Page 58 of I Fell for an Alien Popstar

I looked at the charm bouncing gently above my wrist, then looked at her.

For a few moments, the rest of the market just… blurred. The noise dropped to a soft hum, vendors calling out from very far away, steam curling in slow motion around the lights.

Zhari was arguing with the vendor over some tiny extra charm, switching between three languages without thinking. Her hands moved as much as her mouth. She laughed at something the vendor said, her head tipped back and her glow bright and careless.

There was no stage in her at all. No cameras. No posture.

Just this dork in a hoodie with broth on her sleeve, stealing my food and tying small pieces of gravity to me as if it were nothing.

My chest did this quiet, decisive thing. Not the panic flip I felt when she talked about destiny. Not the dizzy lurch of the concert.

Something steadier.

Like a gear finally sliding into the right place.

I could suddenly see it—more markets like this on planets I didn’t even know the names of yet. More cheap little charms stacked around my wrist. More mornings with her hair a complete mess and her laugh muffled into my pillow.

Not like some impossible fantasy or a perfect movie montage.

Like something real.

A life I could actually have.

Oh, I thought, a little breathless. Oh.

I didn’t just want her.

I wanted it all with her.

The word mate flickered across my brain like a subtitle I wasn’t ready to say out loud yet, but it was there.

Undeniable.

“You are somewhere else,” she said softly, catching my stare. “What are you thinking?”

I swallowed, the truth crowding my throat. I wasn’t ready to hand her all of it—not there, with steam in my face and a vendor watching—but I could give her a piece.

“Just…” I said, my fingers brushing the little floating heart. “Today has been such a good day. I don’t want it to be over.”

A smirk tugged at her lips.

“Good.”

And that was the moment I knew the choice was already made, whether or not I’d said the words yet.

We walked until my feet ached and the market lights shifted toward something warmer and dimmer, which I guessed was their version of evening. Eventually, the path curved back toward the dock, and the bus sat there waiting, its hull catching the last of the light.

The crew started to bunch together as we approached—Lyn and Yuki already arguing about whose food stall was superior, techs comparing trinkets and cheap jewelry, everyone pink-cheeked and relaxed from a few hours of not being on the clock.

At the base of the ramp, Sira was waiting.

She stood at the top with one hip against the rail, a bulky chrome flip phone open in her hand, a small holo projected above it. Even from down there, I could see my own face on the paused image—blurry, caught mid-laugh in the edge of some crowd shot from the night before.

Underneath, in Velan and English, the caption looped Who is Zhari's Human?

Despite seeing it many times, my stomach dropped.

As our little group reached the ramp, Sira snapped the phone shut. The holo vanished.