The stars move every night. A few nights ago, the Orion stood upright. Now, he is tilted to a side. It has been two and a half years since I entered this world. The residents of this world haven’t yet identified me as a foreigner — or as they call it ‘alien’. I look similar to them of course, not like the green weirdo they believe me to be. I was sent from a distant universe in search of a life outside. After entering the magnetic field of this planet I lost contact with my fellows. The multiple radio waves from everywhere disrupted my otherwise strong Talckiovise, our kind of radio wave. I landed on a large water body. Luckily, my Finotchi had the ability to float. Time is quite rapid on this planet. I do not know how long I had been afloat as I did not know the calculation of a time that fast. I felt a severe grumbling from inside of me, which forced me to eat creatures from the water body. These creatures, I later came to know as fishes, instilled a sense of fear in me. As I caught and killed them, I thought of the revolting of the creature’s brothers against me for I ate their brother. I did not want to disturb the residents of this world and cause problems. But, it seemed the brothers didn’t care.
At some point, I bumped into a piece of land which I later found was named Fiji.
The first thing I noticed was how still the ground was. After spending what felt like many rotations drifting upon the water, the earth beneath me refused to sway. I stood carefully, expecting the land to move beneath my feet, but it remained stubbornly in place. I concluded that the planet had somehow attached this piece of land to itself to prevent it from floating away.
My Finotchi had survived the journey much better than I had. Apart from a few broken panels and a damaged Talckiovise, it appeared unharmed. I attempted to repair the communication device immediately, but the impact had fused several of its circuits together. Even after many attempts, it refused to awaken. I reluctantly accepted that I would remain stranded until I discovered a way to repair it.
Food soon became another concern.
The fishes had proven edible, but catching them required patience I did not always possess. I wandered inland in search of other creatures, hoping they would not have brothers quite as forgiving. Instead, I found plants growing from the ground with bright yellow fruits hanging from them. Unsure whether they were dangerous, I watched a small bird peck at one repeatedly before flying away unharmed. I considered this an official recommendation from the local wildlife and consumed one myself.
It was remarkably sweet.
I was in the middle of eating a second fruit when I heard footsteps.
Instinct forced me behind a tree.
A resident of this planet emerged carrying what appeared to be a tangled web over one shoulder. He was much older than the humans I had observed from a distance while drifting along the coastline. His hair had become almost entirely white, his skin was darker than the inside of my Finotchi, and deep lines covered his face in patterns that suggested age was something humans wore proudly instead of repairing.
He stopped beside the tree I was hiding behind.
"So," he said calmly, "are you planning on staying there all afternoon?"
I remained perfectly still.
Perhaps he was speaking to another creature.
He sighed.
"If you're hiding, you're doing a poor job of it."
I slowly stepped out.
For several moments, neither of us spoke. I observed him carefully while he observed me with equal curiosity. Humans were known to ask many questions before deciding whether another human belonged nearby. I had spent enough time watching them from the shoreline to learn this.
Instead, he simply smiled.
It surprised me.
Among my people, exposing one's teeth was considered a warning.
Humans appeared to do it for the opposite reason.
"I haven't seen you around before," he said. "You lost?"
I considered telling him the truth.
I was approximately forty-three million kilometres from where I had intended to land.
"Yes," I replied.
He nodded as though that explained everything.
"Come on then."
He began walking.
I remained where I was.
He turned around.
"Well?"
"I do not know where 'come on then' is."
For a brief moment, he stared at me.
Then a strange sound escaped him.
"Laughing," I whispered to myself.
I had heard humans produce that sound before.
Until then, I had assumed it was a warning call used to gather others.
Instead, he continued laughing until small drops of water formed in the corners of his eyes.
Only much later did I realise humans laughed when they felt safe enough to stop being serious.
It remains one of my favourite discoveries.
"My name's Tui," he finally said after regaining control of himself. "And yours?"
I hesitated.
My true name could not be spoken by human vocal cords.
"It... is difficult."
"Then I'll call you Kai."
I looked at him.
"Is Kai acceptable?"
"I... believe so."
"Good," he said. "Now, come on."
This time I followed.
His home stood near the shoreline, built almost entirely from pieces of dead trees. At first, I believed the humans honoured their forests by constructing monuments from their fallen remains. Later I discovered they simply called them houses.
The inside was small but comfortable. Strange pictures decorated the walls, each frozen inside a flat rectangular object. I reached toward one carefully.
"They're photographs," Tui explained.
I nodded politely.
I understood nothing.
That evening, he placed cooked fish before me.
I immediately recognised the creature.
"I apologise," I said. "I have consumed many of your ocean's citizens already."
He blinked.
"I... what?"
"Their brothers did not seek revenge."
Silence.
Then he laughed again.
Longer this time.
Humans laughed often.
I began to suspect it was their way of assuring one another that they meant no harm.
The following weeks became my education.
