Chapter 1: Sky Isn’t the Limit

  The field was quiet.

  Just grass brushing ankles, a breeze soft as breath, and three girls lying in a heap of hoodies and tangled blankets beneath a sky that went on forever.

  Elle pointed up, a half-eaten fry in one hand, the other tracing shapes in the stars.

  “That one?” she said. “That’s Lyra. I used to think it looked like a spilled ice cream cone until someone told me it was supposed to be a harp.”

  Mia snorted. “No harp I’ve ever seen comes with three stars and a guilt complex.”

  Palara blinked slowly, her glowing red eyes following Elle’s finger across the sky. “The stars… make shapes?”

  Elle grinned. “Yeah. Humans have been making up stuff about stars since forever. Constellations. Stories. Gods. It’s what we do. We look up, and we explain.”

  Palara tilted her head. “Your people explain sky to feel safe?”

  “Pretty much,” Mia said, lying back in the grass, arms crossed behind her head. “And also, because being scared of everything up there is exhausting.”

  Palara rolled onto her side, her diaper rustling under her borrowed constellation blanket “On my world, we sing to stars. Not to explain. To remind them we see them.”

  Elle blinked. “Stars get lonely where you’re from?”

  Palara nodded. “Light travels. But sometimes… it forgets how to come back.”

  The girls went quiet for a moment. Even the wind seemed to hush to listen.

  Mia broke the silence, smirking. “So, uh… question. Is it normal for aliens to have philosophical crises and pee their diapers at the same time? Because I’m pretty sure you just did both.”

  Palara blinked. “I did not pee… I bio-processed in place.”

  Elle cackled. “That’s it. I’m putting that on a sticker. ‘I don’t pee—I bioprocess in place.’”

  Palara beamed. “Yes! And sparkles if mood is high.”

  Mia groaned. “You’re going to get NASA cancelled.”

  “Impossible,” Elle said, arms stretched wide. “I’m their entire PR campaign. And Palara? She’s their merch line.”

  Palara sat up suddenly. “Wait. I wish to learn more of… merch.”

  Elle gave her a side-eye. “We’ll get there. One disaster at a time.”

  The three of them lay back again, a trio of chaos wrapped in crinkle, snacks, and starlight. Somewhere far off, a satellite blinked. Somewhere closer, a coyote howled like it missed someone.

  Palara spoke, barely a whisper:

  “On my world, sky is beginning. Not limit.”

  Elle nodded, feeling it in her chest.

  “Here, too,” she said. “They just forgot.”

  And for a long, long time…

  The sun woke them first.

  It filtered through the branches like spilled gold, dappling over blankets, tangled hair, and the unmistakable puff of a glowing alien diaper.

  Elle blinked awake under the tree, groggy and stiff but warm, with a hoodie half-tucked under her cheek and a bit of leaf stuck in her hair. Mia snored softly beside her, curled like a cat. Palara lay flat on her back, arms out, mouth open, legs spread like she’d tried to embrace the entire planet in her sleep.

  Her diaper glowed faintly blue in the morning light. Wet. Possibly sparkle-charged.

  Elle stretched, bones clicking, then nudged Palara gently. “Hey, starlight. Time for a change.”

  Palara mumbled something in her sleep about “cube joy and grass that sings” before her glowing eyes fluttered open. She blinked at Elle, then at the sky.

  “…I am still Earth?” she whispered.

  “Very much so,” Elle said. “And your bio-processor is fully loaded.”

  Palara sat up, looked down, and nodded seriously. “Affirmative. Status: Soggy.”

  Elle stood and offered her a hand, expecting to guide her to the bathroom.

  But Palara didn’t move.

  Instead, her hair flashed white and off

  “Not… bathroom,” she said softly. “Please. It roars. It stares. It wants my bottom.”

  Elle blinked, then softened. “Still scared of the toilet?”

  Palara nodded rapidly. “The swirl noise haunts me. I fear it will open portal and take me to pipe dimension.”

  “Okay, okay,” Elle said, squeezing her hand. “Bedroom it is.”

  She led her gently back through the house, past the hallway bathroom door—which Palara gave a very wide berth—and into their shared bedroom. The familiar soft scent of wipes and lavender powder lingered in the air, comfortingly non-swirly.

  Palara laid back on her bed, hoodie still on, diaper squishing slightly as she settled in. She looked up at Elle with that quiet, trusting look she’d mastered.

  Elle knelt beside her and got to work, speaking gently as she untaped the used diaper and cleaned her up.

  “You know,” Elle said while wiping, “fearing toilets is kind of relatable. I mean, they’re loud. They do suction. And no one warns you the first time that it sounds like the end of the world.”

  Palara nodded solemnly. “And the hole… it waits.”

  Elle chuckled. “Yup. Just lurking.”

  Fresh diaper. Powder. Tape. Crinkle.

  “Done,” Elle said, helping her sit up. “One fully recharged sparkle-alien.”

  Palara hugged her around the shoulders, tight. “Thank you for not making me face the beast.”

  “Anytime,” Elle smiled. “But one day, we’re going to flush that fear. Together.”

  Palara tilted her head. “No, It’s too scary?”

  “No rush,” Elle said, brushing Palara’s white hair behind her ear. “We’ve got time.”

  Back in the kitchen, Mia was flipping pancakes one-handed and balancing her phone in the other.

  “Where’s Diaper Nebula?” she called.

  “Getting her galaxy re-taped,” Elle called back. “Toilet avoidance continues.”

  Mia snorted. “Honestly, same.”

  They made breakfast together—eggs, pancakes, a few experimental strawberries shaped like stars—and took it all outside to the garden.

  Palara stepped barefoot onto the grass again, still just in her oversized shirt and a clean, puffy diaper, her legs catching little dabs of dew.

  She stopped suddenly.

  Face tilted upward.

  Frozen.

  A pair of robins sat in a low-hanging tree branch above them, singing.

  Palara’s jaw dropped.

  “They are… music creatures,” she whispered.

  Then — a squawk.

  Loud. Sharp. Rude.

  A crow strutted into view like it paid rent in the backyard.

  Palara yelped. Spun on the spot. Diaper crinkling like an alarm going off.

  “What is that?!”

  Elle smirked. “Crow. Local menace. Sky raccoon.”

  “It walks like it has secrets,” Palara hissed.

  “It probably does,” Mia added, sipping syrup straight from a packet. “That one in particular might be running a criminal network out of the trash cans.”

  Palara’s eyes followed the crow. She stood her ground, hoodie swaying, diaper puffed in full view of the morning breeze.

  Then whispered:

  “I wish to befriend it.”

  Elle groaned. “Of course you do.”

  Chapter 3: Pants Are a Lie

  The morning sun warmed the kitchen windows, casting buttery light over the dishes still drying in the rack and the lingering smell of pancake victory. Mia was brushing crumbs off the counter with one hand and texting with the other. Elle sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping through her sketchbook.

  Palara stood in the hallway, holding up a pair of sweatpants like they were the final boss of Earth.

  “They are… soft tubes,” she said slowly. “Two for leg. One for... holding bio-layer?”

  “You’re getting it,” Elle said, not looking up. “They’re just pants. You step in, you pull up.”

  Palara narrowed her glowing red eyes. “Simple. Like diaper.”

  “Sort of,” Mia muttered. “Except less absorbent and more likely to betray you.”

  With slow, deliberate ceremony, Palara stepped into the pants.

  Left foot. Right foot.

  She pulled them up.

  Success.

  “Behold!” she declared, triumphant. “I am clothed. Like Earth!”

  She took one proud step.

  And the pants dropped to her ankles.

  Palara gasped in betrayal.

  Elle and Mia immediately burst into laughter.

  “No! No!” Palara shouted, yanking them back up. “You promised they clothe!”

  “They do,” Elle said, wheezing. “If you help them a little.”

  Palara glared. She tried again. Pulled them up. Took two steps.

  They fell again.

  She let out a noise that sounded like a tea kettle having a meltdown. “WHY?”

  “They’re loose,” Elle said gently. “You have to tie the string.”

  Palara looked down at the waistband drawstring like it had insulted her family.

  She yanked at it. It flopped uselessly. She stared.

  “What is this… rope?” she asked, now deeply suspicious.

  “It’s a cord,” Mia said. “You tie it. Like a knot.”

  “Knot,” Palara repeated. “Like… when wires get angry?”

  Elle stood, walked over, and took the string gently. “No, like this. See? Loop, wrap, pull through.”

  Palara watched her do it slowly. Then faster. Then again. Her face twisted into pure bafflement.

  “...It loops into itself?” she said. “Why is it hiding inside the other?”

  “It’s a bow,” Elle said, smiling. “It holds the pants up.”

  Palara stared at the knot. “It is… sorcery.”

  Mia leaned on the counter. “You should’ve seen her try a hoodie zipper. She thought it was a mechanical jaw trap yesterday.”

  Palara gave her a look. “It was. It bit my hair.”

  She tried tying the string herself.

  Left loop. Wrap. Fumble.

  The cord slipped from her fingers.

  She sighed, shoulders drooping, pants sliding.

  “I have failed pants,” she said flatly.

  “No, you haven’t,” Elle said, stepping in.

  “I have. I failed pants. They fall. I fall. And the string mocks me with its... secret folding.”

  “Palara,” Elle said, kneeling. “You crossed the galaxy. You bioprocess with glitter. And you tamed the NASA cafeteria microwave. You are not failing pants. Pants are failing you.”

  Palara’s eyes widened. “They betray all?”

  “Often,” Mia added. “It’s a rite of passage.”

  Elle gently took her hands. “You’ll get it. We’ll keep trying. Until they stay up on your own.”

  Palara looked down. Then slowly nodded. “Okay. I will conquer pants.”

  “Let’s start with a bow,” Elle said. “We can call it a knot… of victory.”

  Chapter 4: The Denim Revelation

  Palara had made it six steps down the hallway before her pants betrayed her again.

  They fall.

  She groaned from the floor, half tangled in fabric, her fresh diaper puffed up defiantly.

  “Elle,” came the flat, muffled voice, “I declare this Earth garment officially hostile.”

  Elle popped her head out of her bedroom. “Still fighting the good fight?”

  Palara sat up, pulling the pants back up around her knees. “I do not understand. They fit. Then they do not fit. They lift. Then they fall. It is deception.”

  Elle sighed and walked over, gently helping her stand.

  “You almost had it,” she said. “I think you’re just built a little differently. We’ll figure it out—maybe you need tighter elastic or—”

  “Oh! I thought I heard voices!” a cheerful voice called from the living room doorway.

  Elle froze.

  Palara froze.

  Elle’s mom walked in, drying her hands on a kitchen towel, wearing a NASA hoodie and a smile that had survived years of parenthood.

  “Oh, Elle,” she said, “you didn’t tell me your new friend was staying over. Good morning, sweetheart!”

  Palara blinked. “I am… Palara.”

  Elle’s mom beamed. “That’s a beautiful name! Elle’s always had the coolest friends. And I love your hoodie.”

  Palara looked down at it. “Thank you. I sleep in it. And I fight gravity in pants.”

  Elle tried not to laugh.

  Her mom raised an eyebrow. “Fight gravity in pants?”

  “They fall down,” Elle said quickly. “It’s a… new-user issue.”

  “Well,” her mom said, stepping closer and looking Palara over with the mom-eye. “If she’s still figuring out the ins and outs of diapers like you Elle, why not try something simpler?”

  Palara tilted her head. “Simpler?”

  Elle had a very bad feeling.

  Her mom smiled brightly. “What about a denim skirt with tails? No pants. No knots. Just lift and check. It’s what I used to do with you, Elle, before you got stubborn and independent.”

  Elle flushed. “Moooom—”

  “Oh, don’t give me that face. I used to check you at the zoo. At the bookstore. At the museum gift shop, remember that?”

  “Elle’s face turned red”

  Palara blinked. “This… is acceptable protocol?”

  “For special Autistic littles? Of course,” her mom said cheerfully, as if Palara wasn’t glowing faintly around the eyes. “Some kids do better without the hassle. If she’s still in diapers, no shame in keeping it simple.”

  Elle coughed hard into her sleeve.

  Palara, meanwhile, was studying this “skirt with tails” idea like she’d been handed a schematic for a warp engine.

  “No knot… no drop… direct visual confirmation?”

  “Exactly,” Elle’s mom said. “Easy for changes. Cute, too. I’ll see if I still have some from Elle’s drawer.”

  She disappeared down the hallway, humming.

  Palara turned to Elle. “Your mother is wise in garments.”

  Elle covered her face. “She has no idea you’re from another star system she thinks your autistic human.”

  Palara adjusted the waistband of her pants experimentally, then let them fall in defeat. “I will accept her offering.”

  Chapter 5: The Access Panel Revelation

  Ten minutes later, Palara emerged from Elle’s bedroom like she was making her runway debut at a high-fashion alien gala.

  The denim skirt swished around her knees, the little decorative tails at the back fluttering with each step like she was trying to take flight. Her hoodie hung loose over the waistband, and below the hem of the skirt, her thick diaper peeked out like it had every intention of being seen.

  She turned slowly in the living room, hands out, arms balanced like a spaceship docking.

  “I am… stable,” she announced.

  Elle and Mia were on the couch, halfway through an animated debate over the kids from 1986 in the ship and Elle said “my mom thinks Palara is Autistic human child”

  Mia squinted. “Is she wearing… a jean skirt now?”

  “Correct,” Palara said proudly, doing a half-spin. “No knots. No ropes. No betrayal.”

  Elle buried her face in her hoodie sleeve, groaning softly. “My mom gave her The Skirt. She kept that thing from when I was seven. I thought it was lost to the abyss.”

  “She said it was in the ‘nostalgia bin,’” Palara said helpfully.

  Mia choked on her juice.

  Palara took a slow lap around the room. The skirt swished. The diaper crinkled. It was a duet of triumph and puff.

  “I can walk,” Palara said, stunned. “And it does not fall. It does not require… interdimensional knots.”

  Elle stood up and adjusted the back of the skirt slightly.

  Palara gasped. “You accessed me!”

  “It’s called checking,” Elle said with a smirk. “The skirt makes it easier.”

  Palara blinked. “So, this… is an access panel?”

  Elle couldn’t hold it anymore. She burst out laughing.

  “Yes,” Mia wheezed. “You’re wearing a tactical diaper deployment interface.”

  Palara placed a hand on her hip, the denim swishing dramatically. “Access Panel achieved.”

  She paused, then added thoughtfully, “It is strange, though… I am clothed but still exposed.”

  “Welcome to skirts,” Mia said. “Femininity is confusing.”

  Palara twirled again. “I enjoy it. It is freeing. Like space. But with breeze.”

  Elle knelt in front of her. “Do you feel okay in it?”

  Palara nodded seriously. “I feel… checked. Secure. Empowered.”

  A pause.

  “Also,” she added, “it does not eat me like the toilet.”

  “That’s what we call a win,” Elle said, standing. “Come on, let’s go outside. You can show the robins your tactical denim.”

  Palara marched proudly to the door, skirt swinging, diaper crinkling in bold defiance of gravity and cultural norms.

  As they stepped into the sunlight, she whispered:

  “I now understand… Earth girls wear what lets them move.”

  Elle looked at her, full of affection.

  “Yeah,” she said. “And sometimes we pick stuff that lets us breathe a little easier. Even if it’s puffy and weird and makes your butt sound like a chip bag.”

  Palara grinned, already halfway to the garden.

  “Then I am… Earth girl deluxe.”

  Chapter 6: The Letters, the Numbers, and the Space Curse

  Sunlight poured through the living room windows of Elle’s house, catching motes of dust that danced above a sea of scattered papers and crayons. Mia sat cross-legged on the floor; a purple marker tucked behind one ear like a teacher’s pen. Elle was kneeling by the coffee table, which they had commandeered as a makeshift desk. And sprawled on her belly across the rug was Palara, red eyes wide with concentration as she held a picture book upside down.

  Elle exchanged a curious glance with Mia. The book in Palara’s hands was a colourful beginner’s reader—The Happy Dog’s Day Out—one of the few kids’ books Elle’s mom had dug out of storage when they realized their new alien houseguest might need something to entertain her. But Palara wasn’t exactly reading it.

  Palara’s face scrunched in determination. “G... loo... b,” she sounded out laboriously, staring at a page.

  Mia raised an eyebrow, fighting a grin. “Gloob?”

  “That a new word?” Elle asked gently. She leaned over Palara’s shoulder. The page showed a big picture of a dog playing in a park. Underneath, the caption clearly read: Dog.

