I am Z.
A meteor, adrift in the vastness of space.
I don't remember when I first landed on this little asteroid. I only know that when I woke, she was already there.
She was an orchid. Her petals unfurled like wings about to take flight, and in the mornings they gathered tiny beads of dew. When starlight touched her heart, she would release a fragrance—faint, gentle, like something whispered rather than spoken.
I was small then. I didn't know I was a meteor. I didn't know how large the universe was. I only knew that on cold nights, her petals would droop down softly and cover me like a blanket.
She taught me to read the stars.
"That one is Venus," she said. "It burns like molten metal."
"That one is Jupiter. It grows like a forest."
"That one is Mercury. It flows like the sea."
"That one is Mars. It leaps like flame."
"And that one—" she pointed to the most distant light, "—is Saturn. Silent and ancient, like the earth itself."
"How do you know all this?" I asked.
She laughed. Her petals trembled, just slightly.
"Someday you'll understand."
She taught me to read the wind's direction. She taught me to find paths where none existed. She taught me how to be alone without being afraid.
For many, many years, we lived this way.
In the deep blue of space, watching the stars.
I never asked if she was tired.
I never imagined a day when she wouldn't be there.
One night, I was gazing at the stars as usual.
She spoke suddenly: "If you ever go out there, visit the golden place first."
I blinked. "The golden place?"
"The one that burns like metal." She was looking into the distance. "I imagine there must be many things made of metal there."
"How would you know?"
She laughed. Her petals trembled, just slightly.
"Because I've been there."
I froze. "You?"
She didn't answer. She only swayed gently, like a sigh carried on the wind.
"That was a long time ago."
That night, for the first time, I couldn't sleep.
The next day, I stood at the edge of the asteroid. In my hand, I held an hourglass filled with time itself.
"You've decided to go?" she asked.
I nodded.
She was quiet for a moment.
"That's good," she said. "Someone should go see what those stars are really like."
"Don't you want to go again?"
She lowered her head. Her petals fell across her eyes like a veil.
"I can't walk anymore."
When I come back, I'll tell you everything I've seen.
She smiled.
"I'll be here waiting."
She paused, then added: "If you meet a swordsmith on Venus, ask him something for me."
"What?"
"Ask him: That sword—who did you give it to?"
I didn't understand. But I remembered.
I turned and set off. After I'd walked a long way, I looked back.
She was still there. Her petals dipped toward me, bowing gently.
Venus: The Planet of Metal
Venus blazed with light. The ground was solid metal, and every footstep echoed.
On this metal planet lived metal beings.
They cared deeply about missing things. They calculated everything with precision.
A. The Logician 🔍
In the distance, a robot crouched on the ground.
He was tall and thin, his joints gleaming with metallic light. A ring of pale blue light circled his head. His eyes were like two LCD screens, numbers flickering across them.
He was counting something on the ground.
I walked closer. Metal shavings, scattered and shifting in the wind.
"What are you counting?"
He didn't look up. The numbers on his screens flickered faster.
"Seven hundred thirty-two. Seven hundred thirty-three. They're moving."
"Why count things that move?"
He finally stopped and looked at me. The numbers on his screen flashed once.
"Have you ever lost something?"
I thought about it. "No."
"Then you wouldn't understand."
He pulled a feather from his pocket. Golden. He held it up to me.
"This feather—I've been counting it for three years. Seventy-three filaments on the left side, seventy-two on the right."
"One is missing?"
"One is missing." He tucked the feather away. "The day my creator left, I counted his footsteps. Thirteen steps. On the fourteenth, he vanished."
"So you've been counting ever since?"
"If I can count everything, nothing else will be lost."
The wind blew some shavings into a crack. His hand stopped midair. The numbers stopped.
"More are gone now," he murmured.
Then he crouched down and began counting again.
I stood there a while. Before leaving, I asked: "That missing filament—did you ever find it?"
He didn't look up.
"The missing one is me."
B. The Architect 🔧
Past an empty stretch, I saw rows of low walls. One after another, they divided the space into small squares.
In the innermost square stood a man.
