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I accomplished the bulk of my work years ago. Now my focus is on readying us all for arrival, which is somewhat of a fool’s errand; I can prepare myself every second of the day, but that will not ensure the readiness of the other passengers.

However hard I work, people will either prepare themselves or they will not. I am not a man who preoccupies himself with an issue beyond my control. I prefer to assess a situation and figure out whether I can take action to change the course or not. If I cannot, I let it go. If I can, I take that action. I do not let myself dwell on that which I have no power to change.

Which is why I cannot understand my obsession with Azalea.

She is not mine to feel this way about. It is not a situation in which I can take action. So I should let it go. Let her go.

And yet I cannot.

Even as I try to avoid her in hopes these unwanted feelings die quickly, it seems something is conspiring to pull us together.

I am in the cargo area again, examining our supplies and their placement by the crew, when she arrives with a determined look on her face. She is so focused it takes her a moment to realize I am here.

“Oh. Hi.” She takes a step back, no longer using crutches, and I reach out to steady her before she twists her ankle again.

My hand is on her waist, her hand over mine, and the feel of her burns into me. We both stare at our hands a moment, then I pull away slowly, regretting the moment we are no longer touching.

Her voice is shaky when she says, “Thanks,” under her breath.

She brushes a stray black hair out of her eyes, tucking it back into her braid as she smiles. “Funny meeting you here.”

Funny is not the word I would use, but I do see the unlikelihood of it. “Perhaps it is our destiny to always be worried about the cargo.”

She gives a quick light laugh. “Perhaps.”

Another beat of silence, and I want so much to shatter it with words that mean something, but we cannot speak those kinds of words if we are to remain… friends. Acquaintances. Whatever it is we are.

As I look at her now, I can’t help but think of my nightly showers, now timed around her baths. I have imagined myself with her so often, with such intensity, that it takes great restraint not to reach out and touch her again.

“Maybe you can help me?” she asks, looking around.

Her words focus me. “Of course. What do you require?” Truly, avoiding her was an exercise in futility. Time apart has not diminished my feelings in the slightest. If anything, I am even more drawn to her than before.

“I’m looking for fertilizer for my cherry tree. The UV light is helping her grow but it’s drying out the soil pretty fast.”

“Ah, yes, I should have considered that when I brought your pot.”

She frowns and places her hand on my forearm. The touch sends shivers up my spine. “It was a thoughtful gift. Neither of us have ever raised a tree in a spaceship, I’m guessing.” Her frown turns to a teasing smile that coaxes a chuckle out of me.

“I suppose that is true.” I reluctantly move away from her to the supply area that has fertilizer tablets. I dig them out of the bin and hand her a small box of a dozen. “These should last you the rest of the trip.”

“It’s strange isn’t it?” she asks, staring at the box in her hand. “That this ‘trip’ is one-way. That the people on this ship are all that’s left. We will be together for the rest of our lives.” She looks up at me, her eyes wide. “We’re stuck with each other. Forever.”

Her lips are pink and soft and full and I am mesmerized by how they move when she says ‘forever’. I do not know if that last ‘we’ means her and I or all of us. Likely the latter, but either way it is both a great comfort and a great frustration that she is indeed correct. She and I are stuck near each other. Forever. Meanwhile, it is Robert she is paired with.

“Anyways, thanks again,” she says, holding up the box. “I guess I’d better go.”

She turns to leave, and I want more than anything to stop her, but I know I must not. No good can come of spending more time with her.

As she moves to open the door, the lights in the ship go out, plunging us into total darkness. I have no idea the cause, no idea of how concerned I should be, and yet I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Surely something is conspiring to test my willpower.

Azalea chirps out a surprised sound, and I move quickly to her side. After an hour of surveying the cargo, I have the place memorized.

She grips my hand, squeezing it.

I guide her down to the floor and we both lean against the stack of supply boxes, our hips, shoulders, legs touching.