Chapter 15: Fake Stars, Real Feelings

The city had changed.

Or maybe he had.

As ___ stepped off the last train and made his way through the quiet streets, everything around him pulsed with unfamiliar life. Crowded stations, neon signs, laughter spilling from late-night cafés—so much noise, so much color. It was overwhelming.

But he didn’t stop.

The planetarium was on the edge of the city—an old, run-down dome with faded posters and a rusting entrance gate. It had shut down months ago, maybe even before she was reassigned. But he knew she hadn’t meant the exhibit itself.

She meant the memory.

Their memory.

He climbed the side path behind the building, where the staff used to go. The same path they’d snuck down during the school trip when she insisted on seeing the city lights from the observatory deck.

And there she was.

Waiting.

She sat at the edge of the platform with her knees pulled to her chest, hoodie pulled over her head. A tiny backpack beside her. Her face turned toward the skyline, eyes distant.

He stood there for a moment, just watching her—afraid she might vanish if he blinked.

Then he stepped forward.

The gravel crunched beneath his foot.

She turned.

For one terrifying moment, she just stared at him—expression unreadable, frozen like a snapshot.

Then her eyes widened.

“___…?”

His name in her voice made the world tilt.

He didn’t answer. He just nodded, breath shallow.

And then she ran to him.

The hug was messier this time—no graceful words, no perfectly timed lighting, no music swelling in the background. Just the sound of her breathing against his chest, and the pressure of her arms wrapped around him like she’d been holding on without him all this time.

“You found me,” she whispered.

“You waited,” he whispered back.

She laughed through tears. “I thought you’d forget. Or they’d erase everything.”

“They tried.”

“And?”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, just enough to say the words with a voice that finally felt like his own.

“They failed.”

⸻

They sat together under the fake stars—projected lights from the broken dome above that someone had forgotten to turn off all these months. Dozens of tiny points, flickering faintly in patterns that weren’t quite real.

“You still think they’re fake?” she asked.

He looked up. Thought about it.

Then shook his head. “No. Not anymore.”

She smiled. “Good.”

Silence stretched between them, not empty this time, but full—of everything they couldn’t say in the lab, everything they’d felt but weren’t allowed to speak aloud.

He turned to her. “They’ll come looking.”

“I know.”

“We might have to run.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Even if it’s hard?”

“As long as it’s real.”

⸻

The stars above were artificial.

But the warmth between them?

That was real.