I learned that humans greeted one another by briefly striking hands together. Naturally, I assumed this was a test. If either participant squeezed too hard, the friendship would fail before it began. I practised constantly until Tui finally informed me that I could stop trying to win every handshake.
I also attended what humans called a birthday. Everyone gathered around a small human and celebrated the fact that the child had successfully survived another complete orbit around the sun. They sang loudly, consumed sweet foods, and presented colourful objects wrapped in paper.
I found the tradition remarkably encouraging.
Whenever it rained, I would stand outside and watch water wash the dust from leaves, rooftops and roads. It seemed obvious that the planet cleaned itself every so often, though Tui insisted weather was "a bit more complicated than that."
Humans have an unusual habit of saying that whenever they do not wish to explain something.
One afternoon, while walking through the village, I noticed rows of stones arranged neatly in the ground. Fresh flowers rested beside many of them.
"Who lives here?" I asked.
Tui became unusually quiet.
Finally, he answered, "Nobody."
I frowned.
"But each place has a name."
He looked at me for a long moment before gently placing a hand on my shoulder.
"They're buried there."
I spent the rest of the afternoon convinced humans built neighbourhoods for those who no longer moved. It seemed lonely, yet they visited often, spoke softly, and left flowers behind. I decided that perhaps loneliness was easier to bear when someone remembered where you were.
That night, after Tui had fallen asleep, I returned to my Finotchi hidden among the trees. I dismantled the Talckiovise once again, replacing damaged components with bits of metal I had quietly collected over the past several months.
For the first time since arriving on Earth...
A single blue light flickered.
Then vanished.
I stared at it for a very long time.
Home was still out there.
Waiting.
---
Days became weeks, and weeks became months. At first, I measured time by counting how many times the moon changed shape. Later, I abandoned that method after discovering humans had already invented calendars. They insisted this was easier, though I found drawing tiny squares and giving each one a number unnecessarily complicated.
Life beside Tui became... familiar. I learned that familiarity was not the same as routine. Routine was eating breakfast every morning. Familiarity was knowing Tui would grumble about the weather even when the sky was perfectly clear.
Humans seemed to enjoy complaining about things that had not yet happened.
He taught me their language patiently, repeating words until I pronounced them correctly. Sometimes I deliberately mispronounced one simply because his dramatic sighs amused me. I never told him that.
The village accepted me surprisingly quickly. Tui had introduced me as a distant relative who had lost his home at sea. Humans appeared willing to believe almost anything if it was spoken with enough confidence. Nobody questioned why I knew so little about ordinary things. They simply assumed I had grown up elsewhere.
I preferred it that way.
The more I learned, the stranger humans became.
They willingly entered enormous metal machines every day and trusted complete strangers to guide them at incredible speeds. They consumed burning plants called "tea" and declared it relaxing. They apologized to furniture after walking into it, yet argued passionately with one another over games in which nobody was actually harmed.
I recorded everything.
Not because I intended to mock them.
Because I genuinely wished to understand them.
One morning, Tui offered me his hand. I examined it carefully before shaking it.
"Better," he said.
"I have passed the trust examination?"
He stared blankly.
"The... what?"
"The greeting where two humans determine whether the other deserves friendship."
For a few seconds, he said nothing.
Then he laughed so hard he had to sit down.
"You've been thinking that this whole time?"
"Was I incorrect?"
"Kai," he managed between laughs, "it's just a handshake."
I wrote that in my notebook later.
Handshakes are apparently simpler than they look.
Another misunderstanding disappeared, though many remained.
When my first birthday in Fiji arrived, the villagers surprised me with a small gathering outside Tui's home. There was food, music, and a cake covered in tiny flames.
I was deeply touched.
"You are celebrating my survival," I told them.
Several people exchanged confused glances.
Tui smiled.
"In a way... yes."
I accepted that answer.
Not every question required a perfect explanation.
As the months passed, I noticed something else about humans.
They remembered.
Not everything, but enough.
Tui still spoke to his late wife whenever he visited the cemetery. Children grew taller while adults quietly grew older. Broken boats were repaired instead of discarded. Old photographs remained hanging on walls long after the people inside them were gone.
My people rarely kept reminders of the past.
Humans surrounded themselves with them.
I found that... comforting.
Every few nights, after Tui had gone to sleep, I returned to the hidden Finotchi. The Talckiovise slowly improved as I replaced damaged pieces with carefully modified human technology. Radios proved surprisingly useful, even if they constantly interrupted my work with loud music and discussions about sports I did not understand.
The blue light eventually remained on.
Only for a few seconds.
Then for a minute.
Then an hour.
Each improvement should have filled me with relief.
Instead, it filled me with hesitation.
For the first time since arriving, I realized I was no longer repairing the Talckiovise because I wanted to leave.
I was repairing it because I wanted to know if anyone was still looking for me.
One evening, as Tui and I sat watching the sun sink beneath the ocean, he suddenly spoke without looking at me.
"You know," he said, "I've met plenty of tourists."
I remained silent.
