Page 103 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

But suddenly—she and I—are we.

We are no longer in her small, cozy living room, but standing on the vast plains of my homeworld. The sky stretches like an endless sea of deep purples and vibrant greens, auroras dancing across the firmament like spirits of light. Twin suns bathe us in a warm, red glow.

The ground beneath our feet is spongy, a living organism itself, dotted with bioluminescent flora that pulse like the planet’s heartbeat. We walk through fields of tall, golden grasses that emit a haunting melody when swayed by the gentle breeze, a natural symphony. This is why we are artists. My family doesn’t understand why I shied away from the gift of creation when even the wind here crafts harmonies.

I watch Jen’s face, lit by the ethereal glow, as she breathes in deeply. The air is rich with the scent of aphracinth flowers that resemble avian life on 97-B; they exude a honey-sweet fragrance, deeply tinged with the sharpness of ozone after a storm. They too sing with the wind as it ripples through their feathery petals and stamens.

Our buildings are natural, bio-organic, and one who wasn’t born here might not even notice them woven into the plants and rolling hills. I have chosen to memory walk through one of my favorite rituals, and I guide her through greeting the dawn, a custom where we raise our hands to the light. It is a moment of understanding, a sharing of worlds and hearts in the quiet awe of discovery.

Silently, I point toward the horizon where the sky blushes with color, shades of violet and vermilion dancing in a celestial ballet. It’s the auroral equinox, a natural light phenomenon that marks the start of a new cycle. Around us, the native creatures chime in. The air fills with the trills and whistles of the lyricals, bird-like beings with iridescent feathers, serenading the light. There, just beyond our field of vision, the mist dancers materialize—ethereal figures that weave through the air, their bodies made of translucent vapors, celebrating the daybreak with their silent, graceful choreography.

Slowly, carefully, I withdraw from the memory walk, reluctantly relinquishing the connection. At once, I feel cold as I register myself as a separate being once more. Jen has gone pale, her eyes wide. I study her carefully, hoping I haven’t done something that will harm her.

“How are you?” I ask quickly.

“Forever changed. Thank you isn’t enough. I could never have imagined…any of that. It was…” She struggles for words, lowering her gaze to her lap and the soft orange and white cat splayed across it. “The only thing I don’t understand is why you left. Now that I’ve seen how beautiful it is, I can’t imagine you being happy anywhere else.”

I meant to share a precious memory with her, but instead I’ve given her reason to doubt. My heart feels heavy.

“My homeworld is beautiful. But there, I was never enough.” It’s the first time I have articulated that to anyone.

She protests so sharply that Scotty meows as well. “But you’re so smart! You’ve invented things and traveled all over the galaxy.”

“That doesn’t mean I live up to expectations. The rest of my family are revered, even in an artistic enclave. They have created works so lasting that in ten generations they will still be playing Oona’s music and admiring Arlan’s sculptures. I make dead works, nothing that lives.” I pause, unhappy with the way that translated.

“I’m not sure I understand, but…it might be the difference between making a stained-glass window by hand and a program that renders stained-glass patterns?”

“Precisely,” I say, relieved that I don’t need to explain. “And I have been running from my own insufficiency for as long as I can remember.”

“But your inventions are creative! And they are art, even if you weren’t raised to see them that way.”

I cannot agree with her, but I appreciate the reassurance. “That is kind of you.”

She lets out a breathy sound. “I’m not being nice here, but let’s get back to your homeworld. You travel because you feel like you don’t belong, right? Even though it’s heartbreakingly beautiful.”

“I framed it like a preference, but Oona called it immaturity and cowardice.”

“That’s not okay. What might be right for one person isn’t right for another. I would really like to hug you, if you’d find any comfort in it.”

Human hugs seemed strange to me at first, but I’ve come to enjoy Jen’s closeness. It would be better without the tech camo—without causing her cognitive dissonance—but I shouldn’t take that risk with all the curtains open. And I still want the hug.

“Please,” I say simply.

And when she wraps her arms around me, heedless of Scotty’s indignant squeak, a lifetime of inadequacy melts away.

Group Chat

August 14 | 13:54

Stargazer: Can’t believe it’s been a whole month since Space Con!

Jeneticist: I know, right? Feels like we were just at Tad’s campsite. 🥲

SquidHead: Anyone else having post-con blues? I miss hanging out in person!

Stargazer: Totally. Nobody gets me like you do.

SquidHead: Really? Me, personally?