Week One
Location: MIT Biolab 4, Late Afternoon
The lab hummed with a low mechanical rhythm ; the gentle thrum of filtration vents, the soft pulse of data monitors, and the hiss of sterilized air pushing through glass chambers. Outside, dusk bled orange through the bio-dome skylights, catching on the silver edges of their equipment.
Sarah squatted by the glass pod, adjusting the growth rate controls on her engineered moss system. Tiny filaments pulsed faint green under the nutrient light, stretching toward the warmth like living circuitry.
Across the room, Owen projected engine thermal charts into the air ; blue holographic overlays rotating in slow orbit before him. He pinched one of the models and rotated it with practiced precision, recalibrating ignition tolerance.
“You can’t keep increasing the moss’s thermal resistance without informing me first,” Owen snapped, voice sharp with precision.
Sarah didn’t even flinch. “And you can’t keep changing the thruster design without accounting for the oxygen it’ll burn off.”
Owen stood, arms folded. “I’m trying to make it fly.”
“And I’m trying to make it live,” she replied, looking up at him with challenge in her eyes.
“You think this moss of yours is some miracle organism that’ll save the world.”
“And you think math is God,” she shot back.
Owen looked at her ; really looked. Her hair was pulled up, cheeks flushed from frustration, a streak of moss-green on her cheekbone.
He smirked slightly. “Your moss is on your face.”
Sarah blinked, touched her cheek, then rolled her eyes. “Well, your ego is all over the room.”
They stared at each other, breathing hard. Then… laughter.
Tension broke like glass.
“Okay,” Owen said, voice lighter. “We may not kill each other after all.”
“Give it time,” Sarah said, smiling.
She stood, wiping her hands on her lab coat, and crossed over to his side of the room. “Show me what you’re working on.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You sure? It involves numbers. Dangerous stuff.”
“Relax, Rocket Boy. I can count.”
He chuckled and widened the hologram display. A translucent engine prototype hovered between them, slowly spinning. Sarah stepped closer, eyes narrowing as she studied the thruster core.
“You’ve optimized for pressure efficiency,” she said. “But your coolant flow’s uneven. The left chamber’s going to overheat if the moss releases too much oxygen too fast.”
He turned to her, surprised. “You noticed that?”
“I notice everything,” she said simply, crossing her arms. “You just never let anyone else talk long enough to say it.”
Owen smirked, impressed despite himself. “Noted.”
For a few minutes, they worked side by side in silence. The only sounds were the clicks of holographic controls and the hum of the incubator fans. Occasionally, Sarah would murmur a calculation, and Owen would glance at her ; realizing she wasn’t just instinctual, she was analytical. Her intuition came with data.
After a while, she broke the silence. “You know… for someone who acts like he’s got it all figured out, you really don’t listen well.”
Owen looked up. “And for someone who claims to work with nature, you’re surprisingly aggressive.”
“That’s because nature doesn’t survive by being polite,” she said, smirking. “It survives by adapting.”
He paused, a slow grin forming. “Maybe that’s what this project is. Two species forced to adapt.”
Sarah tilted her head. “Let’s just hope neither one goes extinct.”
From across the lab, a group of students peeked through the glass divider, whispering.
“Are they arguing again?” one muttered.
“Arguing? That’s foreplay for geniuses,” another whispered back.
A third snorted. “Nah, this is how revolutions start. I just want to see if they invent something or blow up the lab first.”
Inside, Sarah adjusted the moss chamber, her fingers glowing faint green under the light. Owen stepped behind her to recalibrate the thruster model. Their hands brushed accidentally over the same console.
Neither moved.
For half a heartbeat, the air between them hummed louder than the machines.
Then Sarah pulled back, clearing her throat. “Boundaries, Rocket Boy.”
Owen smiled faintly. “Relax, Tree Whisperer. Just physics.”
“Mm-hm,” she said, pretending to focus on her pod, though her pulse betrayed her.
Outside, the sunset dimmed, and the lab lights shifted into evening mode, a cool blue glow washing over the room.
Sarah leaned against the pod, watching the moss pulse steadily under glass. “You ever wonder,” she said softly, “if we’re all just building things that’ll outlive us?”
Owen looked at her, surprised by the question. “Every day.”
“And you keep going anyway?”
He nodded. “Because if I stop… it means I’ve accepted that the world’s already finished. And I’m not ready for that.”
