Mirha’s POV
I enjoy being alone.
I enjoy midnight. Everything feels so calm and serene.
My name is Mirha White, and in two days, I’ll be eighteen years old.
I’m an orphan living at St. Stephen’s Orphanage.
This place has been my home ever since I was left here. It gave me a roof and food—nothing more, nothing less.
I lost my mother when I was around three. I don’t remember much, but Brenda, the head caretaker, once told me that my mother died of lung cancer.
She had no choice but to leave me behind.
All I have of her is a tiny silver pendant I always wear. When I open it, there's a small photo of me as a toddler and my birth date etched inside.
That pendant is all I have.
I know nothing about my father—not even his name. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. Maybe he never cared.
I let out a long sigh as I gaze up at the full moon. Reaching under my pillow, I pull out a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup—the one I secretly bought the other day when I was sent to run errands.
They’re my favorite.
Sometimes, when no food is left for me, this little candy fills my empty stomach.
But I never let anyone know I have it—if they found out, they'd just take it away… like they always do.
Sometimes, I feel like the most unfortunate girl in the world.
No one cares about me.
No one here wants to be my friend.
They say I’m cursed.
Cursed… for what?
For being quiet? For not being adopted? For simply existing?
They don’t understand me.
They mock me, whisper things behind my back—sometimes, even to my face.
Even the sisters who are supposed to care for us treat me like a servant. I’m made to do all their chores, day after day.
I want to speak up. I want to scream.
But I can’t. I’m not like them. I’m not loud. I’m not bold.
I stay quiet, eyes down, hands fidgeting with my pendant.
I’m shy. And because of that, they think I’m weak.
But I’m not entirely useless.
I’m good at studying. In fact, I just graduated high school with A grades in all subjects.
And… I received a full scholarship to New York University.
That’s my escape.
That’s the light at the end of my dark tunnel.
I wish someone were here to celebrate with me.
Sister Brenda might’ve been happy for me—if she were still around. But like my mother, she left me too.
We live in a small town near Kansas, and the idea of going to New York City feels like a dream. A real dream come true.
I’ve worked so hard to earn this scholarship. I’ve waited for this moment.
On my eighteenth birthday, I’ll finally leave.
Sister Maria is supposed to accompany me until I reach the university.
I’ve packed everything I own—my clothes, my documents—into one small backpack.
Now, all I do is wait for the day I can leave this place for good.
I want to be independent.
I want to build a new life.
I never want to come back here…
Two Days Later
I was ready.
Sister Maria stood waiting outside. I took one final glance at the orphanage before walking toward the cab.
Two hours later, we arrived at the airport.
It was my first time ever seeing one. I looked around, wide-eyed, soaking in everything like a child seeing magic for the first time.
“Stop behaving like a child,” Sister Maria snapped, glaring at me.
I quickly looked away.
When we boarded the plane, a flight attendant helped us with our seatbelts. I felt a nervous excitement building inside me.
It was a smooth flight. Or so I thought.
After about three hours, we were preparing to land. That’s when the turbulence started.
At first, it was just a jolt—strong enough to make people sit up and glance around.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Don’t panic, I told myself. Don’t think about those plane crash movies…
But then, the jolts became violent.
The plane lurched side to side. Overhead compartments flew open. Bags started falling.
Cries echoed around us—nervous laughter mixed with whispered prayers.
The pilot’s voice came on: we were just passing through an air pocket. Nothing serious.
But then… the cabin lights flickered.
And in the next moment, we were plunged into darkness.
The roaring engines, the hushed conversations—everything was swallowed by silence.
All I could hear was the eerie whooshing of the wings slicing through air.
And in that moment, I knew—something was terribly wrong.
Suddenly, the aircraft tilted.
Trolleys rolled violently. People screamed.
I saw Sister Maria beside me, clutching her rosary, lips moving in frantic prayer.
Then it happened.
A blast of fire erupted from the side, tearing away rows of seats.
Panic erupted. Screams filled the air as the plane plummeted. We were falling—fast and hard—toward the earth.
When I opened my eyes, I didn’t expect to feel anything. I thought I’d be… gone.
But pain seared through my body. Blood trickled across my arms. Glass was embedded in my skin.
My vision was blurred by smoke. The wreckage was crushing my chest, suffocating me.
And then—
A slow, terrifying drip drip drip echoed in my ears.
Fuel.
It was leaking. And any moment now, it could ignite.
That fear—the pure terror of death—forced me to move.
With every ounce of strength, I dragged myself away from the wreckage.
I didn’t look back.
A moment later, a thunderous explosion ripped through the crash site. The shockwave knocked the air out of me.
I was shaking. Broken. Barely alive.
But then—like a distant miracle—
I heard it.
The sweet, heavenly sound of sirens.
Fire trucks. Ambulances. Voices calling out.
Through my fading vision, I felt arms lift me gently.
I tried to stay awake.
But everything turned black.
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