We walk in silence, our steps leisurely as we move deeper into the park. Neither of us speaks, content to let the muted sounds of the city wash over us.

We’ve been here before, navigating this trail. Back then, I didn’t know his name. Didn’t care to ask_ what_ he was—I still don’t, not really.

And now, with him beside me again, I’m determined to learn the truth about why he left me five years ago. Davidian and I have known each other for less than a day. But sometimes, that’s all it takes.

He raises a hand, and a butterfly appears, drifting slowly down onto my shoulder, before fluttering back into the air. I stare at its wings, rippling animatedly, the bright colors shifting like a silken lava lamp.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, “how’d you—“

“I see you still prefer things that are out of this world,” he says with a grin. I nudge him gently.

It's always been this way between us, which is surprising, considering I'm awkward even on my best day. So when my best friend showed up five years ago, bursting through my front door claiming she was "going to find love at Dating Amongst the Stars," I just rolled my eyes and jokingly told her to bring back a cute space guy.

The event coincides with the one day each year that Earth experiences a cosmic overlap with another world. The only thing more improbable, was that she’d drag me there. Or, perhaps, that I would actually find someone… like _him_.

The butterfly lands on a nearby bench, pulsing gently, and I exhale, a thought nagging at me. I never would have found him in that side room earlier. No one but staff was allowed. Then how…?

“It was you, wasn’t it? When I arrived today, a Cyclops was rushing toward me,” I say, excitedly. “I panicked and somehow found a door by the buffet table that I could swear hadn’t been there. But I didn’t question it. I just dove through. You knew I would use it to escape?”

His brow twitches, but he says nothing.

My voice softens. “And there you were. Just sitting behind a table, pretending to be a moderator.” He looks at me, tilting his head slightly. The butterfly lifts off and disappears into the trees.

I whisper, “you knew I’d come.”

He pauses, then nods. “I’d hoped you would, Myria.”

I stare at him, searching his expression. "Why, Davidian? You left _me_, remember?" The words come out harsher than I intended.

“Sorry if I scared you,” he says. “But I didn’t know how else to reach you. Not after what happened.”

“Galaxy, what _did_ happen?” My voice wavers. “I still don’t understand?”

He points towards the shore, and I follow his lead, a chill sweeping through the leaves overhead. Reaching the edge of a small beach near the water, we take off our shoes and let the cool waves lap against our bare feet. He faces me as the sun descends, starting to paint its final strokes in golds and purples.

“Myria. I didn’t come here years ago just to dance with someone under a rotating ball of light,” he smiles. “I came because… Because I had hoped to find something real. To find love.”

I study his face for a long beat. "Davidian, I don't know if such a thing even exists. But you need to know—ever since that night, ever since you said it was a mistake—“

“It wasn’t—“

“Please,… let me finish,” I interrupt. “Since then, you're all I see. When my head hits the pillow at night, when I pass a crowd on the street, or look up at a patch of sky. Oh stars, Davidian, I saw you in my coffee the other day,” I say, rolling my eyes and letting out a breathy laugh.

He closes his eyes. “It wasn’t a mistake, Myria. But I thought that… it had to be.”

I don’t respond.

“I saw it in your eyes the last time. You were scared. I thought, maybe, it wasn't love. Or that you didn't know it yet. And I couldn’t bear to be so selfish, to leave you with the weight of what was to come.”

“Selfish?” I echo, trying and failing to understand as tears prick the corners of my eyes.

He opens his eyes suddenly. “I tried to tell you then.”

“Tell me _what_?” I say, my voice breaking.

“If a bond is real—what you humans call ‘true love’—it triggers a transformation within me.” His voice grows quieter. “I return to my origin light. Or, in your words, I would cease to exist.”

I blink, struggling to process this revelation. "So the first time we met, you left because you thought I didn't love you?”

He nods.

“Otherwise, you would’ve…” I cut off, unable to say the word.

“Yes, Myria, I would have died,” he says. “And I couldn’t risk foisting that burden on you for the rest of your life.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a choice,” I turn away, watching the sun slowly bleed into the horizon. “I’ve spent every year since trying to find you. Trying to understand why you left. Everyone thought I scared you off. That I must have done something wrong.”

“You didn’t.”

“I see that now,” I whisper. “But back then. It nearly broke me.”

“I never meant to hurt you, Myria.”

"I thought I imagined you," I admit. "Great galaxies, I really did. But no matter what I told myself, I couldn't let you go."

We sit in silence, watching the sun about to leave us behind the rolling waves.

"Davidian… would you still risk it?" I ask. "Now? Knowing the consequence?"

"If it's true love," he nods. "That's the law of my kind. It's not a punishment, but a balance. We can't cling to hope forever. Love must be requited."

“And then?”

“I will leave you. But without regret.”

I meet his gaze. “You say ‘if_’. _But I _know_.”

He holds still, afraid to believe me.

“Yes, I was scared that night, Davidian,” I say, my voice shaking. “Not because I didn’t love you. But because I _did_. I thought I had a better shot at being pulled into a black hole, than for someone like _you_… to want _me_.”

He says nothing. An emotion I can’t read flickers across his face, his eyes—one ocean blue and one tinged with silver—reflecting the dying light. I place a hand on his chest, feeling the furnace beneath his skin.

Like a star ready to go supernova.

He leans in and our lips meet, tentatively at first. His hands rise to cradle my face, and he trembles slightly as an intense light spills from his translucent skin. I close my eyes instinctively, while a zephyr swirls around us.

My arms tighten around him, drawing him closer, anchoring him to me as the current howls. Sand and sea foam caress us as the final edge of the sun slips beneath the horizon. Our lips part. And for a heartbeat, the world goes still, just long enough for him to breathe my name.

Then, in a final burst, like photons exiting a lighthouse, he’s gone.