Xen still cannot process it. An alien. A real one. He remembers the alley: her pupils swirling with rings that grew and shrank like tiny orbits. Maybe an advanced robot? He decides to ask straight.
"Hey Xenice, where are you from?"
Xenice blinks, then releases a hologram orb from her eye. Chris jolts, matcha almost flying, while Xen watches patterns he has never seen. Remembering that Earthlings cannot read light, she kills the orb and clears her throat.
"Home… twenty four million light years away."
Xen exhales through his teeth. Chris whistles. Jenny lifts her head, glasses fogged, and stares.
"Assuming that is true," Chris says, "you're from a different galaxy."
Xenice nods, frustrated by the crude sound of her own voice. She always knew names before; here she knows nothing. Her gaze lands on Jenny's eyeglasses, fascinated by a device with zero tech inside.
Jenny's voice is groggy but curious. "Why is her name so close to yours, Xen?"
"I named her. She couldn't say her own."
Jenny side eyes him. "So you stamped yourself on her? Interesting."
Xenice leans forward. "Name. I like it. Xenice. It is nice."
Jenny grins. "Okay, pretty alien lady. I'm Jenny. This lump is Chris."
Chris raises his cup. "Welcome to Earth."
Xenice turns to Xen, eager to seal the roster. "Jenny. Chris. Xen. I will learn."
Xen asks the big one. "How did you get here? And why grab me?"
"Disaster. I fled. Earth shone on the map. I used a drone camera to watch you. Every day. One week. You seemed important. I wanted your attention."
Xen's cheeks burn. Great, an audience to his three a.m. Christina-cries.
"Like… a flying camera?" he mutters.
"Yes. Drone camera," she exhales, relieved at the word.
Chris jumps in. "Why come here?"
"To go home. Do you have a ship that can fly twenty four million light years?"
The trio exchange looks.
Jenny offers the hard truth. "Uber can't drive that far."
"Neither can NASA," Chris adds.
Xen shrugs. "Our tech isn't close."
Hope drains from Xenice's face. Tears well, then fall. Mizi hops down, beeping worriedly, and nuzzles her ankle.
Without thinking Jenny wraps an arm around her. The touch breaks Xenice's last wall; she sobs into Jenny's shoulder.
Xen kneels beside them. "You asked me to guide you through Earth. I will. We all will."
Xenice lifts her head, eyes dim behind tears. The look makes Xen's heart stutter. "Thank you, Xen. You are nice. Thank you."
Mizi hovers between them, screen flashing a proud °v°.
Xen manages a smile.
✮⋆˙
They say goodbye and step into the hall. The door clicks shut behind them, cutting off Xen's apartment glow and the low hum of Mizi's propeller.
Outside, the corridor is quiet, the city a dull rumble far below. Jenny leans against Chris's shoulder, still floating on the last of the hangover and the aftershock of starlight.
"An alien," Chris murmurs. "Aliens are real. This changes everything we know about space."
Jenny's laugh is soft. "You're more fascinated than you let on, huh?"
"Of course I am. She's an alien and we're the only ones who know it." His words tumble faster, a kid with a secret too big for one pocket.
Jenny laces her fingers through his, stopping him mid-sentence. "When Xen asked what we were, you said roommates. Sure we're just roommates?"
Chris lifts their joined hands, gentle but firm. "Just roommates. And for the record, you're prettier."
✮⋆˙
"Hey, Xenice. You don't have a place to stay, do you?"
"Ah, yes. I have my own ship, so I should be fi—"
Xen interrupts her. "Stay with me. Please? I have a spare room. I'll just clean everything out and I can—"
He stops himself. His breath hitches. His fingers twitch at his sides, grasping at empty air.
Xenice tilts her head. Through the crude verbal sounds, she detects the frequency of his urgency. His heartbeat stutters against his ribcage, visible beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Eagerness. Fear of rejection.
"Okay," she says. "I will stay."
Xenice sees it as an opportunity to learn his world, his dwelling specifically. She scans the apartment. Single pane windows leaking thermal energy. Furniture arranged for aesthetic rather than optimal space utilization. Lighting fixtures that burn hot instead of efficient LED matrices. Drastically inefficient.
