Page 79 of I Fell for an Alien Popstar

I’d seen the bond, felt it humming between us like a live wire, and stepped back.

Ask me later. I’m not ready.

Tev had held up a different kind of wire, and I’d grabbed it with both hands.

“It’s not the same, Zhar,” I tried to explain. “The job doesn’t have cosmic implications. It doesn’t mean binding my life to someone else’s forever. It just means drawing things for a company instead of for fun.”

“Is that really all you think this is?” she asked quietly. “Drawing things for a company?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said quickly. “I just—this felt safe to say yes to. It felt like something I could claim that was mine.”

“And the bond isn’t yours,” she said.

“That’s not fair,” I blurted. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

An ache started behind my eyes.

“I know you’re scared,” she said, her words too steady. “I know you’ve been told your whole life that you shouldn’t want too much. That you should be grateful for whatever small thing you get. I get it, Vada. I do.”

She finally looked at me again, and the hurt there made my chest cave in.

“But it’s difficult not to notice,” she continued, “that when a man with a reasonable offer gives you a future on paper, you say yes in one conversation. When the universe offers you a future with me, you tell it to wait its turn.”

The sting in her voice was almost invisible, but I could hear it.

Feel it.

Tears blurred my vision.

“That’s—not—” I tried, then stopped. I took a breath that hitched in the middle. “I was coming to talk to you about that. I swear I was. I spent all day on Tessara thinking about it. About us. About Sira and the videos, and Pia’re telling me I was treating our bond like a glitch.”

I shook my head.

“I was going to tell you tonight. After I calmed down enough not to faint while saying it.”

“Tell me what?” she asked.

The bond thrummed between us, too loud all of a sudden.

I swallowed hard.

“I’m ready,” I said, my voice shaking.

The truth ripped up through my ribs as if it had been clawing at my heart to get out.

“I want this. You.”

I gestured between us with trembling hands.

“All of it.”

I let out another long breath, trying to compose myself.

“I want to be with you forever,” I said, my voice breaking. “I want to wake up every morning with your hair in my mouth because you steal the pillow. I want to complain about your terrible socks. I want to know what you look like when you’re seventy and grumpy and still pretending you hate ballads.”

A tear slipped free and slid hot down my cheek.

“I want to build a life with you where the most interesting thing about me isn’t that the universe tied my heart to a pop star’s. I want it to be that I chose you. That we kept choosing each other. Over and over.”