  “Yes. Gloob,” Palara repeated, quite pleased with herself. She tapped the picture of the golden retriever with her finger. “Earth creature name: gloob.”

  Mia snorted and had to disguise it as a cough. “Uh, close. But that one’s pronounced ‘dog’.” She reached over and turned the book right-side up in Palara’s hands.

  Palara frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion as she looked at the word again. “Dog...” she tried, drawing the word out as if tasting it. “Dog. It still looks like gloob to me.

  Elle bit back a smile. Palara. See, D-O-G spells dog.” She pointed to each letter.

  Palara stared at the letters as if they were hieroglyphs. “D-O-G,” she echoed, then promptly announced, “That spells gloob.”

  Mia fell onto her back laughing, her ginger curls splaying out on the rug. “Oh boy. We have work to do.”

  Elle gently closed the book and gave Palara a comforting pat on the back. “Palara, can I ask... have you ever learned to read? Like, read words or letters, either in English or your own language?”

  Palara rolled onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow. Her diaper crinkled softly under her. She looked a little embarrassed, the way her cheeks flushed a faint lavender. “We do not have... letters on my world,” she admitted. “We share stories by singing. Or by symbols, I learn human talking by listening to you. But those,” she pointed at the closed book, “are silent. They do nothing. Just marks.”

  Mia sat back up, still smiling but now softening her voice. “They’re a code, basically. Humans make marks so we can remember stories without singing them. You must learn the code.

  Palara’s red eyes flickered with interest at the word code. Being friends with Elle meant she’d heard plenty about coding and signals. “A secret code for stories?”

  “Kind of!” Elle said brightly. “Once you learn how the letters and words work, you can unlock any story on Earth. Or at least read street signs and menus,” she added with a wink.

  Palara’s face lit up at the prospect of unlocking stories like some treasure. But then a shadow of doubt passed. “It’s hard,” she said quietly. “I look at the marks and my head feel... swimmy.”

  Mia nodded in understanding. She absentmindedly twirled the marker behind her ear. “You know, I totally get that. Letters used to swim around for me too.”

  Palara cocked her head. “They did? But you can read lots.”

  Mia coughed, her cheeks now flushing a bit. “Well, I can read now, sort of. But it wasn’t easy. I have something called dyslexia. It means my brain sees letters differently, jumbles them up sometimes. When I was younger, I thought I’d never get them right.”

  Elle reached over and squeezed Mia’s hand briefly. She knew how much effort Mia had put in to keep up with reading, even though Mia often laughed off her struggles. “Mia’s being modest. She’s worked hard. And she’s a genius with creative stuff, like remembering things in pictures and stories.”

  Mia gave a one-shouldered shrug, but she smiled at Palara. “Point is, you’re not alone. Human or alien, reading can be tricky. But we can help you.” She tapped the picture book cover. “If you want, that is.”

  Palara sat up fully now, crossing her legs. “I want to learn your code,” she said solemnly. Then she added with a shy smile, “I want to read all the stories. Especially the funny ones you hide under your bed, Elle.”

  Elle’s eyes widened. “Hey! How did you—those aren’t hidden, I’m just... storing them!” She shot Mia a mortified look, knowing exactly which goofy comic books Palara must have found.

  Mia erupted into laughter again, and Palara joined in with a mischievous grin. Elle huffed, her face pink. “Alright you two, focus.” But she was laughing softly too.

  She took a deep breath and adopted a mock-serious teacher voice. “Class is in session. Time for Reading 101 with Professors Elle and Mia.”

  Palara clapped her hands excitedly. “I am ready, Pro fest sores!”

  Mia hopped up and grabbed a large sketchpad from the side of the room. She flipped to a blank page and uncapped her purple marker with a flourish. “Okay, let’s start with the basics: the alphabet. Twenty-six letters in English. Each one has a name and a sound.”

  Palara nodded vigorously, lying back down on her stomach with her chin propped in her hands, eyes glued to Mia and the marker. Elle scooted next to Palara, ready to assist.

  Mia carefully wrote a big capital A on the sketchpad. “This is A,” she said. “Ahhh sound, like in ‘apple.’” She doodled a quick little apple next to the letter.

  Palara’s eyes darted from the letter to the apple drawing. “A,” she repeated. “Apple. I know apple! It’s a red crunch fruit.”

  “Exactly!” Elle said. “See, you already learned one word by sight: apple.”

  Mia then drew a capital B. But in her excitement, or perhaps due to habit, she accidentally mirrored it—so it faced the wrong way. She continued unaware: “And this is B. Buh sound, like in, uh...” She hesitated, realizing she couldn’t think of a word starting with B that Palara knew. Meanwhile, Palara was staring at the symbol, head tilted.

  Elle gently placed a hand on Mia’s wrist. “Um, Mia... I think that one’s backwards.”

  Mia blinked and looked at the paper. Sure enough, her B was facing left instead of right. “Whoops! My bad.” She scribbled it out with an embarrassed grin and drew a proper B next to it. “That’s B. Stupid dyslexia,” she muttered under her breath, though she was smiling.

  Palara hadn’t known the difference; both versions looked equally mysterious to her. But she reached out and patted Mia’s knee. “It’s okay. The second B looks nice. Like two pancakes on a plate.”

  Mia chuckled. “You know what, you’re right. B does look like a stack of pancakes from the side.” She shot Elle a grateful smile for catching the mistake without making a big deal.

  Elle picked up a pen as well. “Maybe we can do this together. I’ll take over some letters if you want, Mia.”

  “Tag-team teaching, I like it,” Mia agreed, flipping to the next page of the sketchpad and handing Elle a blue marker from the coffee table.

  For the next hour, the living room became a whirlwind of letters and laughter. Elle and Mia took turns writing big block letters and drawing silly pictures to go with each one. By the time they got to D, Mia had drawn a doodle of a diaper (much to Palara’s delight, who proudly pointed to herself, saying “I wear those!”), and Elle drew a tiny dino for D as well. E had eyes drawn on it turning it into a goofy face, F became a flag on a hill, and so on.

  Palara tried her best to copy the letters in the air with her finger. Some came easier than others. O and C she liked (“They are just like circles!” she said, tracing huge Os in the air). M and N confused her (“Those have too many legs,” she complained, squinting). When they finally reached Z, Mia drew it like a lightning bolt, and Palara clapped.

  They leaned back to admire the alphabet pages they’d filled. Letters A through Z sprawled across several sheets, surrounded by doodles of everything from cats to rockets. Palara’s forehead glistened; who knew learning shapes could make you break a sweat?

  “You are doing okay, Palara?” Elle asked, noticing the alien girl’s momentary quiet.

  Palara nodded slowly. “It is a lot. So many... marks. And some look very similar.” She pointed to M and N with a scowl. “Those two are twins trying to trick me.”

  Mia laughed. “Honestly? They trick a lot of people. But don’t worry, you’ll recognize them with practice.” She stretched her arms over her head. “Whew, this teacher needs a snack break. Brain food, anyone?”

  At the mention of snacks, Palara immediately perked up. “Marshmallows?” she chirped hopefully. She had discovered the sugary treat recently and was obsessed.

  Elle shook her head, amused. “We can get some apple slices and peanut butter first, then marshmallows. Balance, my friend.”

  Palara sighed dramatically. “Fine. Apples. But with extra peanut butter!” She hopped up and bounded toward the kitchen.

  “Hey, slow down!” Mia called after her, leaping up to follow. “Remember our rule about the kitchen? No trying to use the toaster by yourself. You still think it’s a tiny spaceship and that got messy last time.”

  Palara’s giggles echoed from the next room. “One day it will take off!”

  Elle laughed and began gathering the scattered letter pages, smiling to herself. For an impromptu first lesson, this was going well—backwards B’s and all. Palara’s enthusiasm was infectious, even if the focus wavered whenever food was mentioned.

  A few minutes later, the trio reconvened around the coffee table with a plate of apple slices (each generously smeared with peanut butter, as promised) and a small bowl of mini marshmallows to reward themselves. Palara munched happily, a bit of peanut butter sticking to the corner of her mouth.

  Elle decided it was a good time to gently broach the next subject. “So, Palara... we covered letters. How about we try some numbers after this?”

  To her surprise, Palara nearly choked on her apple. She swallowed and stared at Elle with something like horror. “Numbers?”

  Mia, mid-bite, slowly lowered her apple slice. “Uh oh.”

  Palara’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if Elle had suggested summoning a ghost. “You mean those... those symbols that chase me on the microwave?”

  Elle blinked, then bit her lip to keep from giggling. Palara had recently been terrified by the digital clock on the microwave when it blinked 12:00. She had loudly declared the “glowing runes” were following her whenever she walked past.

  “You mean the clock?” Elle asked softly.

  Palara hugged a couch cushion to her chest defensively. “The clock has cursed symbols! They change again and again and it’s always when I’m not looking. They are tricksters. On my world, such changing symbols would be considered a space curse for sure.”

  Mia pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Palara, those are just numbers telling time. Like one o’clock, two o’clock, etc. They’re not a curse, promise.”

  Palara wasn’t convinced. She jutted out her chin stubbornly. “Numbers are bad. I have decided.”

  Elle set down her snack and wiped her fingers. This was clearly something Palara truly believed. “Why do you think they’re bad? Did something with numbers scare you?”

  Palara fidgeted with a loose thread on the cushion. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Long ago. They used stars in the sky. But one day a star exploded when we counted it... and then we never spoke of counting again.” She looked genuinely fearful at the memory.

  Mia’s eyes widened. “Whoa. You think because you counted the star, it blew up?”

  Palara nodded earnestly. “It vanished right after we gave it a number-name called ooj. So yes. We angered it by trapping it with a number name.”

  There was a beat of silence. Elle and Mia exchanged looks—half astonished, half sympathetic. A young Palara mistaking a supernova for the result of counting was both touching and somewhat adorable.

  Elle scooted closer and put an arm around Palara’s shoulders. “I’m sorry that happened, Palara. But I promise, counting didn’t make the star explode. Stars... well, sometimes they just reach the end of their life and go boom. It wasn’t your fault or numbers’ fault.”

  Palara leaned into Elle, but her frown remained. “You don’t know that for sure,” she mumbled.

  Mia grabbed a marshmallow and held it up. “Here, Palara. How many marshmallows am I holding?”

  Palara eyed the single white puff in Mia’s hand. “One marshmallow.”

  “Right!” Mia popped it into her own mouth and grabbed two more from the bowl, holding them up. “Now how many?”

  Palara hesitated only a second. “Two marshmallows.”

  “Exactly. You just counted, and nothing bad happened. The marshmallows didn’t explode.” Mia wiggled them for emphasis.

  Palara still looked wary, but she cracked a tiny smile. “Unless they explode in your tummy later.”

  Mia snorted. “True, I might regret this later. But see? Counting can be harmless. Even useful. If you couldn’t count, you wouldn’t know how many marshmallows you’re getting.”

  Elle jumped in, reaching for a marker and a fresh sheet of paper. “Palara, what if we show you numbers in a fun way, like we did with letters? We can even draw them with glitter glue.” She knew how the alien girl loved anything sparkly.

  At the mention of glitter, Palara’s hair glowed. “Glitter... glue?” she repeated slowly, as if tasting the words.

  “Oh boy, you haven’t introduced her to glitter yet?” Mia laughed. “You’re in for a treat, Palara. Or rather, we’re in for a sparkly mess.”

  “An educational sparkly mess,” corrected Elle, already rummaging through the craft supplies bin they’d dragged out earlier. She pulled out a few bottles of glitter glue in various colours, some construction paper, and a packet of pre-cut large number cards from her homeschooling kit.

  When Elle laid out the materials, Palara’s earlier apprehension about numbers visibly melted into curiosity. She picked up a tube of silver glitter glue, entranced as it caught the sunlight. “It’s like a star in a bottle,” she breathed.

  Elle grinned. “And you can use it to draw. How about we each take a number and draw it big and sparkly? Maybe if the numbers look less scary—more fun—you won’t feel like they’re curses.”

  Palara nodded slowly, willing to try. “I like this idea. We will make the curse glittery, so it cannot be evil.”

  Mia shook her head in amusement and took a piece of paper. “I can’t believe we’re literally bedazzling math. My fourth-grade teacher would have a fit.”

  One by one, they started with the numbers 1 through 5. Elle drew a large number 1 on her paper with a glue pen, then let Palara sprinkle pink glitter over the wet lines. Mia took on 2, squeezing out a wobbly, curvy shape with blue glitter glue. Palara gleefully grabbed a green tube and attempted 3 by herself next to Mia’s, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she squeezed a rather blobby 3 shape.

  Soon they had five sheets, each with a giant sparkly numeral. The living room rug, and the girls themselves, were now dusted with a fine layer of multi-coloured glitter. (Mia had a streak of gold glitter on her cheek, and Elle’s sweater was basically a nebula of sparkles.)

  They propped the drying glitter numbers up against the couch. Palara studied them, her fear of them clearly dampened by the ridiculous amount of glitter involved. “They look... pretty,” she admitted. “But I still don’t know what to do with them. How do these help me count? Is it like letters making a word?”

  “In a way,” said Elle. She picked up the flashcards of plain numbers that came in the kit. “Each of these symbols stands for an amount. Like, ‘1’ means one item, ‘2’ means two items, and so on. When you see them written, you know how many of something there are supposed to be.”

  Palara pointed at the glittery 3.

  Mia gave a playful groan. “We’ve created a glitter monster. Quick, test another number before she changes the alien wildlife encyclopaedia again.”

  Elle held up the flashcard for the number 4. “Alright, what about this one, Palara? Do you know it?”

  Palara squinted. “Four?”

  “Yes!” Elle turned the card around to reveal four cartoon apples on the back. “See, most of these flashcards show the number on one side and a picture with that quantity on the other. So 4 means like these four apples.”

  Palara’s eyes lit up at the apples. “Ohhh. So, if I had four marshmallows...”

  Mia, ever ready to supply marshmallows, quickly plopped four mini marshmallows onto the table. “Visual aid, at your service.”

  Palara counted them slowly. “One... two... three... four.” She beamed, then looked at the glittery numbers lined up. Her smile faltered a little at the memory of her superstition. “And no one got cursed.”

  “No curses here. Unless you count a sugar rush as a curse,” joked Mia, nudging Palara’s arm.

  Palara popped one of the marshmallows in her mouth thoughtfully. “Numbers are not so scary when they feed you marshmallows.”

  Elle chuckled. “Maybe that’s the trick. Positive reinforcement.” She tapped the paper with the number 5, which they hadn’t practiced yet. “Think you’re up for trying to count to five?”

  Palara sat up straight and saluted (a gesture she’d picked up from some astronaut movie they all watched). “Professor Elle, I am at the ready.”

  Elle placed five marshmallows in a row. “Go for it. Out loud.”

  Palara pointed to each in turn, her finger leaving a tiny smudge of glitter on each marshmallow. “One... two... three... four... five!” When she reached the last one, she gasped and threw her hands in the air like she’d just performed a magic trick. “I counted them! They are all still here! The roof did not collapse, and the sky did not fall!”

  Mia clapped in mock solemnity. “Presenting Palara, Master of Numbers, Destroyer of Curses, and Devourer of Marshmallows!”

  Palara giggled uncontrollably at the grand title. She promptly destroyed her lineup of marshmallows by eating them one by one. “Maybe numbers are not curses,” she declared between chews. “Maybe... maybe they are just another code, like letters. I think my elders were wrong.”

  Elle’s heart melted a little at Palara’s acceptance. She knew how deeply ingrained fears could be, and seeing Palara challenge that fear was huge. Elle reached out and wiped a sticky, glittery crumb from the corner of Palara’s mouth. “I’m proud of you. Both of you,” she added, looking at Mia too. “Teacher Mia, you’re doing amazing.”

  Mia rolled her eyes playfully. “We’ve all inhaled too much glitter, clearly making us sentimental.”

  Palara was still riding the high of victory. Suddenly she snatched up the gold glitter glue. “Letters need sparkles too!” she declared. Before Elle or Mia could protest the additional mess, Palara had drawn a giant, somewhat wobbly P on a fresh paper.

  “That’s P,” Elle said with an amused shake of her head. “The first letter of ‘Palara’!”

  Palara beamed, sprinkling extra glitter on the wet glue for good measure. “P for Palara,” she announced proudly. A generous blob of gold dripped onto the rug, but no one cared at that moment.

  Mia chuckled, picking a stray speck of glitter out of her hair. “This carpet is going to sparkle for years, you know.”

  Elle laughed. “Worth it.”

