Let me clarify something about love and science: neither are good at cleaning up explosions.
It was a Wednesday. The kind of Wednesday where you wake up with mild optimism, only to be tackled by chaos five minutes later. I had just finished brushing my teeth when I heard a *BOOM* so loud my toothbrush vibrated out of my hand and into the toilet.
I ran to the window.
Smoke. Fire. Kairo on the roof, waving a towel like he was signaling ships at sea. And next to him? A half-melted toaster with the word "thruster" written on it in Sharpie.
"KAIRO!"
He cupped his hands around his mouth. "I THINK WE JUST HIT STAGE TWO IGNITION!"
Stage two? We barely had stage one! Last week our only accomplishment was managing to not burn the neighbor's clothesline!
I bolted up the stairs, heart racing. When I reached the rooftop, I saw the remnants of what had once been our microwave engine lying in a tragic heap next to a singed box of marshmallows.
"Why are there marshmallows here?" I gasped, coughing through the smoke.
"They were acting as heat-absorption stabilizers," he said, dead serious.
"You mean you just threw snacks into the fire."
"Same thing!"
---
Cue the neighbor.
Mrs. Castellano, seventy-six years old, armed with a rolling pin and an attitude, kicked the rooftop door open like a SWAT officer on a soap opera.
"YOU TWO ARE MENTALLY DEFICIENT PIGEONS," she screamed. "I KNEW YOU WERE BUILDING A BOMB!"
"It's not a bomb!" Kairo called out.
"IT'S SMOKING!"
"That's… fair."
I stepped forward, trying to deescalate. "We're just… experimenting with harmless propulsion systems."
"There are marshmallows on fire, young lady."
"Okay, semi-harmless."
She narrowed her eyes. "If I don't see a city permit by tomorrow, I'm calling the police, the fire department, and my nephew Steve. He's a lawyer and hates fun."
Then she stormed off, nearly stepping on a wrench Kairo had named "Rocket Ralph."
---
Later that night, we sat surrounded by tools, failed blueprints, and the smell of burnt sugar.
"I think we need a break," I said, pulling my hoodie over my head and flopping on the bean bag. "Like, just one day without something exploding."
"Impossible," Kairo replied. "Greatness always comes with explosions."
I glared at him. "I'm serious. We're gonna get arrested. Or evicted. Or die in a very stupid way."
"Hey," he said gently, scooting over. "Remember what you said when I told you I wanted to build a rocket?"
I rolled my eyes. "I said I wanted snacks first."
"Exactly. And you still showed up."
Ugh. Why was he so good at using my own words against me?
---
The next day, we tried to be normal.
We grocery-shopped. We watched cat videos. We attempted a romantic dinner—which got interrupted by a call from a guy named Julio asking if we still wanted the "fireworks in bulk."
I said no.
Kairo said yes.
We compromised and ordered pizza.
At 2 a.m., I woke up to sparks outside the window.
I looked out and saw Kairo back on the roof. Shirtless. Covered in soot. Adjusting a satellite dish with a butter knife.
"What are you doing!?" I hissed.
"Making her listen!"
"Her WHO!?"
He pointed at the sky. "The moon! She's ignoring us. I'm adjusting our frequency!"
"Kairo, that's a broken TV dish!"
"And yet, I feel spiritually connected to it."
---
Things got weird after that.
The neighborhood group chat exploded. Someone posted a blurry photo of Kairo on the roof titled **"Topless Moon Cult Leader Spotted in Sector 5."**
We got a warning from the building manager. The mayor's assistant emailed us. A *science influencer* on TikTok dueted our video and said, "Honestly? I'm rooting for them."
But the final straw?
Someone sent us a package.
Inside: a tiny plush moon, a fire extinguisher, and a note that read:
> *"Please don't die. But if you do, at least livestream it."*
---
Two days later, we were testing the capsule chamber (aka my mom's old laundry machine) when the pressure valve burst and sent my sports bra flying into the next apartment's open window.
I died inside.
Especially when I heard someone shout, "IS THIS YOURS!?"
I didn't even answer.
---
Kairo found me later in the stairwell, curled up, hugging a wrench named Kevin.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I lost my dignity. And my favorite bra."
"You'll get new ones."
"Dignity or bra?"
He grinned. "Both. And maybe… a space suit?"
I blinked at him. "You're insane."
"And you love it."
Unfortunately, I did.
---
That night, we stayed up watching the stars again.
I lay there on a blanket, arms behind my head, wondering how the hell my life got here. From barista hell to accidental astronaut girlfriend.
"Do you really think we can do it?" I whispered.
"Yeah," he said. "Even if we don't make it to the moon, I already got the girl."
I threw a marshmallow at him.
It stuck to his forehead.
---
Just then, the satellite dish sparked.
We looked up.
And in the distance… flashing red and blue lights.
Sirens.
No.
No no no.
"Did you leave the fireworks out?" I hissed.
"…maybe."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN MAYBE!?"
---
Then came the sound of something large crashing from the rooftop.
The lights flickered.
The walls shook.
Something exploded in the hallway.
I grabbed Kairo's arm, wide-eyed.
He smiled.
"…I think we just achieved launch."
---
**[TO BE CONTINUED]**