Yet something about the clutter feels cozy. The way a mug sits abandoned on the table, ringed with old coffee stains. The soft indentation on the couch where he clearly spends hours curled. Beautiful in its imperfection.
"Okay. Sounds good." Xen backs away, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Let me clean the room. Don't leave, Xenice."
He waves his hand in a strange, fluttering motion.
Xenice mimics the gesture, moving her palm side to side. She does not know what it signifies but senses it means connection. Promise. Stay.
She sees Xen enter a room only to emerge seconds later dragging a vacuum cleaner. It roars to life with a loud whurr.
A perfect opportunity.
"Hey Mizi," she projects telepathically, the holographic language flickering behind her eyes where no human can see. "Earth is beautiful, isn't it?"
Mizi hovers near the ceiling, hidden in the shadow of a bookshelf. Its screen lights up with a sparkling happy face.
"Beep beep!"
"Xen seems very nice," Xenice continues, watching him struggle to lift a box of old magazines. "Jenny and Chris too."
"Beep," Mizi agrees, the sound soft and warm.
"We should explore this planet before heading back. What do you think?"
Mizi nods, the propeller spinning gently.
Xenice drifts toward the balcony window. The yellow sun burns bright beyond the glass, perfectly backlighting the dark clouds gathering in the distance. The vacuum noise fades to static as she presses her palm against the cool surface.
The rays speak to her.
Not in words, but in radiation. Soft, warming photons dancing across her skin even through the barrier. The clouds rumble, shifting shape ever so slightly, cotton gray mountains morphing into new geographies. The glass itself trembles against her touch, every fimble wind vibrating through the pane, producing a low, satisfying hum.
Below, the streets and the pigeons act as melody to the orchestra.
Xenice closes her eyes. She takes it all in.
For the first time since her birth, she experiences a world without preview data clogging her perception. No programmed knowledge tells her what those clouds contain. No database explains the physics of pigeon flight. She simply witnesses.
True exploration.
Pure and terrifying and truly hers.
✮⋆ ̇
"Xenice?"
Xen comes out of the room, mildly out of breath and still holding onto the chunky vacuum cleaner. Xenice is standing on the balcony, still wearing his jacket. The sunset renders her hair into pale blue flame against the darkening sky. The sight makes something stutter in Xen's chest yet again.
She does not forget to use her voice this time.
"Xen."
He gets a hold of himself. Do not get too excited. Do not scare her.
"Let me show you your room."
Xenice steps back inside. Mizi drifts behind her and nudges the balcony door shut with a soft click.
The room is empty but neat. Piles of cardboard boxes line the walls. On the left, shelves stretch from floor to ceiling, crammed with paperbacks and hardcovers. The wood still smells of lemon polish. Xen must have dusted them moments ago. Clearly this was storage until now.
"I'll clean out the boxes. And then we can get you a bed. And the books, I'll figure out where to put them. You can bring your personal belongings from your ship if you want…"
"Books," Xenice interrupts.
When Xen mentioned each item, he pointed to help her understand. Now she points at the shelves.
"You called these… books."
"Yes…"
"What are they?"
Xen tries to figure out the best description to give her.
"Information. They contain information. Stories. Knowledge."
"Please keep them here. I want to see them."
Xenice walks up to the so-called books. The textures of the spines of the books confuses her. Knowledge infused in… wood? Her touches weren't absorbing any knowledge in, just more questions.
Xen realizes something. His eyes widen.
"You're curious about my world. You love exploring?"
"Yes! I do!"
Xenice pounces. She crosses the distance between them in one step and grabs his hands, her eyes sparkling like starlight on water. Her fingers are warm through the fabric of her gloves. Xen stops breathing. After a heartbeat, she seems to notice the contact. She releases him quickly and straightens her posture, looking away.
Xen stares at his empty hands. He wants that warmth back.
"We can go out together," he says, the words tumbling out. "We can explore together. I'll show you all the fun things."
Xenice's eyes sparkle again immediately. She leans forward.
Mizi hovers lower, screen flickering between expressions, unsure whether to intervene or celebrate.
"Really? You will? Together?"