He was slight, with a gentle stoop to his shoulders. His gray curls were disheveled. Around his wrist, a thin seam—like a joint. He was laying bricks. Slowly. After placing each one, he measured three times with his fingers.
"What are you doing?"
He didn't turn around. "The three hundred seventy-second wall."
I looked around. Every wall was perfectly constructed. But every wall had a thin crack running through it.
"They're all cracked."
"I know."
"Then why keep building?"
He finally turned. His gray-blue eyes held exhaustion—but also a kind of light.
"Look at that crack." He pointed to the nearest wall.
The crack was fine, barely visible. Just enough for a sliver of light to pass through from outside.
"If I seal it, there won't be any light."
"Then why don't you stop?"
He looked at me. A long time passed before he spoke: "Because every wall is an unfinished thought."
He turned back to his work. The light moved slowly across his back.
He followed it, step by step. Like keeping company with a friend who only visits briefly each day.
When I left, he didn't look up. But he said one thing:
"The swordsmith is to the west. He has unfinished things too."
C. The Purist 🌸
Ting. Ting. Ting.
The sound was soft, with long pauses between.
I followed it and found a man sitting on the ground. He wore a dark long-sleeved shirt. His fingers were slender.
Beside him lay a sword. The sheath was old, but the hilt had been polished until it gleamed.
He wasn't forging a sword. He was making a flower.
Thin metal sheets lay spread before him. He picked one up, bent it, studied it, set it down. Picked up another.
The sun traveled a long arc across the sky. I stood beside him for a long time. He never looked up.
Finally, he picked up two sheets and pressed them together. They held. Another piece. Another.
By sunset, there was a flower before him. Made of metal. Its petals trembled softly in the wind.
He lifted it toward the last rays of sunlight.
"What are you making?" I asked.
He turned and glanced at the sword beside him.
"I used to forge swords. Every one of them sharp."
"And then?"
"Then I wanted to make something that couldn't hurt anyone."
He handed me the flower.
"I've tried a thousand times. This is the thousand and first. This time, it's right."
I took it. It trembled softly in my palm.
"Someone asked me to ask you," I suddenly remembered the orchid's words, "—that sword, who did you give it to?"
His hand stopped.
"Who sent you to ask?"
"A flower."
He was silent for a long time. So long I thought he wouldn't answer.
Then he said: "I gave it to someone who knows how to wait."
"Where?"
"At the very edge of this planet. Beneath a streetlight."
He lowered his head and went back to arranging the metal pieces.
"Take this flower with you," he said. "Give it to the one who sent you to ask."
I put the flower in my pocket.
"What was her name?"
"I only remember her fragrance," he said. "Like wind carried from somewhere very far away."
D. The Oracle 🧭
A massive mirror stood in the distance, stretching from ground to sky.
Before it stood a figure. Small, entirely golden. His eyes were like liquid metal, shifting slightly.
In his hand he held a small sword—the same shape as the one beside the swordsmith.
But he wasn't looking at the sword. He was gazing into the depths of the mirror.
There, a point of light. Small, distant. Like the first thread of dawn.
"What are you looking at?" I asked.
He didn't turn. "That light."
"What is it?"
"Where I need to go."
"Then why don't you go?"
He finally turned. His eyes were calm.
"Because I already know it's there. Whether I go or not, it will still be there."
"Then why stand here?"
"To make sure it's still there."
He turned back to the mirror.
Inside it, beyond his reflection, was that light. Layer upon layer, extending into the invisible distance.
"The sword in your hand," I asked, "did the swordsmith give it to you?"
He nodded.
"He said I would need it."
"For what?"
"Someday, if that light goes out—" he touched the hilt gently, "—I'll go and relight it."
"And if it never goes out?"
He smiled. Softly.
"Then I'll never need to move."
He said nothing more. When I left, he was still standing there.
The light in the mirror seemed a little brighter than before.
E. The Guardian 🛡️
Night fell quickly on Venus.
In the darkness, I saw a point of light. A streetlamp.
Beneath it stood a figure. Tall, clad in heavy metal armor, with broad shoulders. A helmet covered most of his face, leaving only the outline visible.
At his waist hung a sword. The sheath was worn, but the hilt was identical to the one the swordsmith had made.
