respond, but his silence was answer enough. Aya nodded as if she understood, her gaze returning to the Celestines. "That's why I come here," she said softly. "Because when I look at them, I don't feel so alone."
For a long time, they stood there together, the silence between them filled only by the hum of the Celestines. Aya's hand found his gloved one again, her small fingers curling around his. "You belong here, too, mister," she said firmly. "With us. With me."
The Celestines climbed higher in the sky, burning brighter with each passing hour. Aya began to hum again, the same tuneless melody from before, but this time, there was something different about it. It was softer, gentler, as if she were trying to match the rhythm of the Celestines' light.
And as the colors shifted and danced above them, he felt something stir within him—a faint flicker of warmth, like the first spark of a fire long thought extinguished.
Aya looked up at him, her face glowing in the light. "Do you hear it, mister?" she whispered. "The song of the Celestines?"
For the first time, he thought he might.