  They spent the next while reinforcing what Palara had learned—writing out simple words on flashcards, practicing their sounds, and celebrating each small victory. Mia drew a quick doodle of a dog and the word D-O-G beneath it, which Palara finally managed to read as “dog” instead of gloob after several tries and a lot of giggling. They made a pile of “Palara’s Word Cards”: simple nouns like cat, cup, star (that one Palara memorized instantly, of course).

  For each word, Palara insisted on adding her own creative description or reminder on the back of the card, to help her remember. For “star,” she wrote (with Elle’s spelling help) “friend light.” For “cup,” she scribbled “holds juice.” The handwriting was wobbly, and some letters were backward, but it was legible. Mia added little drawings to accompany each definition.

  When Palara successfully read the word “hug” on a flashcard—after initially pronouncing it “hoo-guh” and making the girls cackle—she immediately tackled both Elle and Mia in a big hug. “Like this!” she declared. She tossed the “hug” card aside and squeezed her two teachers tight with both arms.

  “Oof! Group hug attack!” Mia wheezed dramatically, though she hugged back just as tightly.

  Elle laughed; her voice muffled against Palara’s shoulder. “Best reward ever.”

  They eventually toppled sideways into the pile of pillows by the couch, still tangled in a group hug. None of them rushed to let go. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence as they caught their breath, still lightly dusted in glitter and surrounded by the fruits of their chaotic study session—flashcards, coloured pages, and the faint smell of peanut butter in the air.

  Palara’s voice was soft when she finally spoke. “Thank you.” Her red eyes shimmered, reflecting the sparkle of a stray bit of glitter on her cheek. “On my world, I was too scared to learn these things. But with you... it’s not so scary. It’s... fun.”

  Mia brushed a strand of hair out of Palara’s face. “Learning should be fun. And messy.” She flicked a piece of glitter off Palara’s nose, making the alien girl wrinkle it and giggle.

  Elle nodded, feeling a swell of pride and affection. “You’re doing so well, Palara. And hey, we’re learning from you too. I mean, I never thought about letters as sneaky twins, or numbers as curses turned pretty. You make us see things differently.”

  Palara beamed at that, a gorgeous wide smile that showed her tiny, pointed teeth.

  Elle sighed contentedly, sinking deeper into the pillows. “What a day. Who knew we’d end up running a school in our living room?”

  Mia snickered. “We should start charging tuition. Palara, payment is one galaxy’s worth of hugs.”

  Palara immediately flung her arms open wide. “I can pay in advance!”

  The girls dissolved into giggles as Palara tackled them with another exuberant embrace. Glitter puffed up around them like sparkling dust clouds.

  As the afternoon light slanted golden through the window, the three of them eventually settled, lying side by side on the rug amid their study materials. Palara held her precious new flashcards to her chest like a favourite book. Mia absentmindedly traced letters in the air with her finger, perhaps practicing for herself as much as for Palara. Elle gazed at her two best friends—one human, one alien—and felt a warmth in her chest as cozy as a sunbeam.

  Chaos, glitter, misread words and all—this was learning. This was friendship. And in moments like this, it was hard to tell where teaching ended and love began, because really, they were one and the same.

  Palara yawned, her eyelids fluttering. “Professor Elle? Professor Mia?”

  “Yes, star pupil?” Elle responded, eyes twinkling.

  Palara giggled at the nickname. “Can we learn more tomorrow? Maybe... um, the sparkly numbers up to the one that looks like an upside-down chair?”

  Elle stifled a laugh—Palara’s description of the number 4 was undeniably accurate in a funny way. “Of course. We can do more tomorrow. The upside-down chair number and beyond.”

  Mia chimed in sleepily, “And maybe we’ll practice writing your name, too. Gotta, get you signing autographs eventually, space girl.”

  Palara’s eyes closed, a smile still on her face. “Yes. I want to write my name... and yours. I will write ‘Elle’ and ‘Mia’ and ‘Palara’ in glitter letters. All the glitter.”

  By the time she finished her sentence, her voice had grown drowsy, and the words slurred slightly—like a toddler fighting sleep after a big day. Moments later, Palara was out cold, softly snoring with a content little grin, her arms hugging a pillow and a handful of flashcards.

  Mia carefully pulled a blanket off the couch and draped it over Palara’s sleeping form. The alien girl murmured something in her sleep that sounded like “gloob” and snuggled deeper.

  Elle chuckled quietly. “Today was kind of perfect,” she whispered.

  Mia nodded, lying back down next to Elle under the blanket’s edge. “Chaos and all.”

  They lay there in the gentle quiet, both too tired to move much. Glitter sparkled in the last rays of sunlight around them.

  Elle thought about how far they’d all come—just a little while ago, Palara was a mysterious voice from across the stars, and now here she was, part of their little family, learning ABC’s and 123’s like any other kid. Life was funny that way.

  Mia broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “Hey, Elle?”

  “Mm?”

  “We make a pretty good team, huh?”

  Elle turned her head to see Mia looking at her with a sleepy smile. “The best,” Elle agreed softly.

  Mia’s eyes drifted to the ceiling, where a faint plastic glow-in-the-dark star was stuck (a remnant of Elle’s old bedroom decor). “Think Palara’s right? That numbers and letters are kind of like a code. We gave her our code today... maybe someday she’ll give us hers.”

  Elle reached over and squeezed Mia’s hand. “I hope so. There’s so much we can learn from each other.”

  Mia squeezed back. “As long as her code doesn’t involve exploding stars, I’m game.”

  They shared a quiet laugh. Then Mia closed her eyes. “We should clean up... but five more minutes,” she mumbled, already drifting.

  Elle smiled and let her eyes close as well, exhaustion finally catching up. “Yeah... five more.”

  In the centre of the living room, amid twinkling craft debris and the remnants of a lesson unlike any other, three girls—one human genius still wearing a bit of peanut butter on her shirt, one dyslexic artist with glitter in her hair, and one alien child clutching new words to her heart—slept soundly, tangled together in a heap of friendship.

  And if a passerby peeked through the window just then, they might have thought it was simply an ordinary sleepover, three kids dozing off after an afternoon of play. In a way, they’d be right. Because for all the extraordinary things in their lives—signals from distant galaxies, NASA missions, cosmic destinies—this was something beautifully ordinary and human: learning, loving, and growing together, one chaotic lesson at a time.

  Chapter 7: The Privacy Puzzle

  The glitter had settled.

  The flashcards lay in a neat, sparkly pile on the coffee table. A sticky bowl with one last lonely marshmallow sat forgotten next to three empty juice boxes. The sun had long since slipped below the horizon, painting the windows in dusty gold before tucking itself behind the trees.

  Elle woke first.

  She blinked groggily, stretched with a grunt, and immediately felt it: the familiar, clammy hug of a used diaper. Not a total blowout, but enough to earn a sigh and a mental note to change before breakfast.

  She glanced down and smiled.

  Palara was still curled up on her side, clutching her “P” glitter page like it was sacred text next to her. Mia was out cold beside her, drooling slightly into a pillow and mumbling about pancake flags.

  Carefully, Elle untangled herself from the blanket pile and padded softly down the hallway toward the bathroom. She grabbed a clean diaper and wipes from the shelf on the way—muscle memory at this point.

  She’d barely shut the bathroom door when—

  Knock knock. Knock knock knock.

  “Elle?” Palara’s voice chirped from the other side.

  Elle sighed, already halfway through unbuttoning her pajama pants. “Yeah, babe?”

  “I am awake. I, too, am soggy,” Palara announced.

  “Okay. I’ll change you after I’m done in here.”

  A pause.

  Then—

  Click.

  The door creaked open, and Palara stepped in like she was entering a seminar.

  Elle yelped, instinctively yanking her hoodie down over her diaper. “Whoa! Wait—Palara!”

  Palara stopped mid-step, confused. “What? Are we not changing together? We both require change. Efficiency, yes?”

  “No, no—this is the bathroom, and I’m changing,” Elle said, trying to be calm and not laugh and scream at the same time. “Close the door, please.”

  Palara looked genuinely puzzled. “But you change me all the time. In the room. On blanket. With wipes and kindness. Why can I not help you?”

  “Because I... I need privacy,” Elle said, tugging her pants back up halfway. “It’s a human thing. We don’t usually change in front of each other unless we must.”

  Palara narrowed her eyes. “Privacy. This is... the act of hiding bottoms?”

  Elle groaned. “It’s not hiding—it’s just... space. Time to yourself. Like when you didn’t want to go near the toilet monster. That was a boundary. This is mine.”

  Palara stood frozen for a moment, processing.

  Then: “So... I respect your boundary?”

  “Yes,” Elle said, relieved. “Exactly.”

  Palara nodded slowly. Then a beat later, called out, “May I wait just outside your boundary for optimal efficiency?”

  Elle sighed but smiled. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

  She heard the door click closed again. Through it, a muffled Palara voice added: “Please knock when you’re done. My bio-layer is approaching overflow.”

  Elle changed quickly, her thoughts swirling. It hadn’t occurred to her how strange it must seem to Palara. She’d changed the alien girl a dozen times by now—casually, gently, because that’s what you do when someone can’t do it themselves. Palara trusted her. And of course, Palara assumed that meant she could return the care in kind.

  But privacy was such a deeply human thing. Learned, internalized. Not universal.

  Elle washed her hands, checked her reflection in the mirror—diaper clean, hair a disaster—and opened the door.

  Palara was standing right there, diaper crinkling, holding her own clean one in both hands like an offering. “Your turn for me?”

  Elle chuckled. “Hop on in.”

  Minutes later, Palara lay back on the blanket with a fresh hoodie and a star sticker stuck to her thigh (Mia’s reward system, now adopted by everyone). She looked up at Elle with a curious expression.

  “So... privacy is not rejection?” she asked softly.

  “No,” Elle said, wiping her hands on a cloth. “It’s just... a way to take care of yourself. Sometimes being alone for a minute helps your brain reset.”

  Palara nodded, then sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. “It is hard sometimes. I want to do everything like you. I want to be helper, too.”

  “You are a helper,” Elle said gently. “You make us laugh. You try new things. You’re learning. You’re the only reason Mia and I know what a ‘gloob’ is.”

  Palara giggled. “You still say it wrong.”

  Elle nudged her playfully. “Gloob you, too.”

  Mia shuffled into the room mid-yawn, blinking at the two girls. “Did someone say gloobs and boundaries? Did I miss a philosophical diaper debate?”

  “Yes,” Palara and Elle said in unison.

  Mia collapsed face-first onto the bed with a groan. “I gotta stop napping in glitter.”

  Elle rolled her eyes, then flopped down next to her, curling up between them. Palara adjusted her skirt tails and lay on her side, still thinking.

  Eventually, she whispered:

  “If you ever want help again... I can turn around and close my eyes. That is privacy, yes?”

  Elle smiled and reached over to squeeze her hand. “That’s perfect.

  Chapter 8: Bio-Scrub Emergency

  The house was quiet, for once.

  Elle was curled up in the living room with a blanket over her lap, sketchbook in hand, headphones half-on as she tweaked a design for Palara’s new “learning badge” system. She’d drawn a glittery Z, a pancake stack, and what might’ve been a gloob if you squinted. Peaceful. Productive. Just starting to relax.

  Then came the voice:

  “I require bio-scrub! All over!”

  Elle looked up.

  And screamed.

  Palara stood in the middle of the hallway, stark naked. Not just topless. Not hoodie-and-diaper. Full-on space birthday suit.

  Her glowing eyes were wide with urgency, totally unaware that her everything was out. “My diaper... it leaked during nap recharge. My limbs are sticky. My crevice zones need attention. I am compromised.”

  Elle slapped a hand over her eyes, nearly knocking her sketchbook to the floor. “PALARA! WHAT THE—?! WHY ARE YOU NAKED IN THE HALLWAY?!”

  Palara blinked, completely unfazed. “Because I must be cleansed, Elle. It is time for... full-scale hygiene protocol.”

  “You don’t just walk out here like that!” Elle hissed, still shielding her eyes and trying not to scream-laugh. “People wear clothes between rooms! Even soggy ones!”

  Palara looked down at herself, confused. “But I needed a bio-scrub. Like when you clean me with wipes.”

  “Wipes and a walk of shame are NOT the same as standing naked in the hallway like a glowing jellybean!”

  Just then, Mia’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

  “What’s all the yelling abou—”

  She turned the corner.

  Saw Palara.

  And burst into the loudest, longest, most unholy cackle known to humankind.

  Mia dropped her half-eaten cereal bar and leaned against the wall, doubled over with laughter, tears already welling in her eyes. “OH MY GOD—PALARA—YOU’RE—YOU’RE NAKED LIKE A LITERAL SPACE LARVA!”

  Palara turned to her calmly. “That is correct. I have shed my outer husk for cleaning purposes.”

  Mia, “Ohh my am gonna pee my pants laughing”

  Elle groaned so hard it turned into a scream and grabbed a blanket off the couch to throw over Palara’s shoulders. “You need permission before exposing your space husk in shared areas!”

  “But... we are family unit,” Palara said innocently, wrapping the blanket like a cape. “My cleansing should be community knowledge.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Mia was howling now. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened. I need to call NASA. ‘Hi, yes, your alien ambassador just mooned our thermostat.’”

  “DO NOT call NASA,” Elle snapped, dragging Palara gently toward the bathroom. “We’re showering. Together. But I am staying clothed, and you are learning what privacy means in steam format.”

  Palara perked up. “Showers are steam bio-scrubs, yes? I am ready. I shall stand and rotate.”

  “No rotating unless I say so!” Elle hissed.

  Inside the bathroom, Elle turned on the water, still slightly red-faced as she helped Palara step in. She tossed the blanket to the side and aimed the shower head gently.

  Palara stood under the water with wide eyes, letting the stream hit her like it was a baptism. “This feel... warm. Like hugging air.”

  Elle soaped up a soft sponge and began gently scrubbing Palara’s arms and back. “It’s called hygiene. On Earth, we call this a shower, and it usually happens alone. Or, you know... not in the hallway.”

  Palara tilted her head. “You humans are obsessed with doing things alone. Peeing, changing, cleansing... I do not understand this isolation obsession.”

  “It’s not isolation,” Elle sighed, rinsing her off. “It’s privacy. It’s about dignity, space, and not flashing your alien butt in front of cereal-eating housemates.”

  Palara blinked water from her lashes. “So, I must wait for my private slot to bio-scrub?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I must knock before entering naked into shared zones?”

  “Yes!”

  “And I may not offer to hose down Mia if she looks sticky?”

  “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

  Outside the shower room, Mia called through the door. “If she tries to hose me down, I’m charging her rent!”

  Elle finished rinsing and handed Palara a towel, wrapping it tightly. “Okay. You’re clean. But next time, I swear, just say, ‘Elle, I need help with a shower,’ and wait. Like a civilized diaper-wearing alien.”

  Palara smiled sheepishly, towel steaming in the warm air. “Understood. I will engage future protocols before revealing my husk.”

  Elle shook her head and laughed despite herself. “Good. Because next time, I’m locking the hallway door.”

  Chapter 9: The Toilet and the Tears

  It started with a drip.

  Elle shifted in her sleep, her face half-buried in the pillow, hair a mess of dark strands tangled across her forehead. The night was still, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional chirp of a cricket outside the dorm window.

  Then—

  Drip. Crinkle. Sniff.

  Elle’s eyes fluttered open.

  There was movement near the edge of her bed. A quiet shuffle, a stifled hiccup.

  “Elle?” came a whisper, barely there.

  She blinked again and turned over, squinting in the dark.

  Palara stood beside her, trembling slightly. Her diaper sagged, visibly swollen and glistening in the moonlight. A dark patch on her hoodie revealed where it had leaked. Her eyes glowed faintly red—but not the curious glow Elle knew. This was different.

  “Elle…” Palara repeated. “I... I am wet. And sad.”

  Elle sat up instantly, heart lurching. “Oh no—did something happen?”

  “I had the dream again,” Palara whispered. “The one with the toilet beast. The swirling eye. The endless pipes.”

  She sniffled hard, trying to hold it in. Her fingers clutched a corner of her hoodie, knuckles white.

  Elle scooted over and gently took her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Palara let herself be led into the bathroom, shaking quietly but saying nothing. She didn’t argue, didn’t protest—not even when Elle helped her out of the soaked diaper and hoodie. Elle cleaned her up in silence, working quickly but gently, wiping down her legs and belly, applying cream to a small rash that had started from the leak.

  “Does it hurt?” Elle asked softly, dabbing with a cloth.