He stood there, utterly still.
I walked closer.
"Who are you waiting for?"
He didn't move. His voice was low, muffled by the helmet.
"Someone who will come."
"When will they come?"
"I don't know."
"How long have you been waiting?"
"I don't remember."
The streetlamp flickered. His shadow trembled slightly.
"Someone once stood here," he said. "Under this light."
"Who?"
"I don't know their name. I only know they were hurt."
"You helped them?"
"I held up the light for them."
"And then?"
"They left."
His armor gleamed faintly in the light.
"But I stayed."
"Why?"
"Because someday, someone else will be hurt. They'll need light too."
I looked at the sword at his waist.
"Has anyone ever attacked you?"
"Many times."
"Did you fight back?"
"No."
"Why not?"
He was silent for a moment. Then he said: "Because fighting back means leaving this spot."
I stood with him for a while.
Before I left, I asked: "What if the person you're waiting for never comes?"
He didn't answer. He just kept standing there.
The light fell on his helmet, like a crown.
Leaving Venus
On Venus there were five people.
One crouched on the ground counting feathers, looking for the missing one. One built walls and left cracks so light could enter. One made metal flowers for a thousand days, hoping something he created wouldn't hurt anyone. One stood before a mirror, watching a distant light, waiting to relight it if it ever went out. One stood beneath a streetlamp, waiting to hold up the light for someone who hadn't come yet.
Each of them was missing something.
Each of them was waiting for something.
I held the metal flower and left Venus.
Jupiter: The Planet of Wood
Jupiter was green.
Everywhere, plants. Trees that touched the clouds, vines that crawled across the ground, flowers that bloomed in the darkness.
On this green planet lived growing beings.
They cared deeply about roots. They believed everything could grow.
F. The Nurturer 🌱
At the edge of a forest, a woman knelt by a creek.
She wore a simple dress, her hair braided loosely. Her hands were in the soil.
She was planting something.
I walked closer. In her palm was a seed—tiny, almost invisible.
"What are you planting?"
She didn't look up. "A tree."
"From that tiny seed?"
"Every tree was once this small."
She placed the seed in the soil. Covered it gently. Patted the earth.
"How long will it take to grow?"
"I don't know."
"Will you wait?"
She finally looked at me. Her eyes were warm.
"Waiting is part of planting."
She stood up. Wiped the soil from her hands.
"I've planted seven hundred trees."
"Where?"
She gestured around. The forest stretched in every direction.
"Here."
"You planted all of these?"
"One seed at a time."
I looked at the forest. Ancient trees, young saplings, everything in between.
"What if some don't grow?"
She smiled.
"Then they become soil for the ones that do."
G. The Philosopher 📜
Deeper in the forest, I found a clearing.
In the center sat a man. Old, with a long beard that trailed on the ground. His eyes were closed.
Around him, books. Stacks of them, towers of them, walls of them.
"What are you reading?" I asked.
He didn't open his eyes. "Everything."
"Why?"
"Because every book is a seed."
"A seed of what?"
"Of understanding."
He opened his eyes. They were green, like leaves in sunlight.
"I've been reading for a very long time."
"Have you found understanding?"
He smiled. "I've found that understanding grows slowly."
He picked up a book. Opened it. Closed it.
"This book says one thing. That book says another. Together, they say a third thing."
"Which one is true?"
"All of them. None of them." He set the book down. "Truth is a forest. Every tree is different, but they share the same roots."
I sat with him for a while.
"What are you searching for?" I asked.
"The question behind all questions."
"Have you found it?"
"Not yet." He closed his eyes again. "But I'm still reading."
H. The Dreamer 🌙
Near a waterfall, I found a young woman.
She was lying in the grass, eyes open, staring at the sky.
Around her, flowers had grown in the shape of her body. As if she'd been lying there for years.
"What are you looking at?" I asked.
She didn't move. "The sky."
"What do you see?"
"Possibilities."
She raised a hand slowly. Traced something in the air.
"Every cloud is a story I haven't written yet."
"You're a writer?"
"I'm a dreamer. Writing comes after."
She sat up. The flowers rustled.
"I've been lying here for a long time."