This is like a dream come true for her. Not just that she gets to truly explore the unknown. She gets to do it with a new friend. She does not have to explore alone.
Xen shares her excitement. "Of course!"
He pulls out his phone.
"Let's go to a clothing store. We have around two hours before they close."
"Clothing store…"
Xen pinches his sweater.
"These are clothes. We wear them all the time. You cannot wear my jacket forever. People will notice."
Xenice looks down at the oversized garment swallowing her frame. She gets it.
Ah.
✮⋆ ̇
Xenice and Xen finally arrive at the shopping mall. It should have been a twenty minute walk from Xen's apartment but Xenice's curiosity distracted them too many times. She paused to trace the cracks in the sidewalk with her boot, bent to analyze the cellular structure of a hedge, and stood transfixed by the flickering pattern of a traffic light. What should have been a brief stroll stretched into nearly an hour, leaving them with barely fifty minutes before the stores close.
That did not irritate Xen. Watching her pat the concrete as if greeting an old friend, or pressing her nose into a bush to examine chlorophyll production up close, was painfully cute. He did not rush her once.
Xenice wears a casual outfit that Christina left behind months ago. The black coat fits her perfectly, tailored to a woman of similar height but different substance. It hugs Xenice's frame in ways that make Xen look away, guilt and longing twisting in his stomach. The scarf wrapped around her neck is burgundy, soft wool that Christina used to wind around her own throat on cold mornings. Seeing it on Xenice now creates a strange ache in Xen's chest, like borrowing a memory that does not belong to him.
Mizi stayed behind at the apartment. Xen insisted it remain hidden, charging in the closet. A floating television robot attracts too much attention in public, and Xenice needs to learn how to move through crowds without her guardian broadcasting their strangeness to the world. Besides, Mizi seemed eager to investigate the books, flipping through pages with its floating orbs after Xen demonstrated how to process knowledge from static text. It wants to be a know it all for Xenice, planning to recite entire passages later tonight when they return.
Xenice holds onto the scarf with both hands, rubbing the fibers against her cheek. Her thick brown boots clank against the tile floor with every step. The clothing is warm, heavy, restrictive compared to her cyber suit. Yet she is starting to understand human clothing logic. They do not wear garments for practicality or environmental protection. They wear it for comfort. For beauty. For identity.
"This scarf is so soft," she says, voice muffled by the wool. "I love it."
Xen stands next to her, close enough to smell the fabric softener clinging to the coat. Christina's favorite scent. Lavender and citrus.
"Follow me," he says, his voice rougher than intended. "We can get you your own scarf."
It takes considerable effort to make Xenice focus on the mission. She stops to watch a child eating ice cream, then to study the reflective surface of a mirror display, then to feel the texture of a mannequin's plastic hand. Eventually, through gentle guidance, they arrive at the women's section.
Xen lets a female assistant measure Xenice's proportions. The woman chatters about standard sizes while wrapping a tape measure around Xenice's waist, unaware that the numbers she records belong to a body engineered twenty two million light years away. Xen hovers nearby, already holding a light blue scarf he spotted on a mannequin, something that belongs to no one but Xenice.
"Do you see anything you like?" he asks.
Xenice looks around the racks. She swipes her hand through the hanging garments, feeling silk, cotton, denim, polyester. None of it is efficient for space travel. None of it is vacuum sealed or temperature regulated. But the textures fascinate her. She pulls out a white sweater, holds it up to the light, then presses it against her chest.
It is soft. It is white. It is hers.
She smiles.
Xen smiles back. "Good choice."
✮⋆ ̇
It turns out that Xen is not the only one captivated by Xenice's otherworldly beauty. The assistant who measured her proportions seems hooked as well. Whether her enthusiasm stems from genuine admiration or commission based sales tactics remains unclear. Either way, she assists Xenice with choosing new outfits, pulling garments from racks with increasing excitement.
Xenice stands shy and silent. She allows the assistant to dress her up like a living doll, switching ensembles left and right without protest. The fabrics feel strange against her skin. Synthetic fibers and natural cottons create friction she has never experienced in her cyber suit. She glances toward Xen, eyes wide and pleading for rescue or guidance.