  Palara shook her head. “Not outside.”

  Elle paused. Her heart broke a little.

  Once Palara was taped into a fresh diaper and a dry oversized t-shirt, she looked up at Elle, blinking tears. “I don’t want to go back to the sleep room. It is cold there. And my bed is… sad now.”

  Elle squeezed her shoulder. “Then sleep with me tonight.”

  Palara’s eyes widened slightly. “Really?”

  “Of course. You’re safe here.”

  Back in Elle’s bed, the two girls lay curled under the covers, Palara holding tightly onto Elle’s arm like it might float away. Her breathing slowed, but Elle could tell she was still rattled.

  “Want to talk about the dream?” Elle asked after a few minutes.

  Palara didn’t answer right away.

  Then, voice barely audible: “The toilet watched me. It laughed when I tried to run. It had... mouths.”

  Elle winced. “Okay, wow. That is… horrifying.”

  “I don’t understand why I can’t beat this fear,” Palara whispered. “I face many things. Space storms. Time warp travel. Crying. Pants. And Plants. But... this bowl... it scares me more than anything.”

  She buried her face against Elle’s shoulder.

  Elle hugged her gently. “Fear doesn’t always make sense. Some fears are big because they’re tangled up in other stuff—like feeling out of control. Or alone.”

  “I don’t want to be alone in the bathroom,” Palara admitted. “Even if I don’t have to use it. Just being near it makes me... want to run.”

  There was a pause.

  Then Elle sat up slightly. “Okay. Let’s try something.”

  Palara looked confused. “Now?”

  “Yeah. Just to see.”

  Elle got out of bed and held out a hand. “Come on. Just stand in the doorway with me. No toilet touching. No flushing. Just... being near it. For one minute.”

  Palara looked terrified.

  Elle knelt beside her. “You’re safe. I promise. I won’t leave you.”

  Slowly, very slowly, Palara slid out of bed and took Elle’s hand.

  They walked, together, down the dark hallway toward the bathroom. Elle flipped the light on low.

  Palara stopped two feet from the doorway, shaking.

  “It’s okay,” Elle whispered. “We don’t even have to go in. Just here.”

  Palara stared at the porcelain monster in the dim light.

  Her breath hitched.

  Elle kept her grip soft but steady. “It can’t hurt you. It doesn’t know your name. It doesn’t eat aliens.”

  Palara let out a watery giggle, but her eyes were glassy.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  “I know,” Elle said. “But look—you’re still here. And I’m here. And we’re okay.”

  Palara’s knees buckled slightly, and Elle caught her, holding her in the hallway.

  “I thought I was strong,” she mumbled.

  “You are,” Elle said. “You just need time.”

  Palara buried her face into Elle’s shirt again. “I want to learn. I want to not fear it. But my tummy flips when I think of flushing. What if I try and it takes me?”

  Elle kissed the top of her head. “Then I’ll come after you. I’ll flush myself right in and ride the sewer pipe to save you.”

  Palara laughed through tears. “That is very unsanitary.”

  Elle smiled. “So are we, sometimes.”

  Eventually, she coaxed Palara back to bed, wrapping her in an extra blanket and curling close.

  Palara whispered, “Thank you, Elle. For staying.”

  Elle replied, soft and sleepy, “Always.”

  And this time, when Palara drifted off again, the swirling toilet nightmare didn’t follow.

  Because she knew—no matter what waited behind that bathroom door—she’d never be facing it alone.

  Chapter 10: Monster Flush and the Power of Crayon

  The next morning, the house was calm. Birds chirped outside. Cereal crunched in bowls. Glitter still clung to the couch cushions like it had signed a lease.

  Mia was scrolling her tablet at the kitchen table, nursing a chocolate milk and humming. Elle was doing her best not to spill peanut butter on her history notes. And Palara…

  Palara was staring at a blank sheet of construction paper like it had personally offended her.

  Elle glanced up from her notebook. “What’s with the death stare, Picasso?”

  Palara didn’t look away. “Today, I battle my nightmare.”

  Mia peeked over her tablet. “You're not fighting pants again, are you? Because last time you dropkicked a laundry basket.”

  Palara tapped her crayon against the paper. “No. This is artistic warfare. Elle said drawing makes monsters smaller.”

  “I said feel smaller,” Elle corrected gently, “but honestly? Go off, alien queen.”

  Palara selected a purple crayon—probably the most serious colour in her mind—and began sketching furiously. It was part scribble, part diagram, part alien runes. After several intense minutes, she turned the page around.

  “Behold,” she announced. “Monster Flush.”

  The creature on the page was a monstrous toilet with jagged shark teeth in the bowl, a tongue made of toilet paper, and furious angry eyebrows above the tank lid. There were pipes curling off it like tentacles, and one big glowing eye in the bowl.

  Mia nearly fell out of her chair laughing. “Oh my god. It’s Toiletzilla.”

  Palara nodded seriously. “He is the one from my dream. He mocks me while swirling.”

  Elle leaned in, impressed. “You even gave it... flaming eyebrows?”

  “Emotion fire,” Palara said gravely.

  She flipped to the next page. “This is his henchman: Little Flush. He hides in public stalls and growls when you enter.”

  Little Flush was clearly just a child-sized toilet with claws.

  Elle giggled. “You’re really not holding back.”

  “I must know my enemy,” Palara said. “To defeat him with crayons and laughter.”

  Mia tossed her a pack of googly eyes from the craft bin. “Here. Take these. They’re basically emotional armor.”

  Palara’s face lit up. “Yes. I will give him too many eyes so he may see his own foolishness.”

  For the next hour, the table became a full-on art therapy session. Palara added glitter to Monster Flush’s swirling vortex and a Mustache to Little Flush “to make him more ridiculous.” Mia drew stick-figure versions of herself and Elle with giant swords labeled “HUG POWER” and “PLUNGER OF JUSTICE.” Elle crafted a comic strip: The Adventures of Palara vs. The Bowl King — it ended with Palara sitting proudly on a throne made of spare parts and a diaper flag waving behind her.

  Eventually, when Palara finished her final drawing—a picture of herself holding a bottle of air freshener like a sword and standing victorious over a crumpled toilet—she sat back and exhaled deeply.

  “I feel... lighter.”

  Elle handed her a juice box. “You’re doing brave work.”

  Mia raised her glass of chocolate milk. “To the only alien I know who defeated a toilet with googly eyes and a glitter crayon.”

  Palara clinked her juice box against it solemnly. “Victory is scented like lemon pine.”

  They all burst into laughter.

  And later, when Palara walked past the actual bathroom and paused—just paused, stared, then huffed and walked on—Elle smiled.

  The battle wasn’t over.

  But the monster had lost its teeth.

  The dream came back.

  It didn’t creep like last time. It crashed. Loud. Vivid. Drenched in sound and smell and cold dread.

  Palara stood on the tiled floor again. Alone.

  The bathroom stretched out like a cathedral—endless white walls, a ceiling she couldn’t see. The floor beneath her bare feet was wet and cold.

  At the far end, the toilet sat waiting.

  Monster Flush.

  He was bigger this time. His bowl-mouth stretched wide; teeth taller than she was. Pipes slithered across the floor like metal snakes. His handle twitched. Water churned inside his porcelain body like a storm.

  And the swirl.

  That noise.

  It was endless.

  A constant sucking scream, like the stars being pulled into a black hole.

  Palara stepped forward, arms trembling.

  “I’m not scared,” she told herself. “I drew you. I glittered your face. You are funny now.”

  But her legs shook.

  She took another step.

  The pipes hissed. The bowl laughed.

  “You cannot sit,” the toilet growled. “You are not ready. You are just a baby larva in puffy diaper.”

  Palara gasped. “I am NOT.”

  “You are full of fear,” it said, swirling louder. “You will never sit. Never flush. Never be free.”

  Palara screamed and threw her juice box at it.

  It bounced off the tank and vanished down the drain bowl.

  Monster Flush just laughed.

  And she ran.

  She woke with a gasp.

  The room was dark, her bed cold and sticky. The back of her diaper had leaked. Again.

  Palara curled into herself, breathing fast. Her chest hurt. Her face felt hot.

  She didn't cry. Not right away.

  She just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the dream’s words still echoing in her head.

  "You are full of fear."

  Morning crept in like fog.

  Elle found Palara already awake, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, still in her damp hoodie and wet diaper. Her drawing pad was closed.

  Her sparkles were dim.

  “Hey,” Elle said, crouching beside her. “Rough night?”

  Palara didn’t look up.

  “I saw him again.”

  Elle didn’t need to ask who.

  Palara picked at a crayon wrapper. “I tried. I really did. I stood in front of him. I yelled. I even called him a—uh—'poop tyrant.’”

  Elle smiled faintly. “Nice.”

  “But... it didn’t work. He just got louder. Bigger. Meaner.” Palara's voice cracked. “I ran again.”

  Elle sat beside her on the rug. “Sweetheart... that doesn’t mean you failed.”

  Palara’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought I beat him. With drawings. With jokes. With YOU. But he came back. And now I feel like... like he’ll never go away.”

  She looked down, ashamed. “I feel... broken. Like the toilet’s right. Maybe I am just a baby in puffy diaper.”

  That hit Elle hard. She wrapped an arm around Palara and pulled her close.

  “You listen to me,” she said, voice low. “That toilet? That monster? He’s a liar. He’s fear dressed up in porcelain. And fear lies all the time.”

  Palara sniffled, eyes glowing faintly again.

  “You didn’t fail,” Elle continued. “You showed up. You stood your ground. You tried. That’s what matters. Bravery isn’t about winning every time. It’s about not giving up, even when you’re tired. Even when it sucks.”

  Palara leaned into her. “But what if I never beat him?”

  “Then I’ll keep drawing weapons with you,” Elle said, “and holding your hand in every hallway, and building you an army of googly-eyed friends until he gets bored and leaves.”

  Palara cracked a tiny smile through her tears. “Even Little Flush?”

  “Especially Little Flush,” Elle said, poking her cheek. “He’s the most dangerous one. That Mustache is shady.”

  They sat like that for a long while. Quiet. Wrapped in blankets and comfort.

  Palara finally whispered, “Can I try again... someday?”

  Elle kissed her forehead. “You can try again any day. But not because you must. Because you want to.”

  Palara nodded slowly, her shoulders a little less tense.

  “I want to.”

  Chapter 12: Operation Toilet Training Simulator

  The next morning, the house was alive with that early-morning buzz—dishes clinking, cereal boxes opening, the hum of the fridge doing its thing. But the calm wasn’t just the usual routine. It was a quiet resolve, a sense of anticipation in the air.

  Palara was sitting cross-legged on the couch, staring at the floor, her legs slightly bent in a quiet fidget. Elle was scribbling something in her notebook, looking thoughtful. Mia was nowhere to be seen, but Elle knew her roommate well enough. Mia’s morning routine could be described as “mysterious,” usually involving snack runs, sporadic singing, and the invention of some new device. Or, as of last night, a plan.

  “Aha!” Mia’s voice echoed from the kitchen, followed by the sound of something being knocked over. “I did it. We’re ready.”

  Elle glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Ready for what?”

  Mia walked in, holding a giant cardboard box under one arm, which was covered in duct tape and scribbled over in permanent marker. She had that gleam in her eye—the one that spelled “this is going to be either a massive success or complete chaos.”

  “I present to you,” Mia announced grandly, “The Toilet Training Simulator 3000!”

  Elle blinked. “Uh, you’re telling me that’s the name of it?”

  Mia shrugged, grinning. “It’s a work in progress. But I’m proud of my modifications.”

  Palara looked up at the cardboard box, confused. “This is the toilet?”

  Mia, already pulling the box apart like it was the most precious thing in the world, gestured toward it. “Not just a toilet. It’s a training tool. See, I made it so you can interact with it without all that terrifying swirling... you know, without flushing anything.” She threw a couple of brightly coloured stickers on top for effect, “it’s a simulation.”

  Palara blinked. “You made a fake toilet?”

  “It’s a training simulation!” Mia corrected with a grin. “It’ll let you practice without all the scary toilet monster stuff.”

  Elle nodded. “The idea is simple. You get to approach the toilet without that big, bad swirl. No water, no pipes. You sit. You learn what it feels like to be comfortable near it—without the fear.”

  Palara was staring at the box now, her glowing eyes narrowed in calculation. “You think this will... fix me?”

  Elle sat beside her. “It’s not about fixing. It’s about learning—just like when you learned to walk around with pants without them falling.”

  Palara hesitated but then nodded. “I can do this... I think.”

  Mia held up the cardboard toilet with a dramatic flourish. “Let’s get started, then!”

  The makeshift toilet was... well, it was cardboard. But Mia had done a surprisingly good job with the details. There was a lid, a seat, and even a “flush handle” made of duct tape and two plastic bottle caps. Of course, there was no actual water (obviously), but it still had a reasonably accurate look—kind of like a child’s play set, but somehow more terrifying in its simplicity.

  “Okay,” Mia said as she carefully placed the cardboard “toilet” in the middle of the living room, in front of a few pillows on the floor. “Here’s the plan. You sit down. You take your time. And if you want, you can even give the handle a little pull. But nothing happens. It’s just a pretend toilet. It’s a test of bravery, but no real swirls. No monster eyes. Just you and your new chair.”

  Palara looked from the cardboard toilet to Elle, and then back again. She took a deep breath, her little alien chest expanding with determination. “I can do this. I want to.”

  Elle smiled at her. “You can do it, Palara.”

  Palara stood up slowly, walking to the “toilet” with slow, deliberate steps. Her fingers lightly brushed against the lid; her face full of cautious curiosity. She stood in front of it for a long moment, hesitant but unyielding.

  “Are you sure it won’t... try to eat me?” she asked, voice quivering slightly.

  “Positive,” Mia answered, winking. “That thing couldn’t eat a marshmallow.”

  Palara hesitated, then carefully sat down. She looked up at Elle, unsure. “This feel... wrong. But... scary.”

  Elle moved beside her, offering her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

  For a few minutes, nothing happened. Palara sat there, breathing deeply, her eyes scanning the cardboard toilet as though waiting for it to come to life. Elle sat next to her, gently rubbing her back.

  And then, Palara did the unthinkable. She placed her hand on the makeshift flush handle.

  Mia leaned forward, eyes wide. “Are you going to do it?”

  Palara paused. “I’m going to pull it.”

  Elle smiled. “You got this.”

  Palara’s face was a mixture of fear and determination. She grasped the plastic bottle caps—gripped them tightly—and pulled.

  Nothing happened.

  Palara blinked. “It’s... it’s fine,” she said, her voice trembling. “It doesn’t do anything.”

  “Exactly,” Elle said softly. “It’s just a practice. Just you learning to face it. To get used to it.”

  Palara sighed, slumping a little but with a strange, satisfied look on her face. She sat there for a moment longer, then slowly stood up. “I did it. I touched the... the thing. It didn’t attack.”

  Mia stood up and clapped. “You’re a natural!”

  Elle pulled her into a hug. “You’re amazing.”

  Palara smiled, her glowing eyes softening. “It wasn’t so bad. The monster didn’t come.”

  “Nope,” Mia said, offering a fist bump. “You gave him the boot.”

  Elle helped Palara up and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “You’re so brave.”

  Palara leaned into Elle, her voice soft. “I’m not afraid anymore. But I think... I still need more practice.”

  Elle grinned. “And we’ll practice if you need. But you are getting there.”

  Palara nodded, feeling lighter, like a weight had been lifted. “Maybe tomorrow, I’ll try again. For real.”

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Elle said, smiling warmly.

  Mia picked up the cardboard toilet, turning to Elle and Palara with a wink. “If she ever gets sick of training, I could always add more googly eyes. That’ll totally throw off any lurking monsters.”

  They all burst into laughter, their tension lifting into something like joy. Palara had faced her fear—and today, in their living room, she had conquered a piece of it.

  And tomorrow? Well, tomorrow, she might just be ready to take on the next step.

  Chapter 13: The Door the Tree

  The sky was pale outside, the colour of quiet.

  Birdsong trickled down from the branches, soft and distant. Inside, the house felt calm. No glitter storms. No juice box wars. Just stillness.

  Palara stood barefoot on the hallway carpet, staring at the closed bathroom door like it was a cliff’s edge.

  She was dressed in her favourite hoodie and a clean diaper, her fingers twitching at her sides. She had woken up early, heart thudding, and hadn’t told anyone. This was her moment. Her decision.

  It was time to try again.