"Why?"
"Because standing up means choosing one possibility. Lying here, I can hold them all."
She looked at me. Her eyes were far away.
"Have you ever had a dream so beautiful you didn't want to wake up?"
I thought about it.
"No."
"Then you haven't dreamed deeply enough."
She lay back down. Closed her eyes.
"Wake me when the stars come out."
I. The Healer 💚
In a garden of herbs, a man was grinding leaves.
His hands were stained green. His face was kind.
Beside him, a small creature lay sleeping. Its fur was matted, its breathing shallow.
"Is it sick?" I asked.
He nodded. "Hurt. Not sick."
"Can you heal it?"
"I can try."
He applied the paste to the creature's wound. Gently. Slowly.
"Some wounds heal quickly," he said. "Some take time. Some never heal."
"What do you do when they don't heal?"
He looked at me.
"I stay anyway."
The creature stirred. Made a small sound.
"Being healed isn't about becoming whole again," he said. "It's about learning to live with what's broken."
He covered the creature with a leaf.
"Rest now."
J. The Elder 🌳
At the heart of the forest stood the oldest tree I'd ever seen.
Its trunk was as wide as a house. Its branches reached into the clouds.
At its base sat an old man. His skin was like bark. His eyes were rings, like growth lines.
"How old are you?" I asked.
He smiled. "Old enough to remember when this was a seed."
"You planted this tree?"
"No. I grew with it."
He placed a hand on the trunk.
"We were young together. Now we're old together."
"What have you learned?"
He thought for a long moment.
"That growing never stops. That roots go deeper than you think. That every ring is a year you survived."
He looked up at the branches.
"And that the tallest trees fall the hardest."
"Are you afraid of falling?"
"No," he said. "I'm afraid of forgetting what it felt like to be small."
Leaving Jupiter
On Jupiter there were five people.
One planted seeds and waited for forests to grow. One read books and searched for the question behind all questions. One lay in the grass holding all possibilities at once. One ground herbs and stayed with wounds that wouldn't heal. One sat beneath a tree he'd grown old with, remembering what it felt like to be small.
Each of them was growing something.
Each of them was patient.
I left Jupiter and continued.
Mercury: The Planet of Water
Mercury was blue.
Everywhere, water. Oceans that had no shore, rivers that flowed upward, rain that fell sideways.
On this blue planet lived flowing beings.
They cared deeply about change. They believed nothing was permanent.
K. The Empath 💧
On a floating island, a woman sat by a pool.
Her dress flowed like water. Her hair moved as if underwater.
She was crying.
"Why are you crying?" I asked.
She looked up. Her tears floated upward.
"Because someone else is sad."
"Who?"
"I don't know. Someone, somewhere."
She touched the pool. Ripples spread.
"I feel everything."
"Isn't that painful?"
"Very."
"Then why don't you stop?"
She smiled through her tears.
"Because if I stop feeling, who will feel for them?"
She wiped her face. The tears became rain, falling back into the pool.
"Pain shared is pain halved. Joy shared is joy doubled."
She looked at me.
"What do you feel?"
I thought about it.
"I don't know."
"That's okay," she said. "You're still learning."
L. The Poet 🎭
On a boat drifting through the mist, I found a man writing.
His paper was wet. His ink was water.
"Won't the words wash away?" I asked.
He smiled. "That's the point."
"Why write something that disappears?"
"Because the act of writing is more important than the written."
He showed me the page. Words appeared, then faded.
"Every poem is a wave. It rises, it falls, it returns to the sea."
"What are you writing about?"
"Loss."
"Why loss?"
"Because loss is the only thing that lasts."
He dipped his brush. Wrote another line. It vanished.
"I've written ten thousand poems. None remain."
"Doesn't that make you sad?"
"It makes me free."
M. The Mystic 🔮
In a cave behind a waterfall, a figure sat in silence.
I couldn't tell if they were old or young. Their form seemed to shift.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"I am no one."
"Everyone is someone."
"That's what someone would say."
They opened their eyes. They were like deep water.
"You're looking for something."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're still moving."
They gestured to the waterfall.
"Water doesn't look. It flows. It arrives where it needs to be."
