Page 81 of I Fell for an Alien Popstar

“The people still need their pop star.”

My chest felt like it was cracking along old fault lines.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”

She climbed down and out of the bubble without another word, her movements economical and careful, as if she were afraid touching me might undo her resolve.

I stayed where I was, my knees pulled up and my sketchbook clutched to my chest like a shield.

I listened to the faint sounds of her moving through the corridor—the soft hiss of the door to our room, drawers sliding, and her suitcase wheels bumping over the threshold.

It had been three days since she’d asked for space.

Three days on the same planet, yet worlds apart. I watched her through broadcast screens and from the back of rehearsal rooms, all while a low, steady pulse lingered beneath my ribs—a soft, familiar melody fading just out of reach.

She still moved through my days. Bus rehearsals, wardrobe checks, pre-show run-throughs. Even so, she retreated to the city when the sun went down instead of coming back to our bed.

She was lovely with the crew, effortless with the team.

It was only with me that she shrank back, quiet and cautious.

She’d give me a soft “Hey” in the hallway or return a small smile if I gave her one first. But behind it was a wall I didn’t know how to cross, and the distance was killing me.

Every time she left a room, the space around me felt wrong, as if gravity had forgotten how to apply itself.

By day four, even my drawings looked off.

“You’re going to burn a hole in the table if you keep staring at it like that,” Lyn said, dropping into the seat across from me in the mess hall.

I blinked and looked down. My utensil was stuck in a piece of something that had once been lunch. I’d been mashing it into paste without noticing.

“Sorry,” I muttered, pulling the plate a little closer as if I could protect it from my anxiety.

Yuki slid into the seat beside Lyn, balancing a bowl of Tomalian, which was some sort of alien cereal. It was trying to levitate out of the milk, so he tapped one floating piece back down with his spoon.

“You look like you’re about to throw up or murder someone,” he said mildly. “Should we be worried?”

“I vote murder,” Lyn said. “More interesting.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

Lyn narrowed her eyes.

“You’re not fine,” she said. “You’ve been haunted for days. You only drank half your Galaxy Tea.”

She gestured to my half-empty cup.

“You haven’t made any jokes to Yuki or me. That’s not fine. That’s… possessed.”

Yuki nodded solemnly.

“Also,” he added, “you called me ‘Tev’ earlier today and then apologized to nobody while you were getting food from the dispenser. So…”

“Okay, maybe I’m not fine,” I admitted.

Yuki’s gaze flicked down to my wristband, where the little heart charm from Orin’s market still hovered just above the surface in a faint glow.

“This is about her, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.