By sixteen, she knew every timeline by heart. By eighteen, she packed the book into a duffel bag and moved to New York.

She started taking notes in the margins of the book. Next to The Phantom of the Opera , she scribbled: “Chandeliers fall. Dreams don’t.” Next to Dear Evan Hansen : “You are not alone, even when the book is your only friend.”

Musicals: The Definitive Illustrated Story.

“This book,” she told the silent room, “taught me that a musical isn’t just a show. It’s an illustrated promise that the world can break into song if you just turn the page.”

The first time Mira held Musicals: The Definitive Illustrated Story , the spine creaked like the curtain rising on an old theatre. It was a library discard, priced at one dollar, its cover slightly scuffed but its pages heavy with possibility.

Twenty years later, Mira didn’t perform on a stage. She designed them. She became a set illustrator, her own sketches appearing in Playbills. And when they asked her, at a gala, what her first inspiration was, she didn’t mention a teacher or a trip to a theatre. She held up a battered, spine-creaked volume.