The Night I Stood Still While You Went On

I watched the launch lights climb your spine as you turned away from me and understood in that suspended second that motion itself had chosen you and not us.

The hangar was cavernous and dim with only the runway strips burning white against the polished floor. Heat from the engines gathered in waves that lapped at my legs and left the air tasting sharp and electric. Your suit reflected the light in broken fragments and the helmet under your arm caught my distorted face as you passed. I stood at the safety line feeling the vibration of the ship idle through the soles of my boots and let my hands hang useless at my sides.

You did not look back. I did not call out. The quiet between us felt deliberate as if we had agreed to protect each other from words.

We had met years earlier on a drifting habitat that rotated too slowly and made everyone slightly sick at first. The corridors curved in ways that confused your sense of direction and the lights dimmed unpredictably to save power. You loved it immediately. You said places like that taught you patience. I said they taught you how to hold on. You smiled and said maybe those were the same thing.

Our work was navigation of temporal slipstreams regions where time thinned and thickened like uneven fabric. Ships that passed through them could arrive years ahead or behind schedule if calculations were off by even a fraction. You approached the problem intuitively feeling your way through data like a musician finding a melody. I grounded your instincts into numbers that held.

We spent long shifts in the navigation dome watching simulations spiral across the curved screens. The glow painted your face in shifting color and I learned to read your expressions before you spoke. When a model failed you frowned slightly and leaned closer. When it worked your shoulders relaxed and you exhaled as if you had been holding your breath the entire time.

The first successful piloted pass through a stabilized slipstream was yours. I watched from the control deck as your ship vanished and reappeared exactly where predicted. The room erupted in celebration. My knees went weak with relief. When you returned you laughed and told me it felt like falling forward forever. I told you never to do it again. You touched my arm and said you knew I would say that.

As the months passed the slipstreams grew longer more complex. The work demanded a navigator who could remain inside the temporal distortion for extended periods mapping its shifting interior. Your name rose to the top of every list. You tried to hide your excitement. I pretended not to see it.

We argued quietly one night while the habitat slept. The lights were low and the artificial gravity hummed unevenly. I said the risks were too high. You said standing still carried its own dangers. When I asked what you meant you looked at me with an expression that felt like goodbye and did not answer.

The mission briefing was efficient and bloodless. You would enter the slipstream and remain in motion relative to normal time acting as a living reference point. The data would revolutionize travel. The return window was undefined. The room felt colder as the words settled.

The night before launch we walked the outer ring together. The stars were sharp and indifferent beyond the glass. You talked about small things the way the habitat smelled faintly of metal and citrus how the lights always flickered near the junctions. I listened to the sound of your voice and tried to memorize it without being obvious.

Now in the hangar the countdown echoed softly. You stepped onto the lift and it rose carrying you toward the ship. The engines whined higher. The heat intensified. I lifted my hand halfway then let it fall. The lift sealed. The ship aligned.

When it launched the force of it pushed against my chest. Light flared and then you were gone leaving only the echo of vibration and a sudden absence that felt physical.

Time moved strangely after that. The data streamed in rich and precise. Your presence was detectable as a constant motion through the slipstream a steady signature that never wavered. I watched it obsessively tracing your path through time. Sometimes it felt like watching a heartbeat.

Years passed outside while moments passed for you. Messages could not cross the boundary cleanly. Once I received a fragment of your voice stretched thin and distorted. You said my name and the sound unraveled. I listened to it until it hurt.

The day the slipstream collapsed was unremarkable. A minor fluctuation resolved itself and the distortion smoothed into normal space. Your signature vanished. The system logged mission success.

I stood in the navigation dome alone watching the screens go dark. The habitat rotated on. Life continued. People spoke of progress.

Sometimes late at night I walk the outer ring and stand where we once stood together. The stars still burn sharp. I imagine you still moving always forward never able to stop. I imagine myself still here learning how.

I stood still while you went on. In that stillness I learned the shape of letting go.