On the day she was released from the hospital, it was raining.

The doctors had wanted to keep her for longer, still not convinced that her heart had mended. But that day was the day of her parents' funeral, and it would be remiss of the daughter to not be present.

Her parents had been heavily involved in the business world. Even before her ailment, they didn't spare much time for her due to constant meetings and phone calls competing for their attention. The only thing she could recall was the faint feeling of a hand awkwardly patting her head, a rough ministration by one who had no idea how to comfort a child.

Then she had been stricken with heart disease; it had made itself known with a constant pain in her chest that tore at her as if something were trying to drill through her body.

"A genetic disorder," the doctors had said. "Treatment will be a long and hard road, but it is doable."

After her parents heard that, even those small, tender moments were gone forever.

They never visited. She didn't know why at the time; all she could feel was the longing of a child for her parents' love.

Now, she would never know for sure. But she suspected that they saw her as a failure, as a mere burden to be shouldered for pretense's sake.

Even though she had been bedridden, society mandated that she be educated if possible. And so, her parents had hired tutors for her to learn basic skills and knowledge, for the day where she might be part of society again (she had never thought the day would come).

Denied of most interactions with the outside world, she had craved those sessions where her mentors told her of the many wonders of the world: of how their planet was only one of many, of how famous people invented the marvels they still used today, and of how the inner workings of their world still baffled even the greatest minds.

Her treatment progressed steadily. They gave her something to dull the pain in her chest and other medication to begin the arduous process of healing her heart.

In the beginning, she was not allowed to overly exert herself. They had feared that the smallest strain placed on her heart could be fatal. But after it seemed like her treatment was working, that her heart was indeed on the mend, she had been allowed to walk outside.

She never knew how much she missed the feeling of the sun on her cheeks, the feeling of warmth that spread throughout her body as she basked in its glow.

Years passed in this manner. A continuous cycle of tutoring sessions, treatment, and whatever methods of entertainment she could scrounge up in her free time (she convinced a few of her tutors to bring her books once she had grown tired of watching the TV in her room).

When the doctors had informed her that the treatment was almost finished, that she was almost fully recovered, she had allowed herself to hope. That once she was discharged, her parents would return, and they could finally be a proper family.

However, it was not meant to be.

It was during one of those tutoring sessions where her teacher had been telling her of one of the darkest periods in human history that she received the news.

Her parents were gone. Killed in an airplane crash while en route to one of their meetings.

She never even knew them.

And now, she never will.

The tutors had stopped coming after that. With no one to pay them, they had no reason to continue.

There were a surprising number of people at the funeral, a sea of figures wreathed in black, blending together so much it was difficult to discern individuals. She did not recognize a single person, nor did she see anyone who could potentially be considered a relative.

Strangers came up to her to offer their sympathy, but not a single one of their words reached her heart. She had nodded at them in return, completing the ritual of strangers offering each other empty platitudes for the sake of appearances.

She did not remember much of the service, only that people took turns speaking hollow words about what they knew of her parents in life.

She could still recall the glares at her back, the whispers about "that cold-hearted, ungrateful child who cannot even shed a few tears for her parents!"

I'm sorry! she wanted to cry aloud. I'm sorry that I can't do what you ask me to!

She tried. She tried so very hard, to move her heart, to cry for her parents like a proper daughter should.

But no matter how hard she tried, her eyes did not water.

No matter how hard she leveraged her emotional ties, her heart remained unmoved.

No matter what lengths she went to, the result was the same.

She couldn't do it.

And before she knew it, the ceremony was over.

As the others began to leave, she collapsed to her knees in front of the grave that now marked her deceased parents.

How cruel of fate, to rip open another hole in her heart so soon after the previous had finished healing.

But this hole did not have the sheer intensity that the last one did, did not burn in her chest like a hot coal in a furnace.

No, this hole was a dull throb, an emptiness that tinted the world in shades of grey.

Rain continued to pour relentlessly around her, uncaring of her troubles and worries.

They say when it rains, God is crying.

So what did it say about an angel, when something that could make God himself weep could not make her stony heart so much as shudder?

xxx

She was consigned to one of Japan's many orphanages.

It was to be expected. With no relatives to take her in and no family friends familiar enough with her to do the same, there was no other place for her to go.

She felt no small amount of trepidation from the decision. After all, she had lived in isolation for most of her life, having little to no contact with children her own age.

Now, she was about to be dropped into a den full of kids she didn't know, and she would live with them for the foreseeable future.

She didn't think the stress her thoughts were causing her was good for her newly recovered heart.

The building was a squat, ugly thing. White paint peeled off the walls, shingles hung haphazardly off the roof, and weeds ran rampant through the front yard.

"Oh, welcome! Is she another one?"

The elderly matron was a spark of life in the otherwise drab establishment. With a bright, colorful dress and an apron emblazoned with a pink heart, she seemed to exude a pure aura of friendliness and happiness.

As her driver explained the circumstances, she could only marvel at the old woman who carried herself with a certain vigor that belied her old age. It felt as though there were a field around her that drew others in, a sense of safety and comfort that naturally pervaded her very being.

It was with a start she realized that the door had clicked shut behind her. This was it. This building was to be her home now.

The kind, old lady smiled down at her. "Why don't we go introduce you to the others?"

She could only nod meekly in response.

As they walked through greying hallways, she could see more signs of life appear. A hand-drawn poster here, a few balls scattered there, a spill in the hallway just up ahead –

The matron sighed. "Those two started fighting again, didn't they?"

They gingerly stepped around the puddle and entered the next room.

The room was spacious, tables and chairs scattered throughout it. Children sat at the tables, about a couple dozen of them. The vast majority of them seemed to be on the younger side, with a few older children here and there.

A pair of boys were staring each other down across a table, rage evident in both of their expressions. A spilled cup laid on the ground near them, unnoticed by both.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time?!" the black-haired boy snarled.

"I wouldn't be so stubborn if you weren't so much of a jerk! You pushed me just because I said no!" his brown-haired opponent replied with equal venom.

"Boys!" the matron's strict voice cut straight through the argument. "I don't know what the issue is this time, but whatever it is, it can wait until after lunch." She gestured towards her. "We have a new friend joining us."

She bowed. "My name . . . is Kanade. I . . . hope to get along . . . with all of you."

Murmurs ran through the lunchroom: some commented on her appearance, some wondered where she came from, and some touched upon a variety of other topics.

The black-haired boy from before scowled. "She's so puny. I bet she's a scaredy-cat."

The older woman scowled in that mildly disproving manner that all diligent parents mastered. "Be nice now! She's new, so I expect you all to give her a warm welcome!"

Kanade didn't remember much after that. She recalled receiving food of her own, sitting down, and then being swamped by all the other children.

She could remember them introducing themselves, but their names eluded her, slipping through her hands like so much sand.

She could remember them asking her questions, ranging from mundane inquiries such as her likes and dislikes to more bizarre questions such as whether her hair was silver because she ate a lot of silver rocks.

She could remember her own silence; facing an overwhelming mass of humanity after spending so long in isolation, stoic silence is all she can give them. Eventually, their initial enthusiasm waned and they drifted back to whatever they were doing before, as if they had already forgotten that she had ever existed.

She could not remember what she had been eating; all she knew was that it tasted like so much ash in her mouth.

The rest of the day seemed to pass by in a blur. All she could remember was her failure of a first impression and the poisonous words it had spawned.

"Why would you want to talk to her? Did you see how she ignored us all at lunch?"

I didn't mean to! she wanted to say. I was just too scared!

But her body had always been treacherous, and this instance was no exception. No matter how much she wished to turn a new leaf, she couldn't do it.

And after that, it was too late. Most of the other children had already decided what kind of person she was.

She had ignored them.

So, it was only fitting they ignored her in turn.

That night, as she fell asleep amidst the other children, she could not help but feel that nothing had changed, that she was cut off from the rest of the world by factors she could not control.

On that night, she felt her loneliness keener than ever.

xxx

Besides caring for the orphans, the matron took it upon herself to give each of them a rudimentary education.

Reading, writing, arithmetic, history, art, sciences . . . she delved into each of these subjects hoping that it would allow her charges to keep their futures open.

Kanade's tutors had long since ensured that she had an adequate knowledge in most of these fields, so she had no trouble acing the various assessments the older woman used to test their understanding.

"Eh? Kanade got them all correct again!"

Unfortunately, it did not endear her to the other children.

"What a smarty-pants! I bet she likes showing off!"

She had made no such effort to flaunt her ability, but she did not bother correcting them. No matter what she said, they wouldn't listen, choosing instead to believe in whatever fabrications of her they had thought up.

It was just another wall, another chasm that separated her from them.

However, there were an earnest few that attempted to bridge this divide: a group of girls that invited her to chat with them.

"You're so smart! How do you do it?"

She had been hopeful at first: that she would finally make some friends, that this tiny spark of hope would bloom into something more.

But she had always been soft-spoken by nature, and she found it difficult to contribute to a conversation when she was not directly asked a question. Despite their genuine efforts, they lapsed back into their usual group dynamic, a rhythm that had no place for her. She became a mere spectator, an outsider with the illusion of being part of the whole.

After several of these failed attempts, they stopped seeking her out.

She told herself that it didn't matter, that she was used to being alone.

So why did it hurt so much?

xxx

The only time she felt alive was during music class.

There was an old, rickety upright piano in the orphanage. Several of the keys refused to be depressed, a faint, moldy odor clung to it, and one of the pedals had snapped off some time prior.

But despite all these flaws, the elderly matron was grateful for its presence and would often thank the anonymous benefactor who had donated it a while back.

"Now then, class. You know what page to turn to."

Along with the piano, several music books containing simple songs had been given to the orphanage. The older woman made good use of these assets, teaching her charges the basics of singing and leading them in a makeshift choir.

"All together now! Three, two, one, go!"

Her wrinkled fingers touched the keys, and gentle, soothing notes rang out.

"Si – lent night – ho – ly night –"

Dozens of voices rose together, an improper ensemble where several members were off-tune, but there was a certain beauty in their earnest efforts to put their all into the song.

Kanade added her own voice to the mix, a soft, angelic tone that was easily missed among the rougher voices of her classmates. But she was fine with that; so long as she could hear herself and the pure notes of the piano, she could imagine a beautiful masterpiece in her mind.

For a time, she could let herself drift away on the river of the rhythm, let those pure notes paint a beautiful landscape for her to gaze upon, and let the soothing melody dull the ache in her heart.

But all dreams must end, and this one was no exception.

"Very good! Many of you have gotten a lot better."

Reality crashed back down on her, and she was forced to leave the sanctuary of her mind.

As she joined the other children in cheering for their kindly matron, she could almost pretend that she was one of them, an innocent part of the whole.

It was a nice feeling while it lasted.

xxx

And so, the days passed in that familiar cycle: sleeping, eating, doing chores, having lessons . . . the days blended together, each seemingly without beginning or end.

And through it all, she was like a ghost: eating with them, sleeping with them, learning with them . . . but never noticed by them.

On several rare occasions, they would greet other adults that stopped by the orphanage. The matron always told them to be on their best behavior for them because if they did: "You might get to go home with them!"

The visitors would glance over them, but rarely was a child adopted. Whenever it did happen, they would enthusiastically congratulate the lucky child.

She was not sure what to think of the process. On one hand, it was a chance to become part of a loving family, something she had sorely lacked in her own childhood. On the other hand, it was a frightening prospect; she had no idea what having attentive parents would entail. It could be better than her current situation, but it could also be worse.

She decided that being adopted was simply yet another factor out of her control, so she would just let come what may.

For a long time, these infrequent visits were the only thing that disturbed their daily routines, until one day, when the older lady missed a note on a song she had played flawlessly until then.

The sudden dissonance was jarring, and it shocked all the children into silence.

