The moment the shuttle eased away from the dock her shadow stayed behind on the concrete floor and my hand closed around air where her sleeve had been and the light shifted as if the port itself understood what had just ended. The harbor dome was filled with pale morning glow filtered through layers of glass and salt residue. Outside the sea moved in slow dark sheets. Inside the dock workers moved with practiced calm pretending not to notice the stillness between us. I stood at the edge line where passengers were not allowed to linger. The floor was cool through my boots. Her shadow thinned and stretched and then…

The lift doors slid apart and she stepped back instead of forward and the space between us filled with the quiet hum of machinery while my outstretched hand realized too late that it was empty. The corridor was narrow and bright and smelled of disinfectant and warm metal. A panel flickered overhead as if uncertain about the moment. Her breath fogged briefly in the cooler air before she turned her face away. I said her name once. The sound fell flat against the floor and did not rise again. The doors closed with a soft final click that felt smaller than grief and heavier than noise. I stood there long…

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…