  The cardboard toilet had helped. Kind words had helped. Elle and Mia had helped. But the monster still waited behind that door. Maybe not with teeth, maybe not with pipes that grabbed, but with pressure. With shame.

  She stared at the silver chrome handle.

  Her breath shook.

  One step.

  Then another.

  She made it to the door.

  Her hand reached out.

  Her knees trembled.

  The fear came, slithering up her spine like a cold mist.

  What if it makes the swirl sound?

  What if it laughs again?

  What if Elle and Mia see me fail?

  What if this never goes away?

  She whimpered.

  Her hand touched the door handle.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the door open.

  It creaked softly.

  White tiles. A clean bowl. A nightlight glowing blue. That’s all it was.

  But to Palara, it may as well have been a black hole.

  Her chest caved in. Her breath caught.

  She stepped one foot inside the threshold.

  And then—

  A sob.

  She dropped to her knees. Tears spilled.

  “I can’t—” she choked out. “I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—”

  And she ran.

  Through the hallway.

  Through the living room.

  Out the back door.

  She bolted barefoot across the grass, diaper puffing with every step, tears streaking down her face.

  She collapsed at the base of her favourite tree—the one where she first stargazed with Elle and Mia—and curled in on herself. Hands over her ears. Shoulders shaking. Crying so hard she hiccupped between breaths.

  “I give up!” she wailed. “I give up! I’m broken! I can’t do it! Just leave me in diapers forever!”

  She cried louder, raw and real. “I don’t want to grow up anymore!”

  Elle talking to her, “You know, Theres other kids here who are scared of Monsters under the bed or Bicycles chasing them in there dreams, Theres even kids who are scared of Clowns and Dolls,”

  Palara looking up “I not know what them earth things are”

  Elle responding with “Ok we will learn those things as well in Palara’s School of Earth training but we will help you with your fear together and slowly, Come on lets clean you up and give you a warm blanket and a hot coco”

  Palara then asked “I want to watch goobs on the internet”

  The Next Morning

  She’d heard the door creak. Heard the run. And her heart knew.

  Elle found her first. In the morning by the tree

  She didn’t say anything at first—just sat beside Palara in the grass. The morning dew soaked through her pyjama top. She didn’t care.

  Mia came next, a blanket draped over one shoulder, toast in her hand. She stopped short when she saw the huddled figure at the tree.

  “Aw, baby girl…” she whispered.

  Palara didn’t look up. “I tried,” she sobbed. “I tried. But it hurts. Not my body. My heart. I want to be better. But I’m not. I’ll never be.”

  Elle reached out slowly and rubbed her back. “You are better. Even now.”

  “No!” Palara shook her head violently. “I failed! I touched the door last night and cried like a baby! I ran away! I’m useless!”

  Mia crouched down on the other side of her “you been out here all night?”

  Palara hiccupped. “Why can’t I be like you? You go in the bathroom like it's nothing. I can’t even look at the toilet without shaking. I feel... broken inside.”

  Elle swallowed the lump in her throat. “You’re not broken, Palara.”

  “I am!” she screamed into the grass.

  “No,” Mia said, firm now. “You’re brave.”

  Palara looked up, cheeks soaked, eyes red.

  Mia met her gaze, steady and sure. “You think bravery is never crying? Never falling apart? It’s not. Bravery is trying, even when you’re terrified. Even when you know you might fail.”

  Elle added, voice soft, “You went to the door. You opened it. You stepped inside. Do you know how huge that is?”

  Palara’s lips trembled. “But I ran.”

  “And that’s okay,” Elle said. “You didn’t give up. You just needed to breathe.”

  Mia draped the blanket over Palara’s shoulders. “Diapers aren’t failure. They’re just… the tool you need right now. And that’s okay, too.”

  “I feel like a baby.”

  Elle gently cupped Palara’s cheek. “You’re our friend. You’re learning. Growing. Falling. Getting back up. That’s not a baby. That’s a warrior.”

  Palara wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “But warriors don’t wear diapers.”

  “Palara,” Mia grinned, “you’re an alien with glowing eyes, a glitter obsession, and a tactical denim skirt. You’re rewriting the whole dang warrior rulebook.”

  Palara laughed—a wet, exhausted little sound—but it was a laugh.

  Elle pulled her into a hug, tight and warm. Mia joined, and soon they were a tangled group of tangled hair, hoodie sleeves, and muffled sniffling in the grass.

  “You’re allowed to be scared,” Elle whispered into her ear. “You’re allowed to try again later. Or not. We love you either way.”

  Palara nodded, burying her face into Elle’s shoulder. “Okay. Maybe I’ll try… again. Just… not today.”

  “Not today,” Mia echoed.

  They stayed like that a while. The breeze stirred the leaves. A bird sang something ridiculous. Life went on, as life does.

  And Palara, wrapped in arms and kindness, realized something:

  She hadn’t lost the battle.

  She’d just found her place to rest before continuing the fight.

  Chapter 14: Diapers, Letters, and Letting Go

  The bathroom door stayed closed the next day.

  No one mentioned it.

  Not Elle.

  Not Mia.

  And certainly not Palara.

  Instead, the girls gathered around the coffee table, flashcards spread out in rainbow order, crayons rolling between cushions, and a fresh pack of pull-tab diapers sitting quietly on the shelf nearby.

  Palara sat cross-legged in her hoodie and a clean, puffed diaper, sipping apple juice and trying not to fidget too much. Her eyes flicked to the hallway now and then—but never lingered.

  Elle handed her a purple marker. “Alright, Professor Palara. What’s this letter?”

  Palara blinked at the card. A big, bold S stared back at her, all curvy and suspicious.

  She squinted. “Is it... slurp?”

  Mia cackled. “Close. That’s a snack move, not a letter.”

  Elle grinned. “It’s S. Like ‘star’ or ‘soaked.’” Then added quickly, “Not in a mean way.”

  Palara snorted, her cheeks flushing. “I am soaked sometimes.”

  And right on cue—she froze.

  Her eyes widened just slightly. Then dropped to her lap.

  A soft crinkle as she shifted.

  Elle noticed immediately. “Hey,” she said gently. “You, okay?”

  Palara nodded slowly. “I... had an accident.”

  Mia tilted her head. “You sure it was an accident if you don’t use the toilet anymore?”

  Palara blinked, then tilted her head back at her. “...I guess it was just... normal?”

  “Exactly,” Elle said, already getting up to grab a fresh diaper and wipes. “No big deal. We’ll change you and then we can do glitter numbers.”

  Palara looked down at the letters on the table, then back at her diaper. “You’re not mad I can’t be dry?”

  “Are you kidding?” Elle said, already laying out the changing mat like it was just another Tuesday. “We’re too busy celebrating your ‘gloob’ spelling breakthrough.”

  “And your marshmallow math” Mia added, tossing her a fresh juice box. “I don’t care if you wear a diaper, or a tutu made of tissue paper—you’re killing it.”

  Palara smiled, sheepish and soft. “Okay.”

  Elle patted the mat. “Come on. Quick change and then we’ll tackle the letter Q. It looks like it’s trying to sneak out of a room.”

  Palara giggled and laid down, lifting her hips instinctively.

  The change was fast. Efficient. Normal.

  No shame.

  No teasing.

  Just comfort and care.

  After, back on the rug, Palara traced the shape of a number 8 with her finger, humming to herself.

  She looked up at Elle and Mia, who were watching her with gentle eyes and easy smiles.

  “I think,” she said slowly, “I don’t want to try the toilet again. Not for a long time.”

  Elle nodded. “That’s okay.”

  “I want to learn words and numbers and how to be Earth. But I want to keep my diapers.”

  Mia leaned over and fist-bumped her. “You’re still the best little alien student we’ve got. Puffy pants or not.”

  Palara beamed. “Then... I will learn everything. Except toilets. Toilets can stay cursed.”

  Elle picked up a glitter pen. “Toilets officially cursed. Permission granted.”

  And together, surrounded by crayon crumbs, learning cards, and the soft scent of baby wipes and lavender powder, they moved on.

  Forward.

  Not perfect.

  Not typical.

  But real.

  And in that moment, Palara wasn’t behind or broken or stuck.

  She was exactly where she needed to be.

  Chapter 15: The Fear and the Flush

  It started with a whisper.

  "Elle... I think I need to talk to a NASA mind fixer."

  Elle blinked. She'd been mid-toast, mid-chew, mid-scribble on a napkin sketching a battle mech version of Monster Flush with glitter cannons.

  She looked up to find Palara standing there, hair slightly frizzled from sleep, skirt twisted sideways, and eyes wide. Not glowing with joy. Glowing with that kind of hue that only showed up after too many nightmares and not enough dry nights.

  "A mind fixer?" Elle asked carefully, setting the toast down. "You mean… a psychologist?"

  Palara nodded. "Yes. A brain-helper. Someone who can help me understand why the swirl beast still lives in my chest."

  Elle looked at her a long moment, then stood and hugged her tight. "Okay. I’ll call NASA."

  An hour later, the house was quiet—unnervingly quiet for a place that usually echoed with crinkle, clatter, and Mia’s war cries against cereal box engineering.

  Inside Elle’s room, Dr. Carmichael, a calm-eyed NASA psychologist with laugh lines and a cardigan that had clearly survived more than one existential crisis, sat cross-legged on a beanbag. She’d been briefed. She’d read the file. She knew about the galactic type of trauma, the toilet phobia, and the glitter-based coping systems.

  What she wasn’t prepared for was how small and scared Palara looked as she tried to describe... it.

  “The... thing. The bowl. The noise,” Palara whispered. “It spins and makes my stomach spin. It calls to me. It wants my—my biozone.”

  Dr. Carmichael, without flinching, simply nodded and asked, “What does it feel like in your body, when you’re near it?”

  Palara’s hands clenched. Her hair dimmed to a pale shimmer. “Like my knees are made of jelly fruit. Like my stomach has gravity wrong. Like my diaper is the only thing between me and being sucked into pipe hell.”

  Elle sat nearby, gently rubbing Palara’s back, wiping her tears when they came. And they came.

  Hours passed.

  They talked through monsters. Through dreams. Through feeling small. Through the cultural void of not understanding why humans flushed and sat and expected privacy in places that echoed and roared and had locks.

  Elle didn’t say much. She was just there, holding Palara’s hand, whispering things like, “You’re okay,” and “Take your time,” and “I still can’t change if there’s a spider in the room, so like, we all got stuff.”

  Eventually, when the sun was low and Dr. Carmichael was packing up, she said one last thing.

  “Sometimes, fear isn't something you beat. It's something you carry until it's light enough to put down.”

  Palara nodded. But her eyes still shimmered with something heavier than stars.

  Later, as the house settled again, Elle tried showing Dr. Carmichael just how deep the fear ran.

  She stood in the hallway with Palara, holding her hand. The bathroom door stood open.

  "Watch this," Elle said.

  She gently led Palara forward.

  Two steps.

  Palara stopped. She couldn’t breathe. Her knees buckled.

  Elle caught her.

  “She still can’t even go near it,” Elle said softly, her own voice thick now.

  Dr. Carmichael simply nodded. “Then that’s where we begin.”

  And from the bathroom’s edge, Palara whispered:

  “It still wants my bottom.”

  Chapter 16: The Toilet Desensitization Plan (a.k.a. Operation Butt Zone Liberation)

  The whiteboard in the living room had been wiped clean of alphabet letters and marshmallow math.

  Now it read, in Mia’s best attempt at serious marker handwriting:

  TOILET DESENSITIZATION PLAN

  (Operation B.Z.L. – Butt Zone Liberation)

  Underneath were bullet points. Actual ones. Mia had drawn little plunger icons instead of dots.

  

  
1. Exposure Therapy, Palara-style


  
2. Emotional Anchoring (with Juice Boxes)


  
3. Fake Toilet Simulator II – Now With Plush Seat


  
4. Monster Flush Dialogue Exercises


  
5. Actual Attempt... someday?


  

  Palara sat on the couch, hood up, arms tucked tight, legs folded under her skirt like a nervous cupcake. Her diaper puffed out just enough to make a soft squeak every time she shifted.

  “I do not like this plan,” she muttered.

  “It’s not a plan plan,” Elle said gently. “It’s a map. A path. With breaks. Snacks. Stickers.”

  “And no real flushing,” Mia added. “Not until you’re ready. And even then, we’ll have backup.”

  Palara eyed the whiteboard like it was judging her.

  Dr. Carmichael, back in the beanbag chair like a sentient mug of chamomile tea, offered a soft smile. “Palara, this isn’t about forcing you into fear. It’s about giving you control. You choose the steps. You set the pace. The toilet doesn’t get to win anymore.”

  Palara looked up at her. “But it always swirls…”

  “And we’re going to swirl harder,” Mia said, cracking her knuckles. “With friendship and ridiculous gadgets.”

  Elle snorted. “And plush toilet seats.”

  Day One: Sit Without Fear

  The simulator had been upgraded. It now had a plush pink cover, googly eyes on the lid, and a smiling glitter sticker that said: “I only flush when you say so!”

  Palara approached it like a suspicious animal.

  “This one does not roar?” she asked.

  “Nope,” Elle said. “It whispers affirmations. Try it.”

  Palara leaned in. The simulator (rigged with a voice chip Mia borrowed from a novelty toy) chirped softly:

  “You are brave. Your bottom is your own. Toilets are not time portals.”

  Palara’s eyes widened. “He... respects boundaries?”

  Mia threw her arms in the air. “THAT’S RIGHT. THIS TOILET HAS THERAPY.”

  Palara slowly sat down. Her legs shook. But she didn’t bolt.

  And when the voice chip said, “You are not a baby. You are a space warrior with a sparkly tush,” she laughed.

  It was small. But real.

  Day Three: Dialogue With the Enemy

  They drew another Monster Flush on a poster board. Bigger. Dumber. Goofier eyebrows.

  Palara gave him a squeaky voice and held mock interviews:

  “Monster Flush, why are you such a butthole?”

  “Because I was designed without emotional intelligence!”

  “Have you considered therapy?”

  “I was installed in 1972 and fear vulnerability I eat the weak!”

  They all collapsed in giggles.

  Later, Palara whispered, “Maybe he is just evil.”

  Elle grinned. “Toilets: the most tragic villains of our time.”

  Day Five: Actual Toilet. Real Room. Door Open. Elle Holding Her Hand.

  It wasn’t the simulator anymore.

  It was The Toilet. Capital T.

  Palara stood in the doorway. Her knees wobbled.

  Elle didn’t say anything. She just held her hand.

  Palara took a breath.

  One step.

  She starts shaking and then the tears come.

  She is hyper fixated on the toilet looking at it.

  No no no no…I want to leave I can’t do this.

  She shakes in fear.

  Let me out let me out let me out.

  Later that night, back in bed, Palara whispered to Elle, voice barely audible:

  “Do you think... one day... I’ll conquer my fear?”

  Elle smiled, brushing hair from her glowing cheeks. “I think one day; you’ll flush that fear so hard it ends up orbiting Saturn.”

  Palara giggled. “Will you be there?”

  “Every step. Every seat. Every swirl.”

  Palara reached out and pulled her into a hug.

  “I love you, Elle.”

  Elle hugged her tighter.

  “Back at you, space girl.”

  Chapter 17: Diapers, Daylight, and the Roundabout of Doom

  Palara had never seen so much sky.

  She stood in the middle of the park like it might suddenly float away. Her hoodie was zipped, her fluffy skirt swished in the breeze, and her fresh diaper puffed quietly beneath it with every cautious step. She held Elle’s hand like it was a tether to gravity itself.

  “I feel like the air is staring at me,” she whispered.

  Elle laughed. “Welcome to public spaces.”

  They’d made it out. Past the porch, past the mailbox, past the crabby old neighbor who still thought Elle was part of a government baby cult.

  Now they were here: the play park.

  A whole galaxy of strange Earth equipment unfolded before Palara—slides like plastic waterfalls, monkey bars that looked like rib cages, and tunnels that screamed “you will bonk your head in here.” But Palara wasn’t afraid.

  Not yet.

  She even climbed the jungle gym and declared it “an acceptable fortress of joy.” She poked a seesaw and declared it “untrustworthy but amusing.” She sat on a bouncy horse and whispered, “I ride into glorious puff-butt battle!”

  Elle and Mia were grinning like proud moms.

  And then—

  They reached it.

  The Roundabout.

  To most kids, it was a fun blur of motion. To Palara?

  It was the Eye of the Storm.

  It shimmered in the sun like polished doom. A little metal disk with bars to hold onto—and a platform designed solely to spin. Fast. Relentless. Circular.

  Like a toilet swirl.