He simply stands there, hands in his pockets, enjoying the view. The fluorescent lights catch Xenice's hair, turning it into a pale blue halo around her shoulders. The assistant chatters about color palettes while adjusting a collar, her fingers lingering perhaps a moment too long on Xenice's shoulder.
The assistant gasps, stepping back with her hands pressed together.
"O. M. G. This outfit is perfect for you, ma'am. What do you think, sir?"
Xen blinks, barely looking at the price tag. The outfit is simple. A cream colored sweater and dark fitted pants. It makes Xenice look like she belongs here. Like she is merely a beautiful woman rather than a stranded expeditioner from another galaxy.
"Yeah," Xen says, his voice soft. "She looks lovely. I'll buy it."
He is too easy to persuade. The assistant grins, recognizing a lovesick fool when she sees one.
"Lovely. And how about this nice, lovely, cutesy coat? It will be perfect for the upcoming winter, sir."
"Yeah. I'll get it."
The assistant, very proud of herself, nods and walks toward the cash register clutching a growing pile of garments. Xen watches her go, then turns back to Xenice. She looks down at her new clothes, touching the fabric with tentative fingers.
Xen's phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, expecting work or spam.
A text from Christina.
"Am I needed tonight?
Xen stares at the screen. The question is neutral, routine. Yet it feels heavy now. He glances at Xenice, who is examining her reflection in a mirror with childlike wonder. He raises his phone and snaps a photo before he can think better of it. Xenice mid motion, hair cascading, wearing clothes that belong to Earth instead of the stars. He sends it without a caption.
Across the city, Christina stands by her office desk collecting her bag. She checks her phone as she walks toward the elevator. The image loads slowly, pixel by pixel, revealing a girl with impossible blue hair standing in a clothing store under harsh white lights.
Christina stops walking.
She stares at the picture. At the way Xen has captured this stranger, the angle suggesting he is looking up at her even though they are the same height. She recognizes that tilt of the phone. She has seen him take photos of sunsets and stray cats with that same reverence.
"Huh," she breathes.
Her thumb hovers over the keyboard. She should ask who this is. She should demand answers. Instead she feels a strange relief, like a bandage being peeled off a wound she did not know had healed.
She types back.
Good luck.
Then she turns off her phone and steps into the elevator, alone.
She thinks to herself, "I did say that he should go find someone else after all…"
The doors close. The elevator descends. Christina watches the floor numbers blink downward, one by one, carrying her away from the weight of the photograph.
✮⋆ ̇
Xen finds himself spending over six hundred dollars on clothes alone. All for Xenice.
She learned an interesting concept called money. A common good used to trade for various items on planet Earth. Xen has been saving this money thanks to his well paying job because he has nothing else to spend it on. No hobbies. No future plans. No one to spend it for.
Now he stands outside the mall holding five different bags, plastic handles cutting into his fingers. The physical weight feels good. It grounds him. Xenice tags along at his elbow, still wearing Christina's coat, her pale hair catching the streetlights as they flicker on overhead.
"Hey Xenice," Xen pants, adjusting his grip. "It's getting late. Are you hungry by any chance? Do you know what hungry is?"
Xenice tilts her head. She analyzes the sensation in her stomach, the nutrient reserves her body maintains automatically.
"I still have plenty of nutrients left in my body," she says, her voice melodic and certain. "I should be fine for at least a few days."
Xen glances across the street. A Chinese restaurant glows there, neon characters buzzing in red and gold against the darkening sky. The smell of sesame oil and steamed rice wafts through the glass doors. Warmth. Life. Something he wants to share.
"Hm," Xen says, shifting the bags. "Let me treat you to something nice. Earth's food."
Xenice looks at the restaurant, then at the bags of clothes, then at Xen's face. She does not understand why he wants to feed her when her body requires no fuel. But she recognizes the expression he wears. It is the same look he had when he showed her the books. When he asked her to stay.
He wants to give her things. He wants to watch her experience.
"Okay," she says softly. "I want to try... hungry."
Xen smiles. It is not the strained smile he offers his boss, or the hollow one he gives Christina when she asks if he is okay. It is real. It hurts his cheeks.
"Then let's go," he says.