Chapter Text
The storm started hours ago.
It is the kind of Martian dust storm that does not roar. It lingers. Creeps across the horizon until everything glows rust-red and the dome begins to hum. You do not even need to look outside. You can feel it. It is in the pressure. The slow push of air that makes your ears throb. The faint static in your fingertips. The way all movement on base becomes sluggish, like walking through thick syrup.
I sit on my bunk in my duck pajamas. They are soft. Faded. The kind with sleeves that always slip over my wrists no matter how I fold them. I keep the collar tugged high. My hair—purple, layered, chin-length—is in loose braids tonight, just to keep it out of my face. The lights overhead flicker once. Then again. Then fall into a red standby glow.
The emergency backup is holding. Barely.
And then, like always, the speakers switch on by the windows. The sound of rain begins to play. Gentle. Constant. A manufactured patter that mimics water hitting glass. It is... soothing. Almost convincing, if you close your eyes.
The adults who designed this system said it was more efficient for crew morale. That it “counterbalances the psychological toll” of listening to the wind claw at the dome. I think they are right. The howling is still there—faraway, muffled—but the rain keeps it soft.
I pull Mít into my arms. My duck plush. Yellow with faded embroidery at the beak. He has been with me since I was small enough to call him “big.” Now he fits under my chin just right.
I am thinking about him again.
He is impossible to ignore. Even when he is not here, he is here. The way he speaks. The way he laughs. The way he trips over himself and then pretends it was intentional. He is nothing like the others who rotate through base. Scientists. Soldiers. Astronauts. All perfectly trained, perfectly rehearsed. He is messy. Honest. Warm.
He reminds me of stories from Earth. Fairytales with wind spirits and rivers that talk. He is like one of those. Something that does not belong here. But came anyway.
I am not used to this feeling.
There are no teenagers on Mars. Not really. I grew up surrounded by professionals and machines. My friends were older or younger or on screens. I have never looked at someone and felt this thing in my chest. This flutter. This ache. This question I do not know how to ask.
Not until him.
Not until that concert.
He sat beside me. Shared his snack without asking if I wanted one first. Wiped grease off my cheek like it was nothing. I laughed. He laughed. I thought—I hoped—maybe I mattered.
But then she leaned in. Hana. She kissed his cheek. He smiled.
And my stomach dropped.
I am not supposed to feel jealousy. Hana is my friend. He is hers. They are a unit. A team. That much was obvious from the moment I saw them together. The way she calls him jagiya without hesitation. The way he always looks back when she walks ahead.
She met him first.
But I... I still think about him. When I am fixing comm panels. When I am scrubbing carbon filters. When I am sitting here, hugging Mít, and trying not to imagine what it would be like if things were different.
I do not want to ruin what they have.
But I do want to feel his hand brush mine again. Just once. By accident. Or not by accident. I want him to ask me about the books in my corner. The ones I saved from the Earth shipment. The ones written in languages I cannot yet pronounce but am trying to learn. I want to hear him say my name the way he did yesterday. Soft. Wondering. Like he meant it.
I press my forehead to the top of Mít’s head and whisper, “Không phải người yêu mà vui hơn rất nhiều.”
Not lovers. But more joyful than that.
I say it to myself. Quietly. Like a wish.
The rain continues on the speakers. Outside, the red dust dances. The base sighs under its weight.
I close my eyes and listen.
Tomorrow, we work again. Back and forth. Repairs. Heat syncs. Stabilizers. He will turn into vapor and fix what no one else can see. I will follow his footprints on the panels and pretend I do not wish they stayed longer.
Tonight, I dream.
And I let myself keep the smallest piece of him.
Just for me.