Peter Pan

For years, you had made a wish on the second star to the right, dreaming of a day when you would escape the orphanage that had been your home since you were a child.

The caretakers never provided much information about your parents. “They passed away in a car accident.” “They were too young to raise you.” Their answers were always vague and unsatisfying.

As you wandered the familiar, dimly lit corridors of the old building, you could hear whispers from the younger children. They were likely spinning tales about why you, the oldest kid there, had yet to be adopted. The rumors didn’t bother you as much as the endless wait.

Tonight, like many others, you found yourself on your bed, flipping through the pages of a book you’d read so many times it had become a comfort. You sighed and gazed out the small window beside you, noticing the two brightest stars in the sky. You felt a pang of nostalgia and uncertainty as you contemplated making a wish—something you hadn’t done in ages.

You almost talked yourself out of it, feeling childish for hoping on a star at your age. But before you could fully dismiss the idea, a shadow darted past the window. Startled, you pushed open the window to investigate, only to be knocked back as the shadow whizzed into your room.

Moments later, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, the shadow now attached to a peculiar red-headed boy. He played a lively tune on a pan flute while you worked to sew the shadow back to him. He looked at you with a mix of curiosity and impatience.

“You talk too much,” he said, introducing himself as Peter. “Well, get on with it,” he added, shoving the foot of the shadow toward you. As you continued your task, his playful music filled the room, and you couldn’t help but wonder what had just entered your life.