As she walked home, the snow was cracking under Aira’s feet like broken glass. She had just returned from her reading session at the library that evening. As her way of escaping the harsh reality of her life and the lonely coldness of her home, she often spent time at the library, immersed in fantasy worlds.

After a whole day of only reading, she cooked one pack of the instant noodles that she preciously kept in her kitchen cabinet. She still had one but left it for the next day.

While waiting for the noodles to cook she noticed the book on the desk near her bed.

“I have to return this and file a complaint,” she mouthed in a low voice, releasing a long sigh.

Aira let herself fall on the bed, staring at the ceiling, no thoughts running through her head, like a lifeless potato. She then went on to search for pleasant memories in her mind.

Her head hit the pillow, slipping into a deep slumber.

Her parents passed away too early. Perhaps as a consequence of loneliness and due to the lack of friends, she began dreaming at night of a boy her age. The two would talk and play happily like the closest siblings, in a beautiful garden, full of colorful daisies.

Those recurring dreams became Aira’s escape. The boy showered her with love, which her extended family failed or rather refused to offer.

In the comfort of that sanctuary, she experienced magic for the first time, so overwhelming that everything her eyes witnessed, and her skin touched, still lingered on each morning once she woke up.

Just, several years down the line, she gradually became unable to dream about the garden or the boy. The only things left in the end were memories of that dream.

From then onward, Aira struggled to hold onto the moments she had spent with him to ensure that she did not lose her only way of surviving and coping in a loveless home.

With time, her memories scattered like dust in the wind, leaving her with but a vague image of that unearthly realm and the name she gave the boy.

“Ria,” she let the name slip through her trembling lips. Curled into a fetal position, Aira furrowed her brows, her body shaking under the blanket because of the cold.

When the clock struck twelve and the moon struck the window glass with its gentle rays, she heard a noise, an object falling, not that she had many in that cramped, lonely apartment. With her eyes barely open, she rushed to the kitchen where the noise seemed to have come from. She then saw the silhouette of a skinny, yet tall man scouring through the cabinets.

“What the…! Hey! What are you doing?” she shouted when she saw the pack of instant noodles in one of his hands.

The lights were off but she could still see clearly in the moonlight, then, with no brain cells in her head and no danger awareness, she rushed to grab the meal she preciously saved for the next day.

“That’s mine, you piece of shit! Give it back!” she yelled, extending her hand to take her food back.

“It’s mine now, bitch! Let it go!”  The thief struggled, trying to make the pack his at any cost.

“You’re in my house, you bastard. I paid for this. Give it back!”

Aira, seeing that she was unable to take back the precious food and there were no objects she could use to hit him, grabbed the man by his dirty, greasy hair. The noodles thief screamed in pain, but Aira had no intention of removing her hands, alternating between pulling his hair or his ears, and kicking him where it hurt more.

The fight lasted for a few minutes, none of them giving up on that pack of instant noodles, as if their lives depended on it, from one room to another until they reached the living room, where the door to the balcony unexpectedly pried wide open.

The thief pushed Aira with the little strength he had, even though his stomach gave clear signals of hunger and suffering pain from Aira’s kicks, his arms having barely any muscles on due to malnutrition.

Aira immediately stood up, but the thief pushed her again. As skinny as she was, the rusty old railing gave in under her weight.

The moon was brighter than usual, a brightness Aira never had the time to watch in her twenty years of life for more than a passing glance. As her consciousness began to fade and her eyes barely stayed open, the shadow of a strange, cloaked man approached her with slow, yet heavy steps.

“If you had a second chance, what would your greatest wishes be?” he asked, glancing at her with fiery eyes as he stopped.

“If I had… a second… chance… I would never bow… to anyone. But … I would still like a family to love me… preciously,” she cried. "And… I wish to be… strong and… fuc… extremely rich!”

She stressed the words ‘extremely rich’ with her teeth clenched, furrowing her eyebrows. The man did not know whether she furrowed them due to pain or if her wish to be rich was too ardent.

“What an honest person! Be it as you wish!” The corners of his mouth slowly twitched upwards, then he placed a book with blank pages on her chest. “This is for you to write. Do not let anyone’s pen touch the pages of your life anymore!”

The man disappeared, leaving behind Aira’s cold, lifeless body on the pavement, at the back of the alley.

Rain, colder than her body, suddenly poured from the sky. She could no longer feel it pressing on her skin through the wet clothes. Her eyes were completely closed, and nobody would have guessed whether she cried in her final moments or not, as the rain had long washed everything on her face.

Aira’s soul wandered in darkness for a long time, a darkness she was already used to. As she walked and walked, a light the size of a plum appeared in the distance.

She reluctantly continued walking towards it, not because she was afraid, but because she was too used to the murkiness she lived in, and any little piece of light she tried to reach for when she was alive, was stolen from her every time.

Pleasant memories of the moments she spent with Ria flashed through her consciousness. That light then felt more and more familiar to the feeling she had whenever she was with him - a sense of belonging.

She resumed her steps slowly, still reluctant, but drawn to that light.

In the center of it, she found a girl, around fifteen or more. She could not see her face clearly at the beginning, but everything below her neck was clear to her eyes. Covered in bruises to the toes, her long dark silky hair flowed onto the cold ground over her bony shoulders like a waterfall while she sat.

When the girl smiled, although she could barely see it, Aira strangely felt like it was her first time doing so. She tried to remember whether she, herself, ever smiled as genuinely.

The girl’s bruises reminded her of herself when she was a child, often beaten by her uncle, aunt, and cousins, sometimes even starving for two or three days for simply asking to use the shower.

All those memories overwhelmed her. She saw a silent copy of herself in front of her, like a mirror, reflecting her at her worst.

But the girl extended her hand, which Aira took without a second thought. When their skin touched, a silent explosion of light took place, covering them wholly.

Author notes:

QUIZ:

What would you do if you received a second chance?

A. Take dancing classes.

B. Find a martial arts teacher on a lonely mountain and secretly learn from them how to fight your bullies, become a martial arts teacher yourself, open a school then take in students to teach them how to dance.

C. Be as lazy as possible and care about nothing.

AIRA: