Peculiar Girl. Part 5

So, after my last adventure — which involved a very lost pigeon, a helpful baker, and a shortcut through someone’s garden — I got this sudden, burning urge to see the Northern Lights. Not just see them. I wanted the full, dazzling, jaw;dropping show. The kind that makes you forget how cold your nose is.


The night finally came. I bundled up, stepped out, and stared at the sky.

And there it was. A faint, watery green glow. Like someone had spilled a bottle of highlighter ink across the horizon.

“That’s it?” I muttered to myself, hands stuffed in my pockets. “That’s the famous Aurora Borealis? Really? It looks like a tired neon sign”.

Nope. Not impressed. I wanted fireworks. I wanted rainbows. I wanted the sky to do a cosmic dance, not just… glow.

So I pivoted. Fast. Plan B: Reykjavik, Iceland.

The flight had a layover in Copenhagen, where I struck up a conversation with a very serious businessman in a suit. He was sipping coffee, checking his emails, and generally looking like the world’s most important person.

“First time in Iceland?” I asked cheerfully.

He glanced at me, then at my bright pink backpack with a galaxy sticker on it. “Yes”, he said, a little warily.

“Oh, you’re in for a treat”, I said, nodding wisely. “They have the best ice cream there. Volcanic ice cream. Made with real lava heat. It’s supposed to give you superpowers”.

He blinked. “Volcanic… ice cream?”

“Uh;huh”, I said, completely straight;faced. “It’s a local delicacy. You melt the lava just right, mix it with cream and berries — boom! Instant superstrength. My cousin tried it and lifted a reindeer”.

A beat of silence. Then, slowly, a smile crept onto his face. “You’re messing with me”.

“Maybe a little”, I grinned. “But the Northern Lights? Those are real. And I’m going to see the best show on Earth”.

He laughed, shook his head, and bought me a muffin. Score.

Fast;forward a few days, and I’m standing outside Reykjavik, breath fogging in the air, eyes glued to the sky. At first, it was just a whisper — a faint green shimmer, like the one in Murmansk.

Then it woke up.

The sky exploded.

Ribbons of emerald and sapphire twisted and danced, curling like ribbons in a cosmic wind. Streaks of deep violet flashed into crimson, then melted into molten gold. The colors pulsed and shifted, painting the night with impossible hues — magenta, turquoise, electric blue — all swirling, colliding, breathing. It wasn’t just light; it was a living, breathing masterpiece. It was like the sky was singing, and the whole world was listening.

I was so caught up in it, I didn’t notice the group of teens standing a few feet away.

“First time?” one of them, a girl with bright red hair, asked.

I nodded, still staring up. “It’s… unbelievable”.

“Told you Iceland was the move,” another kid said, grinning. “Murmansk’s just a warm;up”.

We stood there together, a bunch of strangers united by wonder, watching the sky put on its greatest show. No parents, no schedules — just the cold, the dark, and this incredible, impossible light.

On the bus back, the red;haired girl, whose name was Freya, handed me her phone. “Here”, she said. “I took a pic of you staring at the Aurora. Look at your face — pure magic”.

I looked. And yeah, I was smiling like I’d just discovered a new planet.

That’s the thing about chasing dreams, even little ones like seeing the perfect Northern Lights: sometimes you have to try, fail, and try again. And when you finally get it right? It’s worth every cold nose, every weird bus, and every businessman you’ve successfully pranked.

Next stop? Who knows. The road’s calling.

P.S. Freya and I are planning a trip to see the midnight sun next summer. Details TBD.


Stephaniia
https://t.me/stefanias_world

MY RHYTHM
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