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Chapter 1 – Broken Chapters
Airs never believed in fate. Because if fate was real, it wouldn’t have made her live 19 years without a single person to love her.
She walked along the roadside, hugging her coat tighter.
Aira
“I don’t want to be dramatic,” she thought bitterly, “but maybe some people just weren’t meant to be loved.”
I don’t know when I stopped expecting anything from life.
Maybe it was after the third foster home.
Maybe after the tenth birthday no one remembered.
Or maybe… maybe I never started hoping at all.
My boots slapped against the wet pavement, each step echoing louder than the last. The street was nearly empty, just the occasional hiss of passing cars or a dog barking far in the distance. A breeze tugged at my coat, but I didn’t bother holding it tighter.
Cold didn’t bother me anymore.
Loneliness did.
And yet, I was used to it.
Aira
Everyone always says, “You’ll find your people.”
“There’s someone out there for everyone.”
Cute lies wrapped in glittery paper.
People like me don’t get that kind of love. We get scraps—if anything.
I kept walking. Streetlight after streetlight blinked above me like they were watching. Pitying me.
I laughed.
Soft. Bitter. Ugly.
Aira
“What a mess. Look at me—nineteen, no family, no friends, not even someone who’d miss me if I vanished.”
“I don’t even have a damn cat.”
I should be angry. Crying. Screaming at the sky or something dramatic.
But all I felt was tired.
Tired of waking up every day to nothing.
Tired of pretending I was okay with being no one.
A couple passed me on the sidewalk, laughing. Holding hands.
I looked away before the lump in my throat grew too heavy.
Aira
“I don’t want much. Just… someone.”
“Someone to ask if I’ve eaten.”
“Someone to say they’re proud of me.”
“Someone to hold me when the world feels too loud.”
Was that really too much?
My hands dug deeper into my coat pockets, knuckles cold.
Maybe some people were born to be extras in everyone else’s story.
Maybe I was never meant to be loved.
Maybe I was just—
SCREECH.
A flash of headlights.
A horn.
Too fast.
Too late.
My breath caught.
Pain—sharp, sudden, unbearable—ripped through my side.
The ground rushed up to meet me.
I hit it hard. The air left my lungs.
People shouted.
Footsteps ran.
But all I could think was—
Aira
“I’m dying.”
“And no one’s holding my hand.”
“I’m going to die… unloved.”
“Maybe that’s all I ever deserved.”
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