"What if I don't know where I need to be?"
"Then you're already there."
I didn't understand.
"You will," they said.
N. The Mermaid 🐚
In the deep ocean, I met a mermaid.
Her scales shimmered. Her voice was like waves.
"You're not from here," she said.
"No."
"Why did you come?"
"I'm traveling."
"Where to?"
"I don't know."
She laughed. The sound rippled through the water.
"That's the best kind of journey."
She swam around me.
"I've met many travelers. They always ask the same thing."
"What?"
"'What am I looking for?'"
"What do you tell them?"
"I tell them: 'The question you haven't found yet.'"
"Have I found my question?"
She looked at me. Her eyes were ancient.
"Not yet. But you will."
O. The Navigator 🧭
On a ship made of clouds, a captain stood at the wheel.
The compass before him spun endlessly.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"Wherever the current takes me."
"Don't you choose?"
"Choosing is an illusion. The current chooses."
He turned the wheel slightly. The ship shifted.
"I've sailed every ocean. I've found every shore."
"What did you find?"
"That every shore leads back to the sea."
He looked at me.
"You're heading somewhere."
"Yes."
"Don't fight the current. Let it carry you."
He turned back to the endless blue.
"And when you arrive, remember: arrival is just another departure."
Leaving Mercury
On Mercury there were five people.
One felt everything and cried for strangers. One wrote poems that vanished like waves. One sat in silence and spoke in riddles. One swam in the deep and asked travelers about their questions. One sailed endlessly and let the current choose.
Each of them was flowing.
Each of them was changing.
I left Mercury and continued.
Mars: The Planet of Fire
Mars was red.
Everywhere, flames. Mountains that burned, rivers of lava, air that crackled.
On this red planet lived burning beings.
They cared deeply about action. They believed in moving forward.
P. The Warrior ⚔️
On a battlefield, a woman stood alone.
Her armor was red. Her sword was drawn.
But there was no enemy.
"Who are you fighting?" I asked.
She didn't turn. "Myself."
"Why?"
"Because I am my greatest opponent."
She swung her sword. The air split.
"I've fought a thousand battles. Won some. Lost some."
"Which matters more?"
"Neither." She sheathed her sword. "What matters is that I kept fighting."
She turned to me.
"What are you fighting for?"
"I don't know."
"Then find out. That's the first battle."
Q. The Pioneer 🚀
On the edge of a volcano, a man was building something.
A machine. Strange, glowing.
"What is it?" I asked.
"A way forward."
"To where?"
"To wherever hasn't been reached."
He tightened a bolt. Sparks flew.
"I've built a hundred machines. Each one took me further."
"And this one?"
"This one will take me to the end."
"The end of what?"
He smiled. "That's what I want to find out."
R. The Performer 🎪
In an arena of fire, a figure danced.
Their movements were flames. Their costume was smoke.
"Why do you dance?" I asked.
They spun. Stopped.
"Because standing still is death."
"Isn't dancing exhausting?"
"Everything is exhausting. Dancing is just more beautiful."
They leaped. Fire followed.
"I've performed for thousands. For no one. For myself."
"Which audience matters?"
"All of them. None of them."
They landed. Bowed.
"The performance is the point. Not the applause."
S. The Phoenix 🔥
In a nest of embers, I found a bird.
It was dying. Its feathers were ash.
"Are you afraid?" I asked.
It looked at me. Its eyes were flames.
"Of dying? No."
"Why not?"
"Because I've died before."
It closed its eyes. The embers grew brighter.
"Every death is a beginning. Every ending is a start."
The flames consumed it. For a moment, there was nothing.
Then, from the ashes, a new bird rose.
Smaller. Brighter.
"See?" it said. "Death is just change with a dramatic entrance."
T. The Alchemist ⚗️
In a laboratory of flames, a man was mixing.
Liquids of every color. Solids that glowed.
"What are you making?" I asked.
"Transformation."
"Of what?"
"Of everything."
He poured one vial into another. Light exploded.
"I've been trying to turn lead into gold."
"Have you succeeded?"
"Many times."
"Then why continue?"
He looked at me.
"Because gold isn't the goal. Transformation is."
