Voices of the universe (english edition)

Amidst the infinite silence of nothingness, long before time and space had any meaning, the universe begins. An unimaginably small dot, heavier than anything imaginable, expands in a colossal event. Explosions of energy and light spread, the first building blocks of existence emerge. Nebulae dance through space, a symphony of chaos and order. Gravity intervenes, an invisible conductor directing the wild concert.

The first galaxies form, luminous spirals of billions of stars revolving around invisible centers. They are vast, yet only tiny drops in an endless ocean of darkness. In one of these galaxies, in one of the countless arms of the Milky Way, the birth of a special solar system begins. Gas and dust swirl around each other, attract each other, collide, merge, and form a young sun. All around them, planets form from bubbling matter, each unique, each a little mystery.

One of these planets would later be called Earth. At first, it was a fiery sphere, an inferno of lava and steam, illuminated by the light of its young sun. But over time, it cooled, water accumulated, and the first oceans formed. Deep in these primordial seas, at hot springs, in the darkness, life emerged. It was in this very place, and at this very time, that it began to pulsate. It began tiny, little more than simple molecules capable of replicating. But this life possessed an unbridled power: the ability to change, to adapt, to evolve.

Over millions of years, plants and animals evolved in a diversity that filled the planet. Forests expanded, mountains rose, rivers meandered through valleys, and countless species of living beings populated this world. Finally, from this diversity emerged a being capable of thinking, dreaming, and asking questions: the human being.

Viewed from space, Earth appears peaceful. A blue-green sphere. Shrouded in white bands of clouds, it floats silently in the darkness. Yet on its surface, life simmers. Forests rustle in the wind, animals roam the wilderness, and people, living in harmony with nature, tell stories around the campfire, dream of the stars, and search for their place in the universe.

In a corner of the world, in a small, sleepy town near the vast plains of Dallas, Texas, Janie sits at her window. It’s a summer evening, and the air is heavy with the scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. The sky is clear, and the moon hangs like a silver balloon over the landscape. The stars, countless and sparkling, form patterns that Janie has known since childhood—yet discovers anew each time.

Janie is twelve years old, a curious, bright girl with a love of books and adventure. Her room is filled with things that reflect her interests: a shelf full of books about astronomy, biology, and stories of brave explorers; a small telescope that her father gave her last Christmas; and drawings of constellations that she made herself, which hang on the walls.

Max, her old Labrador, lies stretched out at her feet, occasionally raising his head at a distant sound. Janie absentmindedly strokes his fur, her eyes still staring at the sky. She can’t help but feel small as she watches the stars. The universe is so unimaginably vast, she thinks, and yet here she is—a tiny dot in the midst of it all.

“How big must it be?” she murmurs softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “And is there anyone out there who thinks the same way I do?” Her question remains unanswered, but she senses she’s not alone. The thought that other worlds might exist somewhere out there, perhaps even life, fills her with a mixture of awe and excitement.

Outside the window, the small town spreads out in its typical tranquility. The streetlights cast soft light on the deserted sidewalks. Crickets chirp in the tall grass, and every now and then, Janie hears the distant roar of a motorcycle cruising down the main street. The world seems so peaceful, so simple. And yet, Janie feels that beneath the surface of this small town, indeed beneath the surface of her own life, lies something much greater.

“Maybe I’m like a star,” she thinks. “A tiny dot in the universe, but with a story of its own.” It’s a thought that gives her courage. Sometimes she feels out of place at school, as if she doesn’t fit into the world others have designed for her. But here, under the starry sky, she feels a connection to something beyond her imagination.

Max raises his head as Janie’s mother calls from downstairs: “Janie, come down! It’s time for dinner!”

But Janie stays seated a moment longer. Her hand rests on Max’s head, and her eyes continue to scan the sky. It’s as if she’s trying to find an answer in the stars, confirmation that the universe sees her, that she matters—even if she’s just a little girl in a small Texas town.

“I’ll be right there!” she finally calls, slowly rising. But before she closes the window, she takes one last look out. “Maybe there really is someone out there,” she thinks. “Maybe I’m not alone.”

She smiles, a small, contented smile that only she can understand. Then she closes the window, takes Max by the leash, and goes downstairs. The universe can wait, she thinks. Tonight, she is a twelve-year-old girl, and life, in all its complexity and beauty, is right here with her.

Janie sits at the dining table while her parents talk to her. Her mother, a warm-hearted woman with dark curls, looks at her, her brow slightly frowning. Her father, tall and with rough hands from work, leans back and folds his arms. On the table between them is a simple plate with leftover mashed potatoes and fried chicken, which Janie has barely touched.

“Janie, honey,” her mother begins cautiously, “we’re worried about you.”

Janie looks up. Her eyes are large and alert, a soft brown that seems to be asking what she did wrong this time.

“Why?” she asks.