The elderly matron paused and stared at the offending hand, a flash of worry creasing her face while the children voiced their concerns.

She stood up.

"Sorry, dears. But we'll have to cut this one short," she said with an apologetic expression.

Cries of disappointment rang out, but the woman's soothing words soon eased their discontent.

"We'll have a longer session next time to make up for it, okay?"

No one questioned her words, such was the children's trust in their kindly guardian.

But Kanade had an uneasy feeling, a sense of lingering dread that whatever the problem was, it would not be so easily solved.

She prayed that she was wrong.

xxx

She should have known by now that her prayers go unheeded.

A few days later, their guardian informed them that the doctor said her hand was "sick," and that meant she couldn't play the piano for them anymore.

A wave of disappointment rang out, but it was nothing compared to the hollowness creeping into her own soul.

The other children had each other, but she had no one. The matron conversed with her when she could, but with so many other unruly children competing for her attention, the older woman rarely had time for her.

Their music sessions were the only thing she looked forward to in a day, and now even that was gone.

She could already feel the tendrils of despair clutch at her feeble heart.

That night, when the other children had all gone to bed, she slipped out and crept into the room that held the piano.

She was not sure what had compelled her to do so. Bathed in darkness, the vague outline of the piano only served as an unpleasant reminder that its music would never again fill the halls.

It would just sit there, untouched and unused, wasting away in this dusty old room.

She thought that sounded like an awfully lonely end for an instrument that could make such beautiful music.

The white keys stood out in the night, their shimmering surfaces beckoning to her. She felt drawn forward, an inescapable desire urging her on.

Soon, she found herself on the seat that the matron had sat on so many times before. One hand delicately rested on the ivory keys, their smooth surfaces roughened by years of use.

In a faint corner of her mind, she could hear a tiny voice telling her to not do it, that she should not disturb the others with her selfish desires –

But she couldn't help it.

She pressed down.

A single note rang out.

It was just a simple, individual note. There was nothing special about it.

But to her, it was something beautiful, and the idea that she could make something so beautiful captivated her.

"Had trouble sleeping?"

Startled, she glanced towards the doorway. Standing there with an amused smile was the elderly matron.

The older woman walked into the room and glanced sorrowfully at the piano. "You missed it too, then? I don't blame you. I had a lot of fun playing for you kids." She gazed curiously at Kanade's position behind the instrument.

Kanade remained silent, uncertain as to whether she should be apologizing.

"Would you like to learn how to play?"

Kanade blinked. She couldn't have heard right.

The matron laughed softly at her bemused expression. "Is it that surprising? I miss those sessions as much as you do, and I know that the others miss it too. If I can't play, then the next logical step is to have someone else do it." She tilted her head at her. "Am I wrong?"

Kanade paused, hesitation written across her face. "Is . . . is it really okay?"

"Of course! I've heard you sing; I don't think I've heard anything so lovely. If your playing is even half as good, then I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"But . . . it would disturb the others."

The woman smiled mischievously. "Well, there's a trick to getting around that. Allow me."

She sat down as the younger girl scooched over to make room. She shifted her feet around under the piano, and with her healthy hand, played a note.

It did not ring out; instead, it was soft and muted, dampened by some unseen force.

"The mute pedal on this piano doesn't work right; instead of blocking the sound, it merely softens it. But that helps us since it allows us to play without disturbing the sleeping children while still being able to hear ourselves."

As Kanade looked at the other woman's encouraging smile and then back at the object of her desire, she felt the last remnants of her hesitation fade.

"Okay."

The matron beamed. "Just what I wanted to hear! Now, even if I can only use one hand, I can still show you the basics . . ."

Kanade felt something spark in her soul at that moment, like a candle had been lighted within the depths of her heart.

It was nothing but a small flame at the moment.

But even a small fire could keep the darkness at bay.

As the nights passed, she could feel it grow, it's warmth spreading throughout her body.

For the first time, she felt like she had a purpose in life, something to strive for.

Is this what happiness felt like?