Page 9 of I Fell for an Alien Popstar

She smiled. “You keep looking around and scrunching up your eyebrows,” she explained.

“Well,” I laughed, “actually, I do. I don’t travel alone, so I get waves of anxiety. But it’s starting to calm down.” I lifted my wrist to show my ticket. “I came for the show, obviously.”

“Well, I figured that since you’re standing in the concert line.” She laughed. “So, you crossed systems for Zhari. Totally high-frequency.”

“Yes, I did. I was a bit nervous riding in the shuttle for the first time, but I would totally do it again.”

“Well, you picked the right place for the concert. This venue is one of the better ones. The view is great no matter where you choose.”

As if on cue, a promo drone drifted overhead, projecting footage of Zhari rehearsing. Her hair was pulled back, and she wore a simple pink chromeskin outfit with bright purple makeup. The dual-pulse on her neck flickered rapidly as she hit a run of notes, then cut herself off sharply with a hand gesture toward the band. She said something that everyone thought was funny. Then she reset, rolled her shoulders, and went again.

Even grainy and half-transparent, something about her pulled me in.

The line inched forward. Slowly but surely, I was almost at the front doors. The arena loomed above us, a cavernous bowl of crystal and metal with its own internal glow, as if it were housing a star instead of a stage.

Which, technically, it was.

By the time I reached the front, the nervous edge in me had melted into anticipation, bright enough to drown out the little parental voice telling me this was crazy. I mean, traveling as an adult wasn’t crazy, but spending money I really shouldn’t have was. Or probably traveling intergalactically without telling anyone.

It was fine, though. I’d be fine.

Around me, people leaned into each other—friends fixing each other’s makeup, couples pressed shoulder to shoulder, and groups huddled over shared screens replaying old concert clips. Everyone had brought someone. I had brought my sketchbook and a half-formed plan.

It was working for me, though.

I mean, I had done everything alone for years. Movies. Dinners. Birthdays where the only notification was my mum’s obligatory happy birthday text and a corporate email from my dentist. This was just the intergalactic version of that. Same girl, just a bigger adventure on a different planet.

Despite the waves of anxiety, I was really excited. It was the kind of excitement that lived in your whole body, making your hands shake and your grin silly. I didn’t need someone next to me to tell me this was amazing. I already knew.

Being alone didn’t mean I was sad. Sometimes it meant I was the only person brave enough to show up for myself.

The scanner at the gate read my holo-ticket with a soft chime, then flashed an extra icon I didn’t recognize.

“Pit access,” the attendant said, checking my band. Their eyes flicked to my face, then back to the screen, as if verifying something. “You’ve been upgraded.”

“Yeah, about that, I—I didn’t—” My brain coughed up the cost of that kind of ticket and choked halfway through the number. “Are you sure? Because I don’t remember purchasing pit tickets. And I really don’t want to get in any kind of—”

“It’s marked on your code,” they interrupted. “Enjoy the show.”

Maybe this was what it felt like when the universe decided, Fine, you’ve suffered enough. Have something amazing. Or maybe their system was glitching, and I’d be tackled by security halfway through the opener. Either way, my feet were already moving into the arena.

Inside, it was enormous. Much larger than it looked from outside. I stopped at the small coat check kiosk to the side and flashed my wrist comm.

"Thanks," the attendant said grabbing my bags. "When you come back just flash your ticket again. Enjoy the show!"

"Thanks!"

The entry corridor curved gently, its walls lined with panels of refractive crystal that caught the light and fractured it into prismatic streaks across the floor. The air had that charged feeling, like right before a storm. The music was so loud that it vibrated in my chest.

I followed the glowing signs toward my section on the floor, letting myself get pulled along with the clusters of fans. Up close, some of their outfits were even more intense. Those holographic jackets were programmed with looping animations of past performances.

This planet felt so advanced in technology that it was insane.

“Did you hear she changed the opener for tonight?” a human woman shouted to her friend.

“No way!” Her friend shouted back in excitement.

A third friend cut in. “It’s Vela. She always tests new material here first. My cousin caught a song last time that never made it onto the album. How totally cool is that?”