Before The Light Forgot How We Held Each Other

The alarm did not sound. The absence of it was the warning. Her hand hovered above the console waiting for a vibration that never came. Outside the window the star was already changing color and the shift felt personal.

Navigator Mara Elison Vale sat upright in her chair and did not move. The chair still remembered her weight from yesterday. The room still smelled faintly of recycled air and citrus cleaner. Everything was still present except the future she had expected.

She touched the screen once. Data flowed without urgency. It told her what she already knew. The delay window had closed. The return signal would never arrive in time. The loss had happened quietly somewhere far enough away to feel unreal and close enough to hurt.

Footsteps approached and stopped just outside the doorway. She did not turn. She knew the rhythm.

Theo Marcus Calder stood there long enough for the silence to become deliberate. He wore the same shirt he had slept in and his hair was flattened on one side. His name appeared in her mind the way it did on official documents and emergency logs. Full and distant and wrong for this moment.

It is not coming back he said.

She nodded. The movement felt like agreement with something older than the mission.

The ship continued its slow arc around the dying star. Light poured in through the viewport in bands of copper and white. Mara watched the way it bent around the hull and tried to remember when light had last felt kind.

They spent the next hours moving through procedure. Checklists. Redundancies. Messages recorded for archives that would outlive them. Theo spoke clearly and without pause. Mara answered when required. Their voices sounded calm and unfamiliar as if borrowed.

When the work was finished there was nothing left to do. The mission had shifted shape. Observation replaced expectation. Waiting replaced motion.

They ate together in the small galley without discussing the alarm or the missing signal. Theo prepared food with care cutting each portion evenly. Mara noticed the steadiness of his hands. He noticed the way she counted breaths before swallowing. These details mattered more than the star.

Later they stood on the observation deck where the glass curved overhead. The star filled the sky and pulsed slowly like a tired heart. Heat sensors ticked softly. Mara rested her palm against the glass and felt nothing.

Do you remember the ocean on Europa Theo asked.

She smiled faintly. It smelled like metal and storms.

He nodded. I liked that it never pretended to be safe.

The words lingered. She thought of all the places she had trusted without reason.

As days passed the light outside grew harsher. The star shed matter in slow deliberate waves. The ship absorbed radiation and logged it patiently. Inside the air stayed cool. Time thickened.

They slept in shifts but often woke at the same moment. Sometimes Theo would sit beside her bunk without touching. Sometimes Mara would listen to his breathing until it steadied. They did not speak of what was forming between them. Naming it would have made it fragile.

One cycle the gravity fluctuated and the floor tilted just enough to send Mara reaching out. Her hand found Theo wrist. The contact was brief and electric. Neither of them pulled away immediately.

We are running out of margin he said quietly.

I know she replied.

The calculations confirmed it. The star would collapse sooner than predicted. The gravitational shear would tear the ship apart if they stayed together. The escape craft could carry one. Only one.

They reviewed the numbers seated close enough that their shoulders touched. The screen glowed pale blue. There was no argument. The answer arrived without force and settled like dust.

It has to be you Theo said.

Mara closed her eyes. Not because she disagreed but because agreement hurt.

The final day felt suspended. Every sound carried weight. Mara walked the length of the ship memorizing the feel of each surface. Theo followed at a distance giving her space and not leaving.

In the launch bay the craft waited open and patient. The star flared beyond the hull painting everything in sharp light. Mara turned to face him.

Say it she said.

He hesitated then spoke her full name with care. Navigator Mara Elison Vale.

The name felt like something she had worn once and set aside. She stepped into the craft.

The doors sealed without ceremony. The separation was smooth. The ship fell away.

As the craft accelerated Mara watched the light distort and thin. The star began to fold inward. She felt the moment Theo was no longer there not as a sound or image but as pressure behind her eyes.

Later drifting between coordinates she rested her hand against the glass again. This time she pressed. Outside the light continued without them.

She did not look back.