The interlock sealed and her voice faded mid syllable while my hand hovered inches from the glass and knew before I did that nothing I said would ever reach her again. The corridor lights adjusted to standby and washed the metal walls in a dull amber glow. Condensation gathered along the edges of the viewport and blurred her outline into something soft and unreachable. I pressed my palm flat where her breath had fogged the glass seconds earlier. The surface was cold. It did not remember her warmth. Somewhere deep in the ship a system chimed confirmation and the sound felt final in a way alarms never did. She stood…

The door closed between us with a sound like a held breath and her hand fell away from mine while the corridor lights dimmed as if they already knew we would never stand together there again. The observation ring was cold and smelled of recycled air and faint metal. Beyond the glass the planet turned slowly with a patience that felt unkind. My fingers remained curved in the shape of her palm long after she stepped back. She did not look at me when the lock sealed. She looked at the floor as if memorizing it. I said her name softly and the sound reached the glass and stopped. Around…

Her fingers slipped from mine as the station doors closed and the soft white light sealed the moment forever. The sound was not loud. It was a breath of air pulled inward by the station as if it needed us less than we needed each other. My hand remained lifted after hers vanished. The warmth stayed longer than the touch. People moved behind the glass but none of them noticed the shape my loss took. It was small and exact and already finished before I understood what I had lost. The platform smelled faintly of ozone and cold metal. Outside the glass the planet curved blue and distant. I pressed…

The message arrived with my name mispronounced and her voice already fading as if the universe had begun erasing her before I pressed play and by the time I reached for the console to steady myself my hand was shaking because I knew this was the last time she would sound like herself. The room smelled of cold metal and old air and the light from the viewport cut across my wrist where her fingers had rested weeks earlier leaving nothing but memory. I let the message finish even when it hurt because stopping it would not have saved her. Outside the station the planet turned slowly a pale blue…

The elevator doors slid together and her fingers slipped free of mine at the same instant so that I could not tell which motion ended us first and the soft chime sounded like an apology that arrived too late. The glass filled with our reflections instead of our faces and I watched my mouth shape her name without sound while the warmth left my palm. I kept my hand raised because lowering it felt like admitting the loss had already chosen me. The platform lights dimmed into transit calm and a low vibration settled through the floor as systems aligned for departure. People moved past us carrying cases and futures…

My hand closed on air a fraction of a second after hers let go and the door slid shut between us with a patience that felt cruel and deliberate. The glass caught her reflection and scattered it into pale shapes that refused to meet my eyes. I said her name too late and it returned to me unchanged while the warmth of her fingers faded from my skin as if it had never learned me. The chamber lights shifted into departure calm and a low vibration moved through the floor as systems sealed and confirmed. Around me no one stopped. Boots passed. Voices murmured. Somewhere a child laughed. Grief did…

The capsule door slid shut and the lock engaged with a sound too soft for how final it was and her fingers slipped from mine in the same instant so that I could not tell which loss happened first. The glass clouded briefly with pressure change and her face dissolved into reflection and light and I said her name only to feel it fall back into my throat unused. My hand remained raised because lowering it felt like choosing to understand. The launch bay lights shifted into departure mode washing everything in pale amber and the floor vibrated faintly as engines woke somewhere beyond the walls. People moved around us…

The gate closed with a muted chime and her hand slid from mine so gently that for a moment I believed it was accidental until the pressure was gone and my fingers curled around nothing. The light between us thickened into glass and her face fractured into reflections that would not meet my eyes. I said her name too late and it fell into the space where sound no longer mattered. The platform exhaled as systems recalibrated and a low vibration traveled up through my boots into my ribs. Around me travelers shifted and spoke in subdued voices as if instinctively aware that something irrevocable had just occurred. Grief did…

The train door slid shut between us and his fingers slipped free of mine with a softness that felt like mercy only because it was already too late to stop it. The platform lights flickered as the engine powered up and his mouth shaped my name without sound while the glass filled with our reflections instead of answers. I stood there with my hand raised long after the train began to move because lowering it felt like agreeing to the loss. The wind from the tunnel arrived a moment later carrying heat and dust and the smell of metal worn smooth by repetition. Around me people shifted bags checked watches…

The ship undocked without sound and his fingers slipped from mine as the artificial gravity shifted leaving my hand suspended in the air where his warmth had already begun to fade. The viewport sealed itself with a dull shimmer and his face vanished into reflected light and I understood before I could stop myself that whatever we had been brave enough to imagine was already behind us. I did not cry. I only stood there listening to my pulse slow into something survivable. The departure alarm chimed softly too gently for what it marked and the station lights dimmed to evening as if nothing irreversible had just occurred. I pressed…