As tranquil nights unfolded, I found myself gazing upward, wondering what whispers the celestial plains foretold. With every sight of a distant galaxy, an echo seemed to follow; ethereal murmurs that twisted through the night air and danced around scattered constellations.

Each star, a sentry of time immemorial, beams an archaic hymn down the eternal corridors of space - a resonance, unlikely heard, unless one knows how to listen truly. Did those silvery lights hold the voice of a universe that speaks with eloquent silence?

Some nights were clearer than others, where it felt like you could reach out and sweep the Milky Way into your hand, letting it run temptingly between your fingers. Other nights, they say, it calls - wants you to follow.

What will we, barely afloat on Earth and bound with the tether of shared histories, reply when met with these vast cosmic reflections?