A1-09 Keeping Distance

You decide to maintain professional distance.

You tell yourself: you shouldn't offer him false closeness. He has feelings for you — you know that. If you appear frequently in the final days of his life, keeping him company, comforting him — is that kindness or cruelty? You would give him the illusion that "maybe she has feelings for me too," and you know that isn't true.

No. The kindest thing to do is keep your distance. Let him face this with clear eyes.

You only see him at necessary technical meetings. Discussing the details of the cryogenic procedure. Discussing radiation shielding parameters. Discussing communication protocols — though you both know that with current technology, he will be completely out of contact in space.

Yun Tianming is cooperative and quiet during these meetings. Occasionally you catch him looking at you — that careful, guarded gaze. You can't tell whether it holds understanding or disappointment.

Three days before launch.

You receive an encrypted email. The sender is Yun Tianming.

The message is short:

Cheng Xin:

I bought you a star. DX3906. 286.5 light-years.

I know it's silly. But I wanted to leave you something before I go.

No need to reply.

— Tianming

You stare at the email for a long time.

In the end, you don't reply.

You tell yourself this is the right choice — replying would only make the parting more painful. But late at night, sitting alone in your dormitory, you wonder: maybe you're just using "the right thing" as an excuse to avoid facing his feelings.

To avoid facing your own feelings.

Did you ever feel something for him? You aren't sure. When he was healthy, you never noticed him. But now, in the moment of his departure, there is a hollow in your heart — and you aren't sure whether it's guilt, sympathy, or something you refuse to name.

Launch day.

You stand in the control room. Nuclear warheads detonate in sequence, the probe accelerates. An anomaly during the third-stage acceleration — part of the sail breaks away, the probe deviates from its trajectory.

"Signal lost."

"Payload status unknown."

Yun Tianming has flown into space, but in the wrong direction. You don't know if he's still out there. You don't know if you'll ever have the chance to say the things you never said.

You walk out of the control room and sit down in the stairwell.

You take out your phone, find the email, and open the attachment.

DX3906. A star 286.5 light-years away. He spent every last cent he had, just to leave you one thing in this world.

For the first time, you start composing a reply to that email — and then delete it. The recipient is no longer on Earth.

You decide to enter hibernation. Perhaps in some future era, you'll receive news of him.