  Palara froze. Her sparkles dimmed.

  Elle caught it immediately. “Hey. You, okay?”

  Palara stared at the thing. “It... moves like the bowl.”

  “What bowl—oh.” Realization hit Elle hard. “The toilet.”

  Palara nodded slowly. “It turns. And if you stand in the middle... it’s just like the dream. The pipes. The pull. The spin.”

  Mia frowned. “We don’t have to go near it, Pal.”

  But it was too late. A group of kids nearby had noticed the strange girl in the oversized hoodie and the puffy skirt, frozen like a glitching cartoon.

  One of them pointed. “What’s her problem?”

  Another giggled. “She’s scared of the roundabout. That’s, like, baby stuff.”

  Palara flinched. Her eyes shimmered red—not from anger. From shame.

  Elle stepped forward instantly. Her voice was sweet, but it was the kind of sweet that could cut glass.

  “She’s autistic,” Elle said flatly. “Spinning things overwhelm her senses. It’s a brain thing. You know, like how some people have no filter?”

  The kids blinked.

  One awkwardly muttered, “Oh. Sorry,” and backed off.

  Elle turned back, gently taking Palara’s hand. “You’re okay.”

  Palara looked up at her, blinking fast. “What is... autistic?”

  Elle hesitated. “It’s something a lot of people have like me. It means your brain processes the world differently. It can make you super smart about some things and extra sensitive to others. Like sounds. Light. Spiny death wheels.”

  Palara tilted her head. “That... sounds accurate where am from.”

  Elle winked. “Totally not because you’re from space.”

  Palara giggled. “Of course not. I am simply... neuro sparkly.”

  “Exactly.”

  They didn’t stay long after that. The sky got a little too loud. The park got a little too crowded. And Palara’s cheeks were still a bit too flushed with embarrassment.

  But Elle knew what could fix that.

  Ice cream.

  They stopped at a roadside stand on the walk back—Mia paid with quarters she found in her hoodie pocket—and they sat on the curb, feet dangling, cones melting way too fast.

  Palara stared at her ice-cream sandwich of strawberry and vanilla. “This is cold joy of colours she said thoughtfully.

  Elle grinned.

  Palara took a big bite. Her hair glowed faintly White. “Earth is... complicated. But soft. And sweet. And cold on the tongue. I think... I think I love it.”

  Mia threw her arm around her shoulder. “Welcome to the mess, space girl.”

  Elle clinked her cone against Palara’s like a toast. “To Earth. Weird, loud, sticky Earth.”

  Palara beamed.

  “To Earth,” she echoed, “and it’s scary toilets.”

  Chapter 18: Dear Swirl Roundabout, Sorry for Screaming

  Back home, fresh off the not-so-traumatizing ice cream adventure, Palara sat cross-legged on the rug with a pencil in her hand and her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth like a tiny alien scholar.

  She stared at the paper.

  Stared harder.

  Then whispered, “How does letter-writing... begin?”

  Elle looked up from where she was reorganizing the diaper bin (again). “Like, what do you mean?”

  “I wish to apologize,” Palara said solemnly, “to the swirl roundabout.”

  Elle blinked. “Wait. You want to write a letter to a piece of playground equipment?”

  “Yes. It acknowledged my fear and required resolution.

  Mia wandered in mid-crunch on a bag of cheesy snacks. “Honestly, I respect it. Emotional accountability for jungle gym equipment.”

  Operation: Letter Writing 101

  Elle flipped open a clean notebook and sat beside Palara.

  “Okay,” she said. “Letters usually start with Dear plus who you’re talking to.”

  Palara scribbled d ear wrrirl rounnd aloboult .

  Elle gently erased it. “Let me write it and you tell me what you want to say”

  Palara squinted. “Fine.”

  Dear Roundabout, Elle wrote,

  “Next, you say why you’re writing.”

  Palara whispered aloud as she said: “I am sorry I screamed. You spin too much. You remind me of the swirling monster bowl. I do not like you.”

  Elle gave her a look.

  Palara frowned. “Too honest?”

  “Let’s... soften it.”

  They settled on:

  I feared you because you swirl like the scary toilet. But you are not a toilet. You are for fun. I hope we can be friends. Please do not spin when I am near you.

  Then Palara signed it:

  From Palara

  Mia gave it a chef’s kiss. “Perfect. Now let’s deliver this emotional masterpiece to the park gods.”

  But First—Traffic

  The sidewalk to the park was quiet. Mostly.

  Until Palara froze at the curb.

  “What are those?” she hissed, pointing at a line of oncoming cars like they were robotic beasts.

  “Those are cars,” Elle said. “Earth transport units.”

  “They roar,” Palara whispered.

  “They honk, too,” Mia added. “Like angry ducks in metal shells.”

  Palara inched back. “They do not stop. Do they obey?”

  “They do,” Elle said. “But only at crosswalks. And when you use the light. Watch—this button here.”

  She pressed it. The crossing light blinked. The cars slowed, then stopped.

  Palara’s eyes widened. “We command them?”

  Mia nodded. “Briefly. Through blinking magic.”

  Palara stepped forward reverently, still holding her letter. “Earth power... achieved.”

  They crossed.

  Safely.

  Palara didn’t even flinch when a passing car honked at someone else.

  Baby steps.

  Letter Delivery & A Minor Jet-Based Crisis

  Palara carefully placed her folded note under a bolt on the roundabout.

  “There,” she whispered. “Peace offering.”

  Elle smiled, touched by how seriously she took it.

  Then—

  ROOOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRR.

  A jet soared overhead, splitting the sky in half.

  Palara SCREAMED.

  “THE HUMANS HAVE CRAFT!”

  She pointed wildly at the sky. “THAT WAS A SKY SHIP! YOU DIDN’T TELL ME THERE WERE SPACE PROPHETS!”

  “It’s just a plane, Palara,” Elle muttered, rubbing her forehead. “It’s not even close to space-worthy.”

  “But it FLIES,” Palara cried. “How many do you have?! Where do they sleep?! Do they eat clouds for fuel?!”

  Elle winced. “Can we maybe talk about this after I get changed? I’m—uh—I’m kind of sagging a... situation back here.”

  Palara blinked. “You are of the... squishy?”

  “No,” Elle said flatly. “I’m stinky. This is a human code brown situation. Full diaper. Breech integrity has failed.”

  “Ohhhh,” Palara said, wrinkling her nose. “So, you smell like a betrayal.”

  “Yes,” Elle groaned. “Like betrayal and hot defeat.”

  Mia gagged. “I told you not to trust last night’s popcorn.”

  Back Home

  Elle collapsed onto her bed, diaper bag already in hand. “I swear, if one more Earth event delays my change, I’m just going to throw myself into the diaper pail and be done with it.”

  Palara plopped beside her, still buzzing. “But the sky ship—”

  “PALARA,” Elle snapped, laughing despite herself, “let me change before I start fermenting.”

  Palara raised her hands. “Understood. Sanitation before sensation.”

  Mia walked by the doorway with a popsicle and muttered, “I’m writing that on a shirt for you.”

  As Elle finally, blissfully got clean and dry, Palara sat on the bed and looked out the window.

  “I love Earth,” she said quietly. “It is scary. It is loud. But it has kindness. And soft things. And... sky ships.”

  She turned to Elle, who was mid-wipe and half-laughing, half-dying of embarrassment.

  “I think I want to stay.”

  Elle looked up, smiling. “Then we’ll make Earth as weird and sparkly as you need it to be.”

  Palara nodded.

  “Even for round things.”

  Chapter 19: Audio Jets, Secret Brothers, and Oops, NASA

  Palara was lying upside down on the couch again, her head hanging off the edge like a sparkly bat, legs in the air, hoodie half-zipped, and a pile of picture books stacked haphazardly around her like a fort of failure.

  “I cannot READ OF THE SKY JETS,” she growled, kicking one of the books onto the floor.

  Elle winced from the kitchen table, where she and Mia were deep into cleanup duty: six weeks’ worth of glitter glue, alphabet flashcards, sticky juice-box tops, half-scribbled drawings of cursed toilets, and one flashcard that just said “NOPE” in red crayon.

  “You can learn jets,” Elle called out gently. “You just need time.”

  “I do not have time!” Palara huffed. “I wish to jet I wish to understand! I wish to know why jets have wings, but birds are still louder!”

  Mia snorted. “Valid question, honestly.”

  Elle walked over and handed her a small device. “Okay, new plan. This is an audiobook. It talks about jets. You listen, you learn, you don’t throw books like they insulted your ancestors.”

  Palara stared at the player. “It reads to me?”

  “Yup.”

  “Even the weird Earth words like ‘engine,’ ‘thrust,’ and ‘altitude’?”

  Elle smiled. “Especially those.”

  Palara clutched it to her chest like it was made of gold. “I love it. It is voice knowledge.”

  While Palara curled up with her headphones, blissfully learning about jet propulsion and yelling “SO THEY DO NOT EAT CLOUDS!” every few minutes, Elle and Mia continued cleaning.

  Crayon stubs. Broken pencils. Star stickers in places star stickers were never meant to be.

  They found:

  

  
• A drawing of a squirrel piloting a toilet spaceship.


  
• A diaper labeled “DAY 7: MATH PANIC.”


  
• Three flashcards that spelled “gloob” incorrectly in different ways.


  

  “I’m proud of us,” Mia said. “But also, this table’s going to have glitter forever.”

  Elle sighed and peeled a star sticker off the wall. “Worth it.”

  Later that afternoon, the front door creaked open.

  “Helloooo?” came a familiar voice.

  Palara sat up. “Intruder?”

  “No,” Elle grinned. “That’s Lucas.”

  Her big brother stepped into the room, taller than memory, hoodie wrinkled, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a snack bar already in his mouth.

  “Hey nerds,” he mumbled around the granola. “I’m home for a day. Wanted to say hi before I crawl back into academic hell.”

  Then he saw Palara.

  “Oh,” he said. “Hi. New roommate?”

  Palara blinked at him, cautious. “I am Palara. I am not a threat. I bioprocess in diaper peacefully.”

  Lucas paused. “...Okay, that’s... cool?”

  Elle chuckled and tugged Lucas into the kitchen. “Real quick, don’t freak out. She’s an alien. Like... actual alien. Not a metaphor.”

  Lucas froze mid-sip of juice. “Wait. You’re serious?”

  “Yeah. From another planet. She lives with us and wants to grow up with us, glitter-powered, and she is really like really afraid of toilets. Keep it chill.”

  Lucas stared. Then shrugged.

  “Cool. I always figured if aliens came to Earth, they’d be living with you.”

  Elle smirked. “That’s fair I was the first person they talk to.”

  “Also,” he added, “we really need to stream together again. My followers keep asking if you disappeared into space asking where the space girl is.”

  Elle groaned. “yeah all need to talk to them.”

  While Elle caught up with Lucas and tried to explain why there were alphabet flashcards in the freezer (“Mia’s idea”), she suddenly froze mid-sentence.

  “Oh my god.”

  “What?” Mia asked, holding a bag of popcorn.

  “I forgot to tell Palara to check in with NASA.”

  Mia’s eyes widened. “You mean Clare, Max, and Noah? The only people who know she exists besides us?”

  “I was supposed to remind her days ago!”

  From the couch, Palara took off her headphones. “Did someone say NASA? Have they sent a jet? Can I fly it?”

  “No,” Elle said, grabbing her laptop. “But you do need to call them before they assume you got flushed into space.”

  Palara blinked. “I forgot to speak to my 3 earth friends I brought back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh no,” she whispered. “They will think I abandoned them!”

  Ten minutes later, after a hasty diaper check and one emergency hairbrush, Palara sat in front of the webcam in Elle’s room, clutching her glittery jet drawing and looking solemn.

  “Hello Clare. Hello Max. Hello Noah,” she said formally. “I still live. I have not been consumed by the porcelain beast called toilet. Also, I now know jets do not eat clouds. This pleases me.”

  Elle grinned behind the camera.

  Lucas stood in the doorway, watching the whole thing, still chewing granola.

  “You know,” he said, “your life is way weirder than when I left.”

  Elle nodded. “And yet, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  Chapter 20 Battery Boy and Jet Dreams

  The laptop perched on Elle’s nightstand let out a cheerful chime as the call connected, and Palara immediately scooted closer, her skirt tails flicking out like tiny celebratory flags. She adjusted the webcam with both hands—backwards at first—then grinned as the screen filled with familiar faces.

  “Clare! Max! Noah!” she squealed, bouncing in place on Elle’s bed, her diaper giving a soft crinkle with every hop. “Transmission successful!”

  On the other side of the screen, Clare gave a dignified wave, tucked neatly under a fleece blanket in the corner of the NASA rec room. Max leaned half-off a beanbag, waving with peanut butter on his sleeve. And Noah—

  Noah was licking the end of a 9v battery.

  “Hi Palara,” Clare said warmly. “We miss you.”

  “I miss you too,” Palara beamed. “My sparkle has been dim without your face.”

  “You’re literally glowing right now,” Max pointed out.

  “That is because I am thrilled!” she declared, then added with a shy glance at Clare, “And maybe... a little bushy in the cheeks. Only small blush. Contained spark.”

  Clare laughed, her cheeks turning pink too.

  Palara leaned closer to the screen. “Tell me—what is the atmosphere like today? Do the jet noises still echo like thunder candy?”

  “They tested a new engine close by this morning,” Max said, brushing cracker crumbs off his shirt. “It was so loud, I thought my diaper exploded.”

  Noah snorted. “You wish it was that. You totally had an accident.”

  Max turned red. “You licked the vending machine last week thinking the reeses pieces were huge!”

  “I thought it was real!” Noah shouted proudly.

  Palara blinked. “You are still consuming candy?”

  Noah nodded solemnly. “It tingles the tongue. I like the spice.”

  Elle, from the corner of the room, muttered, “I can’t believe NASA still hasn’t locked up the 9-volts.”

  “I have a stash,” Noah whispered like it was classified.

  Palara giggled, then turned her attention back to Clare. Her voice softened. “I dream of jets,” she said. “Of flying machines that break sound and sky. I study them with Elle. Their wings are strange. But beautiful.”

  Clare smiled. “You always loved anything that could fly.”

  Palara’s gaze dipped for a second, her fingers playing with the hem of her hoodie. “I also try to read. Earth letters are squiggle chaos. They look like fallen noodles. But I try. Elle and Mia make flashcards. Sometimes I get the words right. Sometimes I say ‘gloob’ instead of ‘dog.’”

  “You’re doing great,” Clare assured her. “You’re learning Earth stuff way faster than we did.”

  Max leaned closer. “I still write my name backwards half the time. NASA gave up and just calls it ‘Max Mode.’”

  Palara laughed. “Then I will make ‘Palara Mode.’ Where letters are upside down and full of sparkles.”

  Noah held up a crayon with a chewed-off tip. “I drew a toilet with bat wings. Want me to mail it to you?”

  Palara shuddered. “No. Thank you. Toilets are still my greatest foe.”

  Clare tilted her head sympathetically. “Still scared?”

  Palara nodded. “They swirl. They whisper. They want my bottom. I do not trust bowls that stare.”

  Max added, “Honestly same.”

  Noah shrugged. “I think they’re neat. Like a time portal for pee.”

  Palara narrowed her eyes. “You would weaponize them with candy.”

  Elle passed behind her, handing her a juice box and whispering, “Remember, no dramatic space monologues about toilets after 8 PM.”

  Palara nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

  She turned back to the screen. “I wish I could hug you through the screen.”

  “We do too,” Clare said. “But we’ll see each other soon, someday?”

  “I hope,” Palara said. “Until then... I will practice my reading. And maybe... one day... I will sit on the toilet without running.”

  “Progress,” Max said, clapping. “I stopped screaming at mine last week.”

  “Liar,” Noah coughed.

  Palara giggled and leaned closer to the camera.

  “Clare,” she said softly. “Thank you for teaching me Earth words. I carry them with me. Even when I’m scared.”

  Clare smiled, her eyes shining. “You’re never alone, Palara.”

  “I know,” Palara whispered. “Because I have battery boy, brave toilet master and friends who love me.”

  Chapter 20 (still... somehow): Midnight Mayhem and Toilet Trauma

  The clock said 3:12 AM.

  Elle shuffled out of her room in an oversized NASA shirt and the quiet crinkle of a diaper that had just crossed the line from “cozy” to “maybe deal with soon.” The hallway was dim, moonlight sliding through the window like a ghost in socks. She rubbed her eyes, heading toward the kitchen for a water refill and maybe a granola bar that hadn’t expired in 2024.

