Forged in a dying star
You did not start in this place. You were made in the slow furnace of an old star, then flung out when it died, a grain of silicate and soot no wider than a wavelength of light. For millions of years you simply drifted, one mote among uncountable others, through the cold between the stars.
The cloud collapses
Then a shockwave, perhaps from another dying star, pressed the cloud together. Gravity took the hint. The cloud began to fall inward and spin, flattening into a disk with a new star kindling at its heart. You were caught in that disk now, the solar nebula, turning with billions of your kind.
You touch what you can
In the crowded disk you brushed against another grain, and static electricity held you together. Then another. Grain by grain, you became a clump, a fluff of dust no bigger than a snowflake. It is the smallest possible beginning, and it is how every planet that has ever existed began.