The Day Your Shadow Stayed On The Dock

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 dissolved into nothing as the shuttle cleared the bay.

The sound came last. A low steady pull of engines that felt like breath leaving a body. I lowered my hand because there was nothing left to hold. Somewhere above us the weather screens adjusted and the light warmed by a fraction. It felt wrong that anything should improve.

I did not turn right away. I memorized the smell of fuel and ocean and wet stone. I memorized the echo of my own breathing. I told myself this was not a goodbye. The words did not believe me.

When I finally left the dock the city had already begun its day. The streets were slick with mist. The sky hung low and white. I walked without direction until my wrist ached from clenching and unclenching my hand. The ache felt necessary.

I had met Selene in the tide lab where the sea was allowed inside. The building stood on pylons driven deep into rock. Waves rolled beneath transparent floors. The light there was always moving. She worked barefoot most days with her trousers rolled and her hair pinned back in a way that never quite held.

She noticed patterns others missed. The way water hesitated before retreating. The way light bent at certain hours. She spoke about currents as if they had intention. I listened because listening felt like standing at the edge of something vast without falling in.

We spent long afternoons adjusting sensors while the tide rose and fell beneath us. The air smelled of salt and clean metal. Sometimes alarms sounded when a wave struck harder than expected and we would pause together until the readouts settled. Those pauses became familiar. Comforting.

She told me once that the sea remembered everything. That nothing truly disappeared. I wanted to believe her.

The research council announcement arrived on a gray morning. Off world ocean study on a moon with subsurface seas and unstable time fields. Extended observation required. Return uncertain. The words were careful and cold. The lab lights hummed louder than usual.

She read the notice twice. Her fingers were steady. Her face was not.

It will change you she said finally.

I answered that change was the point. The answer tasted thin.

We did not fight. We never did. We walked the seawall at dusk and watched waves break against stone. She talked about small things. A book she wanted to finish. A recipe she could not perfect. I focused on the way her voice softened at the ends of sentences.

On our last night we sat in the lab with the lights low. The sea glowed faintly beneath us. She rested her head against my shoulder. I counted the seconds between waves. I did not ask her to wait. I told myself that asking would be a kind of theft.

The dock smelled the same on departure morning. Fuel and salt and rain. She stood close enough that I could feel her warmth. She looked at me as if trying to fix my face in memory.

Say something she asked.

I searched for words that could survive distance and time. I found only caution. I said that I would come back.

Her shadow stayed on the dock.

The moon sea was dark and endless beneath layers of ice. The station floated above it like a thought held too long. Time behaved badly there. Days folded into each other. I aged slowly while the work consumed me. I listened to the water beneath the ice and thought of her lab and the way the sea had moved under our feet.

I recorded observations and pretended they were enough. At night I dreamed of shadows that would not follow me. I woke with my hand clenched around nothing.

When the mission ended I returned older in some ways and untouched in others. The city by the sea had changed its skyline. The tide lab still stood. The seawall was worn smoother by years of waves.

I walked there at dusk and watched the water move. I waited for the feeling of return. It did not come.

I asked after her at the council offices. The clerk hesitated. That hesitation told me everything.

She transferred to inland work years ago he said. Atmospheric mapping. Desert stations.

The desert was wide and silent. The station rose from sand like a mirage made solid. The air was dry and smelled of dust and warm stone. I found her on the roof at sunset adjusting weather vanes.

She turned when she sensed me. Time had marked her openly. Lines at her eyes. Hair threaded with silver. Her stance still balanced and sure.

You came back she said.

I nodded. Words felt dangerous again.

We sat on the roof as the light shifted from gold to violet. She spoke about the years after I left. The way waiting slowly turned into living. I spoke about the moon sea and the way time folded. Our sentences were careful. We left space between them.

You will leave again she said.

Yes.

She closed her eyes and breathed the dry air.

Then stay until the wind changes she said. Winds do that here.

We stood together as night settled. The stars were sharp and numerous. The wind moved across the sand in low whispers. She reached for my hand and this time I closed my fingers around hers without hesitation.

Far away the sea moved and remembered. Here the desert listened. Her shadow stretched across the roof and stayed with me.