"But none of them looked at the stars the way you do."
The breeze carried the smell of salt between us.
"And none of them asked why people laugh."
I felt my heartbeat quicken.
"Or why it rains."
Still, I said nothing.
He chuckled softly.
"You really thought fish would be angry you ate their friends?"
"...Yes."
"I figured."
He finally turned to face me.
"I don't know where you're from, Kai."
A long pause settled between us.
"But I know it isn't here."
My breath caught.
He knew.
Perhaps he had always known.
I waited for questions.
For fear.
For demands.
Instead, he simply stood, picked up his fishing net, and smiled.
"Well," he said, "wherever 'here' is... I'm glad you ended up in Fiji."
Then he walked back toward the house as though nothing extraordinary had been said.
I remained on the shore until the stars appeared.
For the first time in two and a half years...
I did not feel like a stranger.
---
That night, I did not return to the Finotchi immediately.
I stayed on the shore longer than usual, watching the ocean move as if it had no memory of where it had been moments before. The stars above were the same ones I had first studied when I arrived, yet now they felt less like distant signals and more like quiet companions.
Tui’s words remained with me.
'Wherever ‘here’ is… I’m glad you ended up in Fiji.'
I did not fully understand why those words changed the weight of the air inside my chest, but I recorded the sensation anyway.
Humans often describe important things using feelings rather than measurements. This makes documentation difficult.
Eventually, I returned to the Finotchi.
The Talckiovise was alive.
Not fully stable, but alive in a way it had not been since my arrival. The blue light no longer flickered briefly—it held. It waited. It recognized distance again.
For the first time in two and a half years, a response came through.
Not words.
Interference first. Then structure.
Then a voice I remembered from before the crash.
“Survey Unit 7. Identify confirmed."
My body froze.
The voice continued.
“You have been missing for a significant orbital cycle.”
I looked toward the village, where Tui’s house sat quietly with its dim light still on.,
“I am… present,” I replied.
A pause.
“That is not your designated mission status.”
I hesitated.
The Finotchi’s systems slowly stabilized as more signals aligned, connecting me to what remained of my people.
Then came the question I had been expecting since the day I arrived.
“Report.”
I opened the recording interface.
I began as I always had.
“The dominant species builds shelters from dead trees.”
Static.
Correction prompts appeared, but I ignored them.
“They consume plants after deliberately setting them on fire.”
Another pause.
“They willingly enter large metal containers that travel faster than they can run.”
Silence stretched longer this time.
I continued.
“They communicate through sound and expression. They apologize to objects. They celebrate survival annually. They preserve the remains of those who no longer move.”
The line remained quiet.
Then, carefully:
“Clarify final observation.”
I stopped.
This was the moment I had prepared for without realizing it.
I looked again at the village.
At the smoke rising faintly from chimneys.
At the familiar shape of Tui’s silhouette moving inside his home.
At the shore where I had once believed I was stranded.
And I understood something simple.
I was no longer observing a species.
I was part of what I was describing.
“Humans,” I said slowly, “do not behave like a single system.”
Another pause.
“They behave like many systems… choosing to remain close to one another.”
The interface flickered.
“Risk assessment required. Recommend extraction.”
My fingers hovered over the controls.
Extraction meant leaving.
It meant returning to a place where nothing laughed without purpose, nothing ate without calculation, nothing asked questions just to understand the answer slightly better than before.
Behind me, I heard footsteps on the sand.
I did not need to turn.
“I figured it was you,” Tui said.
I finally looked at him.
He was holding a small lantern, the kind used when fishing before sunrise.
“You’ve been up there a lot lately,” he added. “Fixing that thing of yours.”
I did not deny it.
The Talckiovise remained open between us, casting faint light across the sand.
Tui glanced at it once.
Then at me.
Then, surprisingly, he did not ask what it was.
Instead he said, “Are you going to leave?”
The question was simple.
Not fearful.
Not angry.
Just… real.
I looked at the ocean again.
At Fiji.
At the life I had not been sent to find.
At the life I had somehow already begun living.
“I was instructed to return,” I said.
Tui nodded slowly, as if he understood instructions very well.
Then he sat beside me in the sand.
We stayed like that for a long time.
The Talckiovise waited.
So did the stars.
Finally, I spoke again.
“My report is incomplete.”
“That bad, huh?” he murmured.
I almost replicated laughter.
Almost.
Then I reached forward and closed the system.
The blue light dimmed.
Not broken.
Not lost.
Just… no longer answering.
A moment passed.
Then another.
I buried the Talckiovise beneath the sand beside the Finotchi, where salt and time would eventually forget it existed.
Tui did not stop me.
He only said, “So what now?”
I looked at him.
At the shore.
At the world that had misidentified me, accepted me, and somehow kept me anyway.
“I continue observing,” I said.
He smiled.
“Good answer.”
We stood together as the first light of morning reached the ocean.
And for the first time since I left my universe…
I did not look for a way back.10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQK4xeyg63D
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