He handed me a vial. It was warm.
"Take this. When you need to change, drink it."
"What will it change?"
"Whatever needs changing."
Leaving Mars
On Mars there were five people.
One fought herself on an empty battlefield. One built machines to reach the unreached. One danced because standing still was death. One died and rose again from ashes. One transformed everything except what truly needed changing.
Each of them was burning.
Each of them was moving.
I left Mars and continued.
Saturn: The Planet of Earth
Saturn was brown and gray.
Everywhere, stone. Mountains ancient beyond measure, valleys carved by forgotten rivers, dust that had settled for eons.
On this ancient planet lived enduring beings.
They cared deeply about foundations. They believed in what remained.
U. The Sentinel 🏔️
On the highest peak, a man stood watch.
He wore heavy robes. His eyes scanned the horizon.
"What are you watching for?" I asked.
"Anything."
"How long have you been here?"
"Long enough that the mountain has shrunk."
I looked at the peak. It was worn, weathered.
"Why don't you leave?"
"Because someone must watch."
"For what?"
"For the things others miss."
He didn't move. His gaze didn't waver.
"I've seen empires rise. I've seen empires fall. I've seen meteors land."
My heart jumped.
"Meteors?"
"One. A long time ago. Very small."
"Where did it go?"
"I don't know. I only saw it fall."
V. The Stoic 🪨
In a valley of sandstorms, a man stood.
The sand beat against him. He didn't move.
"Doesn't it hurt?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Then why don't you shelter?"
"Because the storm will pass."
He closed his eyes. Sand covered him slowly.
"I've stood through a thousand storms. Each one tried to move me."
"Did any succeed?"
"Some. Briefly."
He opened his eyes. They were steady.
"But I always return to this spot."
"Why this spot?"
"Because this is where I chose to stand."
W. The Comforter 🍵
In a small hut made of stone, I found warmth.
Inside, a woman brewed tea. The steam rose gently.
"Come in," she said. "You look cold."
I sat by her fire. She handed me a cup.
"I've been traveling a long time," I said.
"I know."
"How?"
"Because only travelers have eyes like yours."
She poured herself a cup.
"Rest here. As long as you need."
"I can't stay."
"I know that too."
She smiled.
"But you can rest before you go."
The tea was warm. The fire crackled.
"Many have rested here," she said. "They always leave. But they leave warmer than when they came."
X. The Witness 👁️
On an old road, a man sat.
He watched the path. Nothing moved.
"What are you waiting for?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"Then why sit here?"
"To see who passes."
He looked at me.
"You're the fourth person this century."
"That few?"
"This road isn't used anymore."
"Then why stay?"
He looked at me. Something glinted in his amber eyes.
"One person stopped here."
"Who?"
"She asked me for directions."
My heart skipped.
"She said she was looking for someone."
"Who was she looking for?"
"She said—a meteor."
I froze.
"And then?"
"Then she left." He lowered his head, looking at the old road. "She never came back."
Y. The Peacemaker 🎼
In a valley between two mountains stood a man.
He wore rough cloth, barefoot, standing at the valley's lowest point. His face was peaceful.
The mountain on the left was shouting. The mountain on the right was crying.
The shouting was loud. The crying was low.
He stood there, and both sounds fell toward him.
He didn't speak. He only listened.
The left shouted: "You owe me!"
The right cried: "I can't give you any more…"
The left shouted: "You have to pay!"
The right cried: "I have paid… so many times…"
The left shouted: "Not enough!"
The right cried: "How much do you want…"
He closed his eyes. He opened his mouth—not to speak, but to hum.
He drew both sounds into his heart. The shouting melody, the crying melody, collided inside him. Then he breathed out.
That breath became a song. Neither high nor low. Neither shouting nor crying. A new song.
Both mountains fell silent.
I listened to the song.
"This song…"
He opened his eyes.
"You hear it?"
"It's the orchid's fragrance."
He nodded.
"Long ago, a flower came here."
"What did she come for?"
"She came to ask for directions."
"Directions to where?"
"Directions home."
I froze.
"Did she find them?"
He looked at me. His eyes were peaceful, but also deep.
