In the vast silence of the universe, far beyond the limits of human comprehension, there existed a place untouched by time or life. It was a void, and yet not empty. A tapestry of swirling colors wove through the darkness, vibrant and alive in a dance only the stars understood. Emerald green bled into violet. Hues of gold shimmered against rivers of deep cerulean, while pink nebulas pulsed like the heartbeat of some ancient god.
There, at the center of it all, floated a soul.
It wasn't a shape with limbs, nor did it have the confines of a face. It was light, pure and white, softly pulsing like the glow of a candle in the quietest room. And on this glowing figure, as it gently drifted backward in the celestial current, was a smile. Faint. Peaceful.
It was as though the soul had released every weight it had ever known.
No longer bound to pain or regret, no longer tied to time or flesh, it drifted freely. The void did not pull or push. There were no walls, no sky, no ground. Only the infinite velvet of space and the living color of the cosmos.
Around the soul, the nebula seemed to react. Spirals of stardust curled gently toward it as if curious. Wisps of pink and indigo light reached closer, brushing it like a breeze would brush against skin in a dream. Stars blinked in and out of sight like soft whispers echoing through the dark. Everything here was silent, but not dead. It was full of quiet wonder.
Somewhere far away, a world was grieving. Somewhere, on a distant bridge of metal and glass, a girl was screaming her brother's name. Her voice did not reach this place. Her tears did not drip into this void.
And yet, in the center of all creation, the soul smiled.
It did not move intentionally. It floated as if resting on an unseen tide. Its white light shimmered faintly, its edges rippling with the glow of memory. If one looked closely, they might have seen flashes within the glow — fragments of laughter, brief flickers of a young man staring up at the clouds, a sister's teasing voice, the tapping of keys on a keyboard, the gentle weight of dreams never spoken aloud.
The soul remembered. Even if it did not speak or blink, the memories were there. They colored the light from within. They whispered through the void, carried on the wave of the nebula like songs without sound.
And still, it smiled.
A comet trailed nearby, its long icy tail shimmering in crystalline blue. Behind it followed a procession of space particles, twinkling like dust in a sunbeam. They didn't touch the soul, but their presence was a kind of reverence — a silent passing of a great traveler. A fallen star, acknowledged by the heavens.
Time didn't matter here. Hours, minutes, even years had no place in this sanctuary. It could have been a second or a century. The soul drifted, slowly rotating in the current, content in stillness. The body had long since fallen silent. The pain, the fear, the desperate attempt to live—all of it had been left behind on that distant bridge. Here, there was only peace.
The nebula began to shift. Like the changing colors of a dream, the space around the soul shimmered anew. Golden hues melted into bright orange. The stardust vibrated slightly, glowing with a warmth like sunlight breaking through clouds. In the far distance, a massive swirl of galaxies curved into an arching spiral, like a guardian watching from afar.
Was it heaven?
No voice answered. There was no chorus, no gates, no form of judgment. But there was beauty. Endless, radiant beauty. A place where sorrow could not reach, and yet, memory still lived.
Within the core of the soul, something pulsed. A memory perhaps. Or a dream. A single moment flickered in the light: a girl laughing, holding a sandwich too big for her hands, scolding someone who was always too kind for his own good. Then, a bedroom. A drawer. A hidden card. The faintest echo of love.
The smile on the soul widened ever so slightly.
It did not speak, but if it had, perhaps it would have whispered:
"You'll be okay."
And even though the soul did not breathe, did not think in the way living beings do, something about its smile carried comfort. A smile like one final embrace. Like the hand squeeze of someone who understands everything you cannot say.
All around, the stars moved. Not fast, not slow. Just in rhythm. The great dance of the universe went on, and the soul, content and smiling, drifted deeper into the color. Further into the light.
One could imagine the void welcoming it, wrapping it in waves of warmth and silent lullabies. The pain of the world could not follow here. The loneliness, the rejection, the quiet sadness of late nights—they were gone.
Only peace remained.
And so, the soul drifted.
Not lost.
But free.