My head was throbbing intently. My eyes gazed around, unsure of what they were searching for—perhaps answers to calm my troubled mind, or maybe a remedy to ease the pain in my head. Whatever it was, I did not know, but my eyes kept going round and round until they grew tired and I closed them. Still, I could feel how heavy my eyelids were, how red and sore my eyes felt.

Then I heard a soft, melodious tune:

"Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be…"

My eyes teared up once more. The melody continued, bittersweet memories flooding my subconscious. Pain I had tried so hard to conceal came rushing back, overwhelming and draining every part of me. But the melody didn’t stop:

"Whatever will be, will be, the future's not ours to see…"

My heart clenched. My breath slowed. My head throbbed and my palms turned sweaty. I tried to stop the tears and bury the ache in my chest—but I couldn’t.

Then came the line that shattered me completely:

"I asked my mother, what will I be? Will I be pretty, will I be rich?"

That was when I knew. I couldn't change my fate. Whatever became of me had already been written. The future was not mine to see, and yes—my fate was to endure a thousand pains and heartbreaks.

Que sera, sera.

Whatever will be, will be.