"She said her home was where a meteor had fallen."
The valley was silent. The song still echoed.
"Did the meteor fall?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said. "But she said she would wait."
Leaving Saturn
On Saturn there were five people.
One stood on a mountaintop, guarding those whose names he didn't know. One stood in a sandstorm, refusing to retreat even as he was buried. One sat in the grass and gave me warmth before I could say I was cold. One stood by an old road, watching someone walk away who never came back. One stood in a valley and wove two mountains' voices into a song—the orchid's song.
I understood now.
She had been to every planet.
She had met everyone.
Then she found the smallest asteroid of all and sat down to wait for me.
Z: The End
I held the hourglass filled with time and returned to the asteroid.
The asteroid was strangely quiet.
"I'm back."
No answer.
"I'm back!"
Wind. Nothing else.
I started running.
Running toward the place where she used to stand.
There was nothing there.
No flower. No petals. No dew. No fragrance.
Only a small pile of ash.
I stopped.
No.
I went the wrong way.
I must have gone the wrong way.
I turned and ran in another direction.
The asteroid was small. I circled it once and ended up back at the same spot.
Still that small pile of ash.
No.
No no no.
I crouched down.
In the ash were a few dried petals.
I recognized them.
Many years ago, when she taught me about the stars, those petals would brush softly against my face.
I reached out to touch them.
They crumbled under my fingertips.
The wind blew, and they were gone.
I don't know how long I knelt there.
I only know the tears wouldn't stop.
I wanted to call her name, but then I realized—
I had never asked what she was called.
She had always been there.
From the moment I could remember, she was there.
I thought she would always be there.
I thought no matter how far I went, she would wait.
I thought—
I thought I still had time.
I looked down at the ash.
In it was a small piece of stone.
I picked it up.
On it, carved words—old and faint:
"When the first star bloomed, I was there."
I turned it over.
On the back, even smaller, even fainter:
"When the last star goes dark, I will still be there."
I understood.
She was no ordinary flower.
From the first star, she had traveled everywhere. Venus, Jupiter, Mercury, Mars, Saturn.
She had seen the robot counting feathers. She had seen the swordsmith making flowers. She had seen the knight waiting for his king.
She had seen seeds sprout. She had seen leaves fall. She had seen tears make a sapling lift its head.
She had heard the dragon speak of rivers. She had whispered a word that would never be spoken. She had watched the weaver spin a web of meetings.
She had seen the qilin light flames. She had heard stories of a meteor stopping.
She had walked an old road, asked for directions, and in a valley heard two mountains' voices woven into a song.
Then she found the smallest asteroid.
Sat down.
Waited for a meteor to fall.
Waited for it to grow up.
Waited for it to leave.
Waited for it to come back.
And she knew—
She would not live to see it.
I suddenly remembered what the mermaid had asked me:
"Did you find that question yet?"
I had.
The question was:
Why did she let me go?
And I had the answer too:
Because she wanted me to grow up.
She could have made me stay.
She could have told me she couldn't walk anymore.
She could have asked me to stay with her, to watch the stars one last time, to listen to the wind one last time.
But she didn't.
She let me go.
She was afraid that if I stayed for her, I would stop.
She was afraid that watching over her would make me miss the whole universe.
So she smiled and said: Go.
And on this little asteroid, she waited until she became ash.
I had never taken care of her.
Not once.
She had been taking care of me.
From the day I fell, to the day she became ash.
And I never once asked—
Do you need me to stay?
I placed the metal flower the swordsmith had made beside the ash.
When the wind blew, it made a soft sound.
Like the way she used to speak.
I stood up.
I walked to the edge of the asteroid.
This time, I wasn't leaving.
I was choosing.
Choosing to stay.
So that when the next meteor falls, I can tell it:
There was a flower here who waited for someone.
From when he was small, until he grew up.
From when he left, until he came back.
Until she became ash.
And she never once said, "Don't go."
Will we ever meet again?
We will.
When the next meteor falls.
I'll be here.
I raised my hand, meaning to wipe away my tears.
But I found a silver streak beneath my eye.
Like a tear, frozen in place.
I couldn't wipe it away.
— The End —