“You’re constantly in your thoughts,” her father says, shaking his head slightly. “You stare at the stars, write in your notebook, and sometimes it seems like you’re not even really here.”

“I’m here,” Janie protests. She pushes her plate slightly aside. “I’m talking to you. I’m eating with you. I’m here.”

“That’s true, dear,” her mother says, gently placing her hand on Janie’s. “But you also need to be a little more in the here and now. You can’t just dream all the time.”

“Why not?” Janie asks. Her voice rises, a hint of frustration lingering. “What’s so bad about dreaming?”

“Because the world isn’t made up of dreams,” her father replies, a little sharper this time. “You have to focus on school, prepare for life. You can’t spend your whole life making things up.”

Janie bites her lip. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion. She understands that her parents only want the best for her, but they can’t fathom what’s going on in her head. To them, the stars are just stars, far away and intangible. For Janie, they’re something much bigger: a promise, a secret to be discovered.

“Maybe the world is made up of dreams,” she murmurs, looking at her hands.

Her father sighs and shakes his head, while her mother forces a smile.

“It’s okay to dream sometimes,” she says more gently. “But don’t forget that life happens here, with us, on Earth. Do you understand that?”

Janie nods, but in her heart she knows she doesn’t understand—and maybe doesn’t want to.

After dinner, she sneaks back to her room. Max follows her, his paws making soft taps on the wooden floorboards. Janie closes the door and leans against it for a moment, relieved to be alone again. The familiar scent of her room—a mix of wood, paper, and the hint of lavender her mother sometimes sprays—calms her.

She sits down at her desk and picks up her notebook. It’s a thick, leather-bound book she inherited from her grandmother. The pages are slightly yellowed, but to Janie, it’s a treasure. She opens it and flips through the first few pages, which are full of notes, sketches of constellations, and scraps of thoughts.

With a pencil in her hand she begins to write.

Why am I here? Why do I exist? Sometimes I wonder if the universe has a plan for me. I’m just a little girl in a small town, but when I look up at the stars, I feel connected to something bigger. Maybe there’s someone out there who feels the same way I do. Someone who also lies awake at night wondering why things are the way they are.

She pauses, staring at her words. Max nudges her with his nose, and she gently strokes his head.

“What do you think, Max?” she asks quietly. “Am I really that special? Or am I just... small?”

Max doesn’t answer, but his warm breath somehow comforts her. She closes her notebook and puts her pen down. Her gaze wanders to the window, and the clear night sky draws her in again. It’s as if the stars are calling to her, their small, twinkling lights like guideposts in an endless darkness.

That night, Janie dreams. It’s a strange dream, one that feels more real than being awake.

She stands in the middle of a vast, dark space that stretches in all directions. The stars are everywhere, so close she can almost reach out and touch them. A feeling of lightness floods her, and when she looks down, she notices that her feet are no longer touching the ground. She’s floating.

“This is incredible,” she murmurs, laughing softly with joy. Her voice echoes through the expanse.

Suddenly, she begins to move. It’s not flying in the traditional sense—she simply thinks about moving forward, and her body follows her will. She floats past stars whose glowing surfaces she can feel even though she doesn’t touch them. Past nebulae glowing in colors she’s never seen before. The galaxy stretches out before her, an infinite spiral of light and darkness.

“This is the Milky Way,” she whispers. Her eyes are wide open, the colors and shapes taking her breath away. “I’m really here.”

Suddenly, a bright beam of light appears before her, and she is drawn into it. For a moment, she feels as if she’s falling, but then the space opens up before her again, and she sees the galaxy from the outside. It’s smaller than she ever imagined, yet so majestic. A glowing spiral of stars, gas clouds, and darkness.

“Is that really all?” she asks into the empty space. “Or is there more?”

A deep, warm voice answers, although no one is visible.

“There’s always more, Janie. You are part of something infinite, and yet you yourself are infinite.”

“But how can I be that?” she asks. “I’m just a girl.”

“Every spark of light, every thought, every question is part of the whole,” says the voice. “You too are a shining star. Born from the dust of the stars, to which you will one day return.”

The words fill Janie with a feeling she can’t describe. It’s as if she truly understands for the first time that she isn’t alone—that her dreams, her thoughts, her questions are all part of a greater whole.

When she wakes up, her room is filled with the first rays of sunlight. Max is curled up next to her bed, snoring softly. Janie sits up and immediately reaches for her notebook. Her hand trembles slightly as she begins to write down her dream.

I saw the galaxy. It’s beautiful. I heard a voice. It said I’m a part of everything and that I shine like a star. I don’t know if it was real, but it felt real. Maybe I’m not as small as I thought. Maybe my dreams aren’t just dreams.

When she’s finished, she closes the notebook and looks out into the clear morning sky. The stars are no longer visible, but she knows they’re there, somewhere beyond the blue veil. She smiles.

“Maybe they’re right,” she murmurs. “Maybe I really am a star.”