Short Stories Collection

Beyond This World

"Look... a shooting star!"

Yenji's voice burst into the stillness like a spark.

Max flinched slightly. He hadn't been looking at the sky at all—his eyes had been fixed on her, quietly memorizing the way the faint starlight softened her features.

By the time he turned his head upward, the streak of light had already vanished into the darkness.

"...You missed it," she said, her tone light, but her smile carried something fragile.

It was 11:50 PM. New Year's Eve.

The rooftop was cold, the air thin and quiet, as if the world itself was holding its breath for the turning of the year. Above them, the sky stretched endlessly—scattered with stars that felt close enough to touch, yet impossibly far.

Max looked at the sky for a moment longer... then back at her.

He reached for her hand.

"I'll see another one," he said softly. "Don't worry."

Yenji looked at their hands—his fingers gently wrapped around hers—and then back at his face. A small smile formed, but it trembled at the edges.

After a pause, she asked, almost as if she were testing something delicate—

"You're going to miss me a lot... right?"

Max's grip tightened instinctively.

He tried to look away, tried to make it seem like a casual question—but her gaze held him in place. There was no escaping it.

"Are you upset that I'm leaving?"

"No," he replied too quickly. "Why would I be?"

The answer felt hollow even to him.

Yenji didn't look convinced. She just kept staring, searching his face as if she wanted him to break—to admit what both of them already knew.

"You know I'm not coming back."

This time, her voice was steady. Final.

"I have to return to Kepler-452b. I'm a cosmic curator... I came here for a purpose. And now that it's done, I have to go back. They're waiting for me."

Max let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling heavier than before.

"I know," he said quietly.

He lowered his gaze, unable to hold hers any longer.

"That's why I can't ask you to stay."

The words tasted like surrender.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Yenji leaned back slightly and looked up at the sky again. Her eyes reflected the stars, but there was something distant in them—like she was already halfway gone.

"You know..." she murmured, "I never felt like I was on another planet."

Max glanced at her.

"Earth feels like Kepler. Almost identical... like they were separated at birth."

He gave a faint hum in response.

"And tonight..." she continued, her voice softening, "I never imagined I'd see a sky like this. So alive. So full."
A small pause.
"You said there would be fireworks too."

"At 12:01," he replied, his voice quieter now.

"I'm going to miss this place," she said.

Then, after a heartbeat—