  And then it happened.

  Gurgle.

  Elle froze.

  GURGLURGGL.

  Her head turned slowly toward the bathroom door like she was in a horror movie. The sound came again—wet, bubbling, and unmistakably... upward.

  “Oh no,” Elle whispered. “Oh, please no.”

  She crept to the door. Peered inside.

  The toilet was foaming.

  “OH, COME ON NOW OF ALL TIMES—”

  Behind her, soft footsteps. And then—

  “Elle?”

  Palara’s voice was small and sleepy, floating down the hallway like a nervous balloon.

  “I woke and you were missing,” Palara said, clutching her glittery blanket, in just shirt and glittery diapers. She rubbed one eye, then froze when she saw the bathroom.

  Her glowing hair flickered.

  And then she screamed.

  “AIEEEE! THE BEAST IS ALIVE ITS CALLING ME!”

  Elle flinched so hard her water cup went flying.

  Palara sprinted backward into the hallway, tripped over her own blanket, and landed on her butt with a loud, soggy squish.

  “Oh no,” she whispered, eyes wide with horror. (Peeing her diaper). Emergency level.”

  Lights flicked on.

  Lucas appeared, shirtless and dazed, hair flattened to one side and socks mismatched. “What the f is happening out here?”

  Palara pointed a shaking finger down the hall. “THE TOILET LIVES AND IS CALLING ME.”

  Lucas blinked.

  Then sighed the sigh of a man who had unclogged one too many toilets in his life in his college dorm.

  “I’ll get the plunger.”

  Elle dropped to her knees next to Palara, grabbing wipes from the side table and gently drying Palara’s tears and scooping her up in her arms.

  “Hey, hey,” she whispered, brushing back Palara’s hair. “You’re okay. Just a little leak. It’s fine.”

  “But the toilet... it calls for attack! It sent its swamp liquid across the tiles! It knows I fear it and it was after me!”

  “It doesn’t know anything, sweetheart,” Elle murmured, trying not to laugh or cry or both. “It’s just dumb plumbing.”

  Palara clung to Elle like a barnacle, her fresh accident forgotten in the face of toilet vengeance. “It gurgled at me, Elle. It spoke in swamp tongue.”

  “Yeah, it does that when it’s raining and backs up.”

  Lucas walked past with a plunger and a rubber ducky for some reason. “Do not go in there,” he muttered.

  Elle raised her eyebrows. “We weren’t planning to anytime soon.”

  Ten minutes later, the gurgling stopped. The beast had been slain. Lucas emerged, victorious, slightly damp, and done with everyone.

  “She’s not goanna recover from this,” Elle said flatly, patting Palara’s back as she rocked her gently on the couch.

  “Nope,” Lucas agreed.

  “There’s no way this alien’s getting toilet trained now.”

  Lucas wiped his hands on a towel. “The Fear is too Deep in her”

  “Yeah,” Elle muttered.

  Lucas yawned and shuffled back toward his room. “Wake me if it tries to speak again.”

  Elle looked down at Palara, now calmed, diaper changed, wrapped in a space-blanket burrito and quietly snoring into her chest.

  “Yeah,” Elle whispered. “Toilet training? Forget it.”

  The Next Morning...

  Mia walked through the door with a bag of bagels and a face full of curiosity.

  “Hey,” she said. “Why does the bathroom smell like Biohazard sewer?”

  Elle, still in the same oversized shirt, face puffy from lack of sleep, didn’t even look up from her cereal.

  “Oh. Nothing much,” she said. “Just a standard 3AM toilet uprising, a panicked alien wetting herself silly in fear, Lucas going full plumber-wizard, and me rocking a traumatized sparkle child while she screamed about the toilet up-rising”

  Mia blinked. “...Okay is that all.”

  “Also, she thinks the toilet bled. So. That’s where we’re at now.”

  Mia popped a bagel in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “So... potty training’s not so going well.”

  “Great,” Elle said, deadpan. “If the goal was PTSD there’s no way she’s being potty trained now.”

  They both laughed, quietly, because Palara was still asleep on the couch under three blankets and a sheet of glittery stickers.

  And from deep under the pile, she muttered, “The horror, the horror.”

  Elle sipped her coffee and sighed. An Alien with Toilet PTSD, That’s a first.

  Mia finishing her bagel, “You go back to bed all look after her till she wakes up, I have modelling clay for her to play with today.”

  Perfect wake me up at 12pm said Elle “and make sure she eats her cereal and brushes her teeth and change her if she needs it.”

  3 Hours later

  Elle woke up with her face smashed into her bed her mouth tasting vaguely like glitter and peanut butter. She sat up slowly, a blanket falling off her shoulder, hair sticking out like she'd wrestled a pillow and lost.

  Her diaper was... manageable. Her dignity, however, was still somewhere between "toilet scream support unit" and "exhausted space mom."

  She squinted toward the hallway at noise of laughter.

  Mia and Palara were deep in something. Sculpting? Gardening?

  Wait.

  “Are those... carrots?” Elle croaked.

  Mia looked up, triumphant. “Clay carrots! And broccoli! And that purple thing might be a turnip, or a dream I had once, we’re not sure.”

  Palara grinned, her fingers stained with green and orange. “We have made garden of Earth delights! It grows with squish and sparkles!”

  Elle blinked. The entire table was a forest of modelling clay plants—some charmingly realistic, others abstract space food. There was even a tiny dirt path made of crumbled brown construction paper and something suspiciously like glitter glue.

  “You made a clay garden while I was unconscious?” Elle asked, standing up and wobbling slightly.

  “You needed rest,” Palara said sweetly. “And I needed... post-toilet healing project.”

  Mia added, “It was either this or build a shrine to Lucas’s plunger.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “I already named it ‘Sir Swishalot.’”

  “...Of course you did.”

  Just then, Lucas stepped into the room, wearing his backpack and that smug college-student-who-survived-an-alien-household-for-three-days look.

  “Heading back to campus,” he said, adjusting his hoodie. “But before I go—”

  He looked at the trio.

  Elle in her crumpled shirt and bedhead. Mia elbow-deep in modeling clay. Palara, still rocking sparkly pajama top and a glitter-covered nose.

  “—you three need to get out of here.”

  “We go places,” Mia said defensively.

  “To the backyard,” Lucas deadpanned. “To argue with crows.”

  “They started it,” Palara muttered.

  Lucas dropped his bag by the door and pointed dramatically. “Amusement park.”

  Everyone blinked.

  “What?” Elle said.

  “Go to an amusement park,” he repeated. “Rides. Food. Loud chaos. Rollercoasters. You know—good, old-fashioned overstimulation.”

  Palara’s eyes went wide. “Is that a thing?”

  Lucas nodded. “Yes.”

  Palara gasped. “I must study this Amusement park!”

  “Were going to hear about this for weeks,” Mia said under her breath.

  Lucas then left for collage to relax from relaxing at home.

  As the door closed behind him, the girls looked at each other.

  Mia grinned. “Amusement park?”

  Elle smirked. “Chaos vacation?”

  Palara jumped in place, her diaper puffing up around her mid-hop all excited

  Elle high-fived her. “It’s a fun day vacation”

  And from the modelling clay garden, Sir Swishalot watched over them all.

  Chapter 21: The Loop, The Blorp, and the Blue Barf Incident

  The amusement park gates stood tall, colourful, and slightly threatening—like a sugar-fuelled fever dream waiting to happen.

  Palara clutched her pass in one hand and Elle’s sleeve in the other, eyes wide and glowing like she’d just walked into heaven’s loudest carnival. A glitter tattoo stands flashed rainbow lights. A costumed squirrel did cartwheels near the cotton candy cart. Somewhere, someone screamed with joy—or terror—on a rollercoaster that looked like a metallic dragon vomiting track pieces.

  Mia looked up. “We’re going to regret this, aren’t we?”

  Elle sighed. “Extremely.”

  But Palara was already dragging them forward.

  “Where is the Sky Worm?” she gasped. “I must loop.”

  “Slow down, turbo,” Mia muttered, dodging a child in a light-up hat.

  They made it to the rollercoaster queue—Vortex Slinger, which sounded more like a blender setting than a ride—and Elle had second thoughts as soon as Palara squealed at the sight of upside-down passengers screaming past.

  “You sure about this?” Elle asked, eyeing the safety sign that had six different vomit warnings on it.

  “Yes,” Palara said solemnly. “I must tame it. I will sit, I will swirl, and I will not fear the flush.”

  Elle blinked. “That’s... not how rollercoasters work but okay.”

  They strapped in.

  And 90 seconds later, chaos.

  The ride launched, spun, dropped, inverted, flung them sideways, then upside down, then through a corkscrew that made Mia yell, “I HATE PHYSICS!”

  Palara, through it all, screamed a mix of joy and panic: “WORM! SKY WORM! I AM IN YOUR GUT!”

  When they pulled back into the station, Elle staggered out with jelly legs. Mia had already taken off her hat and was using it to fan herself.

  And Palara?

  Palara stumbled off the ride, wobbled—

  —and projectile vomited sparkly blue sludge all over the nearest trash can.

  Elle lunged to grab her. “Oh no. Oh no, we broke her.”

  The guy working the ride shouted over “Hey check out her vomit”

  Palara hiccuped. “Sky Worm... looped me too hard.”

  Then came the second problem.

  “Elle,” Mia said, pointing.

  Palara’s denim skirt was sagging slightly, and beneath it, the unmistakable puff of a diaper had bloomed... visibly under the skirt line... and ominously showing.

  “Oh no,” Palara whimpered. “My Insides betrayed me.”

  Elle crouched beside her. “Okay, okay, we’ve got you.”

  They hustled to a family restroom nearby for Disabled, where Elle and Mia cleaned her up with practiced speed. Mia hummed a theme park jingle while Elle wiped blueberry sparkles off Palara’s chin.

  Fresh diaper. Wipes. New hoodie. Victory.

  “I’m sorry I bio wasted,” Palara whispered, looking small again.

  “Palara,” Elle said gently, “you looped through the sky and then barfed blue glitter. That’s a win in my book.”

  Mia tossed a wipe into the trash. “Honestly, your barf had blue sparkle. That’s premium performance.”

  Palara sniffled. “I didn’t even scream the whole time.”

  “Nope,” Elle said proudly. “You screamed only when appropriate when you barfed blue glitter.”

  They left the bathroom and immediately bribed her spirits back up with a claw machine challenge. Palara approached it like a general inspecting her troops. She selected the fluffiest, most aggressively colourful stuffed animal inside and whispered, “You will be mine, rainbow creature.”

  And on the second try?

  Victory.

  She held the absurdly fluffy, pastel blob above her head like a warrior’s trophy.

  “I name it... Blorp.”

  Elle grinned. “Blorp the Stuffy. Welcome to the team.”

  Next stop? Hall of Mirrors. Because why not throw a little identity crisis into the day?

  Palara entered with confidence.

  Five seconds later—

  “WHY IS MY LEG HUGE?”

  She spun around. “Elle, I have become... horizontally infinite!”

  Mia giggled from a reflection that made her look three feet tall. “You look like a disco bowling pin.”

  Palara waddled down the mirror hall, legs unsteady, skirt flipping, clutching Blorp under one arm. “This is illusion sorcery! My body bends like wet noodles!”

  Elle leaned on a mirrored wall, wheezing. “You’ve never related more to a noodle.”

  Palara collapsed dramatically in front of a mirror that made her forehead giant. “I am... a glob now.”

  “You were always a glob,” Mia said. “But now you’re a cute one.”

  Eventually, after recovering their balance—and dignity—they exited to the food court where Palara experienced French fries again.

  She stared at it.

  Poked it.

  Then bit it.

  Her mouth lit up like she’d eaten the sun.

  “JUST AS I REMEMBER DELIGHTFUL SALT STICKS.”

  Elle handed her a burger.

  Palara’s joy became reverent silence.

  She ate. Slowly. Like she was communing with a deity.

  Palara swinging her legs enjoying every bite and trying to read the work burger but kept on pronouncing it with an O “borgor” she said.

  Later, walking home with sunburnt faces, sore feet, and a sleeping Blorp stuffed in Mia’s backpack, they passed a little fruit stand on the sidewalk.

  Palara froze.

  The fruit stall glowed in the late sunlight—bright oranges, shiny apples, spiky pineapples, fuzzy kiwis, and grapes the size of moons.

  She gasped.

  “WHAT ARE THESE COLOURS?”

  “Fruit,” Elle said, puzzled. “Like, food.”

  Palara dashed forward, nearly nose-pressing a pile of peaches.

  “The textures! The colours! The smells! This is better than Sky Worm!”

  The stall owner blinked at her like she was high on medication.

  Palara picked up a mango with reverence. “It is like an egg but promising joy!”

  The woman behind the counter gave Elle a concerned look.

  Elle stepped forward with a sheepish smile. “Hi. She’s not... uh. She’s just... excited. She’s autistic. She gets really into sensory stuff.”

  The stall keeper relaxed immediately. “Oh, I totally get it, hon. My niece does that with markers.”

  Palara was now petting a kiwi like it was a tiny dog.

  Elle grinned. “Yep. Same energy.”

  They left with a small paper bag of fruits and a free banana “for the cute weirdo,” as the woman had said fondly.

  Walking home, Palara held the banana gently in both hands. “Soft yellow gentle creature” she said.

  “Yes,” Elle said.

  “But I found the best part of Earth,” Palara added.

  Mia raised an eyebrow. “French fries?”

  Palara shook her head.

  “Fruit. Mysterious orbs produce and curvy yellow things. And Blorp. And you my best friends.”

  Elle wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

  Dawwwww “she said softly. You found the good stuff.”

  Chapter 22: The Banana Sacrifice

  The next morning was unusually quiet.

  Which, in this household, was a red flag.

  Elle emerged onto the back patio with a half-full coffee mug, still wearing her oversized hoodie and the diaper she'd definitely slept in. Her hair looked like it had been through a wind tunnel, and one sock was missing. She yawned, rubbed her eyes—

  And stopped cold.

  There, in the middle of the backyard garden, stood Palara.

  Wearing nothing but her hoodie and a puffy overnight diaper that practically glowed in the morning sun. Her legs were smeared with grass. Her white hair was slightly frizzed from sleep. She held Blorp, the rainbow plushie from the amusement park, high above her head like she was performing a summoning ritual.

  And she was shouting. At the birds.

  “All feathered beings of sky and trash! HEAR ME!”

  A crow tilted its head on a nearby fence post, curious.

  Palara turned slowly, dramatically, as if addressing a royal court.

  “BEHOLD! Your new god!”

  She hoisted Blorp higher, like Simba on Pride Rock.

  “You shall bow before Blorp, Flufflord of the Skies, Commander of Crinklekind!”

  A robin chirped. The crow pooped and flew away.

  Palara didn’t falter. “FLEE, MORTAL! YOU HAVE FAILED TO RESPECT THE FLUFF!”

  Elle stood in the doorway, blinked twice, then slowly facepalmed.

  “This is my life,” she muttered into her coffee. “Alien girl. Diaper garden rituals. Stuffed toy deities. Yeah, this is fine.”

  She turned to go back inside—then paused, turned again, and silently held up her phone.

  Click.

  A perfect shot of Palara mid-summoning, arms outstretched, Blorp’s rainbow fuzz catching the sunlight like a majestic cloud goblin.

  Elle grinned. “Blackmail material secured.”

  She let Palara finish her bird sermon before heading outside again, sitting on the grass a few feet away.

  “You good?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

  Palara turned slowly, her expression serious. “I was establishing air superiority.”

  “Of course you were.”

  “I am preparing for future feather alliances. The birds must know their place.”

  Elle raised an eyebrow. “And their place is under... Blorp?”

  Palara nodded solemnly. “Blorp is fluffy. All beings respect the fluff.”

  Elle looked like she wanted to argue, then gave up. “You know what? Sure.”

  Then she noticed it—Palara’s other hand was clutching something.

  A slightly bruised banana.

  Not eating it. Not peeling it. Just... petting it.

  “Um,” Elle said cautiously. “Palara? Is that the banana from yesterday?”

  “She is named B’nana,” Palara said softly, stroking it like a baby hamster. “She sleeps with me now. I gave her a sock blanket.”

  Elle blinked. “It’s... food.”

  “She is friend. She is soft. She brings calming presence.”

  Elle held up her hands. “I mean, same. But also... it’s a banana.”

  Palara narrowed her eyes. “She has feelings.”

  Elle stood up, walked back inside, and returned with another banana. She sat down cross-legged in front of Palara, peeled it slowly, and took a small, deliberate bite.

