There were no kisses, no words. The girl wore station fatigues, the boy a space passenger’s jumpsuit, holdall dropped at his feet. For an hour, they hardly moved, holding each other, hands wandering slowly up and down each others’ backs. Travelers on the arrivals concourse stepped around them, their contentment a cocoon.
Erik watched them, waiting for Marcia to come down the tube. It would be the normal brief greeting, then off to the travel pods as quickly as possible. He’d prepared his usual “welcome home” smile, but there was no question that that was when the doubt began.
Alastair Millar is an archaeologist by training, a translator by trade, and a nerd by nature. Writing is his creative outlet.