"Fear is the great enemy of intimacy. Fear makes us run away from each other or cling to each other but does not create true intimacy."

  — Henri Nouwen

  Vorian had long since stopped believing in fate. The idea that the universe conspired to bring individuals together was, to him, a na?ve notion. And yet, as he stepped onto the cold metal surface of a docking bay on the remote station of Halaara-7, he was confronted with something—or rather, someone—he had never expected to see again.

  She stood among the crowd, wrapped in a long, flowing coat that shimmered faintly under the artificial lights. The years had changed her, but not so much that he did not recognize her immediately. Her name surfaced in his mind like an echo of another life. Seris.

  For a moment, Vorian remained still, uncertain of what to do. He had always imagined that if he ever saw someone from his past, he would feel nothing. That his transformation had excised all remnants of sentimentality. And yet, here she was, stirring something deep within him that he had no name for.

  She noticed him after only a few moments, her eyes widening with recognition. A small, disbelieving smile crossed her lips as she stepped toward him.

  “Vorian?” she said softly.

  He hesitated. A simple nod was all he gave in response.

  She let out a quiet breath of laughter, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  “Nor did I.” he admitted. He glanced around, uncomfortable with the weight of the moment. “What brings you here?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  He avoided answering. Instead, he studied her. She had aged, but not unkindly. There was a strength to her presence, something that had always been there but was now more defined. She carried herself with confidence, with purpose—qualities he had always admired about her.

  “You’ve changed,” she said after a pause, tilting her head slightly. “I mean, more than just…” She laughed slightly. “You have always been so straightforward and honest to your detriment.”

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  “I am what I have chosen to be.”

  She frowned slightly. “And are you happy?”

  Vorian did not answer right away. Happiness was not something he had ever sought. Contentment, perhaps. Stability. But happiness? He did not know if he had ever truly considered it.

  Seris invited him to sit with her in a quiet corner of the station’s communal space. Against his better judgment, he accepted. They spoke in measured tones, sharing small details of where their lives had led them. She had built a new life for herself among the drifting colonies, working as an archivist and researcher. She still sought knowledge, much like he did, but she had found a way to integrate into the world rather than detach from it.

  “I don't understand how you can stand long, lonely voyages,” she said after a while. “Back then, I thought maybe it was just who you were. That you were naturally distant. But now…” She studied him with quiet intensity. “Now I think it was a choice.”

  He shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “I have found peace in my solitude.”

  “But have you found meaning?”

  Vorian wanted to argue that meaning was subjective. That his studies, his travels, the knowledge he gathered, all served a purpose. And yet, looking at her now, he realized that the question was not about logic. It was about something he had long since abandoned.

  Seris stayed in the station for three days. And for three days, she gave him every opportunity to close the gap between them. She spoke of places they could go, of research they could do together, of how rare it was to find another of their kind so far from home.

  And for three days, he found endless reasons to decline.

  “I have obligations elsewhere.”

  “My path is set.”

  “This is not the life I have chosen.”

  Each time, she accepted his words with quiet understanding, though he saw the flicker of disappointment in her gaze. And yet, she never pressed him, never tried to force him into something he was not ready for.

  On the final day, they stood together at the edge of the docking bay. Her ship was ready to depart, engines humming softly as the final preparations were made.

  “I won’t ask you again,” she said, offering him a small smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “But if you ever change your mind…” She handed him a small, encrypted data key. “You’ll know where to find me.”

  Vorian took the key, but he did not look at it. Instead, he met her gaze one last time. There were words that should have been said, things that should have been acknowledged. But he let the moment pass.

  He had a feeling something should be said—but what?

  As she turned her back to him, Vorian had a feeling of some kind of hurt from her side, like turning away from a lost cause.

  As her ship lifted off, he watched in silence, the data key resting heavily in his palm. And for the first time in a long while, he was not certain if he had made the right choice.

  As Vorian drifted back into the emptiness of space, his mind returned to Seris. He told himself it was simply the remnants of an old life, an inevitability of memory. But as he turned the data key between his fingers, he could not quite ignore the feeling that, perhaps, he had left something important behind.

  And yet, even then, he could not bring himself to reach out.