  Palara gasped in horror.

  “You... you consumed one of her species?!”

  Elle chewed. Swallowed. “Yes. Because it’s a fruit. That goes bad. And was literally grown for this purpose.”

  Palara looked down at B’nana in her hand. “She trusted me. I gave her a name.”

  “She’s gonna turn to mush in like two days.”

  Palara's lip wobbled. “She watched me sleep.”

  Elle gently pushed the peeled banana toward her. “Look... just try it. You don’t have to like it. But you should know what she tastes like.”

  Palara stared at the peeled banana like it was asking her to betray her entire belief system.

  Then, slowly, she peeled B’nana. Whispered “I’m sorry” under her breath.

  And took a bite.

  Her eyes widened. “She is... delicious.”

  Elle nodded. “Tragic, but tasty.”

  Palara’s eyes welled up with tears. “I eat her... with guilt. With respect. With... mustard, maybe?”

  “No mustard,” Elle said quickly. “Please, no.”

  Palara finished the banana in solemn silence, chewing slowly, like each bite was part of a sacred funeral.

  Afterward, she wiped her mouth and looked up at the sky.

  “Goodbye, B’nana. You were soft. You were loyal. You were... slightly bruised but loved.”

  Then she picked up Blorp and cradled him.

  “You are my only child now.”

  Elle laid back in the grass, laughing into her hands. “We need to get you schooled more something. You’re too emotionally attached to produce and plants.”

  Chapter 23: The Funeral of B’nana and the Cake of the Cosmos

  The garden was quiet.

  Just a light breeze and the occasional suspicious chirp from the fence-crow, who was still side-eyeing Blorp in the window like it knew he was now worshipped.

  Palara knelt in the dirt, diaper puffed beneath her hoodie and her hands gently smoothing the soil. A small hole had been dug—precise, almost ceremonial.

  In her hands lay the peel of the late, lamented B’nana.

  “I return you to the Earth,” she whispered, placing the peel inside with reverence. “You were the colours of colours. The softest of softs. The peel of dreams.”

  Elle and Mia stood nearby, watching silently.

  Not mocking. Not laughing.

  Just... there, can’t think of anything to say.

  Palara covered the peel with care, patting down the dirt like a tiny tomb builder. Then, from her hoodie pocket, she produced a glitter sticker—purple with a smiling star on it. She placed it right on top of the burial mound.

  “For your journey,” she murmured. “May you become a tree of softness.”

  Elle cleared her throat. “That was... er…. beautiful.”

  Mia wiped at one eye. “I think I’m crying over fruit. This is my life now.” (She was really crying in laughter at the situation)

  Palara stood, dirt on her knees, diaper crinkling as she looked at the mound. “It is done.”

  There was a long pause.

  Then Elle clapped her hands together too loudly. “Sooo... cake?”

  Palara blinked. “Cake?”

  “Yeah,” Mia said, rolling with it. “We figured... you don’t really have a birthday here. Or maybe even a birth in the Earth sense. So, we thought... why not make one up?”

  “A cake for the space girl,” Elle added, nudging her. “You’re part of our crew now. You deserve frosting.”

  Palara’s face went blank for a second. Like she was trying to load something complicated on dial-up internet from the 90s.

  Then she said, quietly, “I don’t... have a birthday.”

  “That’s okay,” Mia said quickly. “We can invent one. Pick a star. Or a Tuesday. Or the day you first pooped on Earth…. Plopped on earth I mean”

  Palara shook her head. “I don’t have a birthday... because I wasn’t really born exactly it’s comp a lick ted what’s that word”

  Elle said “Complicated”

  Yeah. Said Palara

  Both Elle and Mia froze.

  Elle’s voice dropped. “Wait, what do you mean?”

  Palara turned, looking at them, her red eyes soft and serious. “I am... shaped. Designed. I am not young. I am not old. I was made to be this size... so I could learn what girl means. On Earth.”

  Mia blinked. “Wait—wait. You mean... you’re always going to be... like this?”

  Palara nodded. “This form is fixed. I am the size of your eight-year-olds. Always. I will not grow. I will not change.”

  Elle’s eyes widened. “So you’re... forever kid-sized?”

  “Yes,” Palara said calmly. “So I can stay in the learning zone. So I can understand your world. And your childhoods. And what it means to become... you.”

  Mia sat down on the garden bench, stunned. “You’re a... cosmic child researcher. Permanently.”

  Elle looked like someone had just unplugged her brain. “You’re the size of an eight-year-old forever... so you can learn to be a girl.”

  Palara tilted her head. “Is that not normal?”

  “No!” they both said at the same time.

  Palara blinked. “Oh.”

  Elle sat down beside her and took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. So... you’re basically immortal. But shaped like a puffy alien kid... to explore gender?”

  Palara nodded. “Yes. But I chose Earth. Because here... girl means something. It is complex. It has flavour.”

  Mia muttered, “Girlhood has... flavour.”

  Palara nodded again. “Like birthday cake.”

  Elle laughed, just a little. “Then we’re making that cake. Even if it’s your only one.”

  Palara said softly. “What is this cake”

  Mia said, It’s a delicacy on earth a spongey edible substance and with icing of all colours

  “Palara nearly wetting herself in excitement,” Elle added.

  And together, the three of them stood in the garden, one fresh banana grave behind them, a cake in their near future, and the quiet knowledge that their little alien wasn’t just learning Earth…

  She was staying.

  Forever.

  And in that, somehow, she belonged.

  Chapter 23 (continued): Star Ovens and Sponge Feelings

  “Flour acquired. Sugar prepared. Egg units retrieved from cold cube.”

  Palara stood on a stepstool in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in pure concentration. Blorp sat beside the mixing bowl wearing a party hat (Mia’s idea), and Palara had somehow already spilled half a bag of rainbow sprinkles across the counter like confetti.

  Mia poked her head into the room. “Okay, I’m legally required to ask: are we making a cake, or summoning a frosting demon?”

  “Yes,” Palara answered.

  Elle handed her a whisk. “Here. Just don’t spin it like a lightsaber this time.”

  Palara took it solemnly. “I have learned restraint.”

  That turned out to be a lie.

  Because the moment they started pouring ingredients into the bowl—flour first, then sugar, then the eggs—Palara's excitement reached critical mass.

  She squealed, full-body shivered, and—

  Crinkle. Squish.

  Elle winced. “Uh-oh.”

  Palara froze, cheeks flushing a bright violet. “I... bio-processed. With joy.”

  Mia snorted into the flour. “She peed from cake hype?”

  “I could not leave,” Palara said, eyes wide. “The mixture is sacred. I must see it complete!”

  Elle sighed, already grabbing wipes and a fresh diaper from the “emergency cabinet” under the sink. “Alright. Kitchen change. Let’s do this quick.”

  Right there, on a clean dish towel spread across the floor, Elle knelt and gently changed her. Palara laid back, still holding the whisk upright like it was her royal staff of batter control.

  “You have flour in your hair,” Elle murmured, wiping her down.

  “I wear it as a badge,” Palara said with regal dignity. “I am the Cake Queen.”

  Freshly taped and powdered, Palara hopped right back up to the stool and immediately resumed mixing, carefully folding the ingredients like she was crafting a potion of eternal joy. The oven preheated with a ding, and Elle slid the batter-filled pan inside.

  Palara pressed her nose against the oven window. “It is... glowing.”

  “Yep,” Elle said. “That’s heat. Don’t touch it.”

  Palara didn’t move.

  “Seriously,” Mia added. “Hot like a star.”

  “I am a child of stars,” Palara whispered, reaching for the door handle.

  Elle lunged. “NOPE.”

  She caught Palara’s hand an inch from the hot metal.

  Palara blinked. “It burns?!”

  Elle gave her a look. “You’ve been on Earth for months and just now figured out ovens are hot?”

  “I never knew they were tiny suns trapped in boxes!”

  “That’s exactly what they are,” Mia said, tossing a sprinkle at her. “And you do not stick your hand in the sun.”

  Palara backed away, humbled, and watched the cake rise with awe. “It inflates like a joy cloud.”

  “Yeah,” Elle said, setting a timer. “Now we wait. Cooling takes a bit, too.”

  Palara whined dramatically. “But I wish to eat time now!”

  “You and me both,” Mia said. “But physics is rude.”

  Ten minutes into the cooling phase, while Palara sat slumped in front of the oven like she was mourning lost cake dreams, Mia quietly slid a bakery box from her bag.

  “Okay, I wasn’t sure this would work,” she said. “But I picked up a mini cake this morning. Just in case the home one flopped.”

  She handed it to Palara.

  Inside was a perfectly frosted pink sponge with a sugar star on top.

  Palara gasped so hard she almost tipped backward off the stool.

  She lifted the little cake with both hands, reverent.

  And then—she took a bite.

  Her eyes widened.

  She chewed slowly. Thoughtfully.

  Then the tears came.

  “Why is it so soft?” she whispered. “It is like biting a friendly cloud.”

  Elle crouched beside her, wiping a bit of frosting from her nose. “That’s sponge cake.”

  Palara sniffled. “It... loves me back.”

  Mia laughed gently. “You’re crying over cake.”

  “I cry because it is perfect.”

  She took another bite.

  And then hugged the entire cake to her chest.

  “I will eat you gently,” she whispered. “You deserve kindness.”

  Chapter 24 Star Ovens and Sponge Feelings

  “Flour acquired. Sugar prepared. Egg units retrieved from cold cube.”

  Palara stood on a step stool in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in pure concentration. Blorp sat beside the mixing bowl wearing a party hat (Mia’s idea), and Palara had somehow already spilled half a bag of rainbow sprinkles across the counter like confetti.

  Mia poked her head into the room. “Okay, I’m legally required to ask: are we making a cake, or summoning a frosting demon?”

  “Yes,” Palara answered.

  Elle handed her a whisk. “Here. Just don’t spin it like glitter glue stick this time.”

  Palara took it solemnly. “I have learned the restraint.”

  That turned out to be a lie.

  Because the moment they started pouring ingredients into the bowl—flour first, then sugar, then the eggs—Palara's excitement reached critical mass.

  She squealed giggling maximum overload

  Elle winced. “Uh-oh.”

  Palara froze, cheeks flushing a bright violet. “I... bioprocessed. With joy.”

  Mia snorted into the flour. “She peed from cake hype?”

  “I could not leave,” Palara said, eyes wide. “The mixture is sacred. I must see it complete!”

  Elle sighed, already grabbing wipes and a fresh diaper from the “emergency cabinet” under the sink. “Alright. Kitchen change Palara. Let’s do this quick.”

  Right there, on a clean dish towel spread across the floor, Elle knelt and gently changed her. Palara laid back, still holding the whisk upright like it was her royal staff of batter control.

  “You have flour in your hair,” Elle murmured, wiping her down.

  “I wear it as a badge,” Palara said with regal dignity. “I am the Cake Queen.”

  Freshly taped and powdered, Palara hopped right back up to the stool and immediately resumed mixing, carefully folding the ingredients like she was crafting a potion of eternal joy. The oven preheated with a ding, and Elle slid the batter-filled pan inside.

  Palara pressed her nose against the oven window. “It is... glowing.”

  “Yep,” Elle said. “That’s heat. Don’t touch it.”

  Palara didn’t move.

  “Seriously,” Mia added. “Hot like a star.”

  “I am a child of stars,” Palara whispered, reaching for the door handle.

  Elle lunged. “NOPE.”

  She caught Palara’s hand an inch from the hot metal.

  Palara blinked. “It burns?!”

  Elle gave her a look. “You’ve been on Earth for months and just now figured out ovens are hot?”

  “I never knew they were tiny suns trapped in boxes!”

  “That’s exactly what they are,” Mia said, tossing a sprinkle at her. “And you do not stick your hand in the sun.”

  Palara backed away, humbled, and watched the cake rise with awe. “It inflates like a joy cloud.”

  “Yeah,” Elle said, setting a timer. “Now we wait. Cooling takes a bit, too.”

  Palara whined dramatically. “But I wish to eat time now!”

  “You and me both,” Mia said. “But physics is rude.”

  Ten minutes into the cooling phase, while Palara sat slumped in front of the oven like she was mourning lost cake dreams, Mia quietly slid a bakery box from her bag.

  “Okay, I wasn’t sure this would work,” she said. “But I picked up a mini cake this morning. Just in case the home one flopped.”

  She handed it to Palara.

  Inside was a perfectly frosted pink sponge with a sugar star on top.

  Palara gasped so hard she almost tipped backward off the stool.

  She lifted the little cake with both hands, reverent.

  And then—she took a bite.

  Her eyes widened.

  She chewed slowly. Thoughtfully.

  Then the tears came.

  “Why is it so soft?” she whispered. “It is like biting a friendly cloud.”

  Elle crouched beside her, wiping a bit of frosting from her nose. “That’s sponge cake.”

  Palara sniffled. “It... loves me back.”

  Mia laughed gently. “You’re crying over cake.”

  “I cry because it is perfect.”

  She took another bite.

  And then hugged the entire cake to her chest.

  “I will eat you gently,” she whispered. “You deserve kindness.”

  Chapter 24: No Farts, No Fear, and Computer Chaos

  The living room lights were low.

  Cartoons flickered across the screen—late-night reruns with too much colour and characters that screamed at each other over cereal and imaginary friends.

  Palara lay draped across the couch in a fresh diaper, one hand loosely gripping Elle’s, her head nestled against Elle’s chest. Her legs were casually kicked over Mia’s lap like a sleepy cat stretched across a sunbeam.

  She giggled softly at something on the screen. Then again, a little quieter.

  And then…

  Gone.

  Out cold.

  Elle looked down and brushed a wisp of white hair off Palara’s forehead. “She’s done.”

  “Out like a power switch,” Mia said, gently detangling her legs and standing up.

  Together, they carried Palara to bed—arms and legs limp, Blorp tucked under one arm like a plushie general returning from victory.

  They laid her down, pulled up the blanket, and placed Blorp right beside her. Palara stirred once, murmured something about “sprinkle diplomacy,” and smiled.

  Elle kissed her forehead.

  “Sleep easy, sparkle star.”

  Downstairs, they collapsed onto the couch, the cartoon still playing in the background.

  Mia looked thoughtful. “You ever notice... she’s never farted once since coming here on earth?”

  Elle blinked. “Wait. You're right.”

  “Not once.”

  “That’s... honestly weird.”

  Elle leaned back and stretched. “I mean, I barely do either. Incontinence has its quirks.”

  “Still. It’s like she’s got zero gas. No burps, no toots, no nothing. Is she... absorbing it? Sending it to a parallel dimension?”

  “Cosmic flatulence suppression,” Elle said, dead serious. “NASA would lose their minds.”

  Mia snorted, then stood up and headed for the bathroom. “I got to go. Maybe I’ll get abducted mid-wipe and become a divine being.”

  The toilet flushed.

  She paused on the seat, staring at the floor.

  What was it about toilets that terrified Palara?

  The swirl? The sudden noise? The idea of something disappearing into a void?

  Mia frowned. “She’s not scared of ovens, rollercoasters, or birds. But she acts like the toilet is a live grenade with teeth.”

  She couldn’t crack it.

  Palara would talk when she was ready one day.

  Back in the living room, she grabbed a blanket and settled beside Elle, who handed her a half-melted popsicle and didn’t even question it.

  “I’ll stay tonight,” Mia said. “Too tired to walk. Also, Palara might have a dream where her banana comes back.”

  Elle grinned. “B’nana the Resurrection?”

  “Christ of potassium,” Mia said solemnly.

  They both laughed.

  The house was still.

  Peaceful.

  Until—

  BEEP.

  Elle’s laptop lit up with a chime.

  BEEP BEEP.

  “What the hell—” Elle sat up and walked over.

  The screen was lighting up.

  Then, words began to flicker across in glowing blue text.

  "EXTERNAL CONNECTION DETECTED"

  "AUTHORIZED PORTAL OPENED"

  "ECHO ONE PROTOCOL ENGAGED"

  "INITIATING..."

  “ECHO STAR PROTOCOL ENGAGED”

  “INITIATING…”

  Mia bolted upright. “That better be a game.”

  Elle’s hands flew across the keys. “It’s not. It’s the secure terminal from NASA

  Mia then said, “answer it in the morning were tired, it’s weird enough your 10yo and am 11yo Were like a couple living together with our own Daughter now I don’t know how your mom copes with the chaos in this house and you’re brother Lucas went back to collage to relax rather than chill here,”

  “Every day is an adventure here Elle”

  To be continued...