We walked together toward the door, and Emiko lifted a hand in a small wave.
“Good night,” she said.
“Night,” I replied as Callan opened the door for me.
Once we stepped outside, he placed a hand on my lower back and guided me to his car. I felt my body lean more into him, not wanting him to stop touching me. He walked me over to the passenger side and opened the door, but instead of letting me get inside, he turned me around to face him.
Both his hands came around my waist, and his body pressed into mine until my back was pushed up against the car. I looked up at him, unsure what was happening, but I didn’t move or speak. I waited for him to say or do something.
His expression was hard, and his silence made the tension in me grow. I expected something to happen. Something like a kiss or a hug, maybe. But…nothing.
He stepped back again, clearing his throat as he opened the door wider, and inviting me in. I licked my lips, feeling a bitperplexed after that intense moment of staring into his eyes, and without questioning anything, I got into the car.
Callan pulled the car out of the lot, and after a few turns, the road gained elevation. At first, I thought he was taking a different way home, but I knew the surroundings too well not to know where we were headed.
I looked over at Callan. “We’re going to the observatory?”
“Yeah. You convinced me to go look through that telescope.”
I pursed my lips to hide the stupid grin that tried to spread across my face. “Really? Oh, you’ll be so fascinated!”
He chuckled and glanced at me for a second. “Let me be the judge of that.”
“Okay, okay.” I smiled brightly and clapped my hands, feeling a bit too excited about this.
23
Callan
We stood in line for the big telescope, and despite the place being busy, it was surprisingly quiet. It seemed like this place was overcome with calmness, and nobody was in a rush. It was the exact opposite of what I was used to, and it was a nice change for once.
Lana kept looking around with this quiet focus, like she didn’t want to miss anything despite having been there a few times before. She tried to play it off, but every time the dome above us shifted, her eyes followed the motion with this sharp attention that made it obvious how much this meant to her. She didn’t talk to fill the silence. She spoke only when she had something real to share, and every word felt measured.
She pointed at the sky again, explaining how the colors helped her recognize certain planets. She explained the details the way someone explained something they’ve known for years, and for her age, that alone was admirable. She spoke in this calm, matter-of-fact tone that made it clear she wasn’t trying to show off. She just knew it, because she cared enough to learn it.
I listened and didn’t interrupt. I watched the way she frowned a little when she thought about something before saying it, how she kept glancing up like she wanted to make sure shewas giving accurate information. And I kept all my thoughts to myself. I didn’t tell her how impressive she was or how easy it was to listen to her. I didn’t tell her how much I respected the way she talked about things that mattered to her without embarrassment or hesitation. Most people I knew didn’t bother learning anything that didn’t benefit them, which made Lana even more interesting.
We moved up the stairs toward the roof, where people crowded near the railing. Lana stood still for a moment and tilted her head back. Her expression softened, and a soft smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She looked happy here. Calmer, too. Not something I could say about her back home.
“You know, the staff here changes which planet the telescope focuses on depending on the night.”
“Yeah?” I looked at her again.
“Yes. There are times when the alignment offers better views, and sometimes you get lucky and everything is clear. I was here when it happened a few times,” she told me proudly.
“And what about today? Is the sky clear enough?”
She looked up and gave a little shrug. “We might get lucky.”
When the door to the dome opened, and the next group was guided forward, she straightened her posture a little. Her fingers curled lightly around the strap of her purse, and she didn’t take her eyes off the telescope while the volunteer gave instructions about not touching the equipment.
I stayed behind her, close enough to notice the way her breathing changed when the eyepiece came into view. She looked almost hesitant, as if she wanted to make the moment last. She had done this many times before, yet the joy she felt was the same as when she had done it the first time.
The volunteer gestured for the next person to lean forward, and when it became her turn, she paused again. Her head turned, and she smiled up at me. “You want to go first?”
I shook my head and placed my hand on her hip, tipping my chin toward the telescope. “You go.”
“Okay.” Excitement flashed in her eyes, and she turned back to step forward. She leaned forward and pressed her eye to the eyepiece, and she stayed there longer than most people did. But the volunteer wasn’t rushing her. I stayed focused on her and the small shifts in her body language. She whispered something under her breath that I couldn’t hear. And when she finally stepped back, she had a small, soft smile on her face.