Sarah smiled faintly, the edge of her voice softening. “You know… you’re not as insufferable as your reputation suggests.”
“Careful,” he said with a smirk. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
They went back to work, the hum of machinery syncing with their quiet rhythm ; two opposing minds beginning, unknowingly, to orbit each other.
Outside, the last of the sunlight faded from the dome, and Biolab 4 glowed faintly in the dark ; the birthplace of something that would change everything.
Week Two
Professor Rhee frowned as he scrolled through the data logs on the shared hologram. The blue light from the screen flickered across his sharp features.
“Miss Williams,” he said sternly, “why is the bio-reactive mold triggering early photosynthesis under low-light conditions? This suggests negligence; or worse, reckless calibration.”
Sarah stood up, pulse quickening. “Sir, I; ”
But before she could speak, Owen stepped forward, calm and unflinching.
“That was me, Professor. I pushed an early trial on the mold to simulate radiation pressure. Didn’t inform her.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Owen; ”
Rhee cut her off. “Mr. Anderson, I didn’t expect you to make such a slip.”
“It won’t happen again, sir,” Owen said, voice level but firm.
The professor studied him for a long, silent moment before giving a curt nod. “See that it doesn’t.”
He turned away, continuing his rounds.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Sarah waited until he was gone before stepping closer, her voice low and fierce.
“Why did you do that? That was my fault.”
Owen shrugged, glancing at her sideways. “Didn’t like how he raised his voice at you.”
Sarah blinked; caught off guard by the softness beneath his tone.
Then she smiled faintly. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, hiding the hint of a grin.
That evening, Biolab 4 was nearly empty. Only the faint hum of the oxygen recyclers filled the silence. Sarah sat at her desk, absently tapping her stylus against the tablet screen. She should’ve been analyzing data; but her thoughts kept circling back to him.
To the way he had stepped in so effortlessly.
To the way he always seemed composed, even under pressure.
She exhaled sharply. Get it together, Williams.
Just then, the lab door slid open. Two girls from her hostel; Nadia and Eva; peeked in, still in their research uniforms.
“Hey, Moss Queen,” Nadia teased, leaning against the frame. “Still working with your dreamboy?”
Sarah frowned. “My what?”
Eva giggled. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Owen Anderson; the MIT prodigy, two-time research fellow, rejected half the Ivy League for a full-ride here. We were just talking about him in the dorm.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow, trying; and failing; to sound unimpressed. “You make him sound like a celebrity.”
“Please,” Nadia said, waving her tablet. “He is one. There’s literally a thread on the student forum called ‘Operation: Owen.’ Girls across departments have been trying to figure out how to talk to him. He got scholarship offers from Caltech, Princeton, and even Geneva Space Institute. And you’re telling me you didn’t know?”
Sarah blinked. “No… I didn’t.”
Eva’s grin widened. “Well, he’s MIT’s golden boy. Top of his class since undergrad. Rumor has it, the Dean once asked him to guest-lecture because he solved a propulsion stability equation the AI couldn’t. Oh, and apparently, he turned down a modeling contract too.”
Sarah just stared. “A… modeling contract?”
“Yeah,” Nadia laughed. “Some corporate tech brand wanted him for a campaign. He said no because it would ‘distract from his research.’”
Sarah tried to play it off with a shrug, but her voice came out a little too tight. “Good for him.”
Her friends exchanged knowing looks.
“Oh, come on, Sarah,” Eva said, teasing. “You’ve been working next to him for a weekk. You’ve got the best view in campus history.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “He’s arrogant.”
“And handsome,” Nadia added.
“Annoying.”
“Brilliant.”
“Unbearably smug.”
“Still handsome,” they chimed together, laughing.
She threw a pen at them. “Get out before I test this moss on human subjects.”
They left, still giggling down the hall.
When the door finally slid shut, Sarah sank back into her chair, face flushed with something she couldn’t name. She glanced across the lab to where Owen’s workstation still glowed faintly blue, his notes perfectly organized, equations scrawled in tight, controlled handwriting.
The boy she’d written off as an egotistical engineer… was apparently half-legend, half-myth.
She groaned under her breath. “Unbelievable.”
Later that night, when Owen returned to the lab to finish recalibrations, he found Sarah standing near the moss pod, arms folded, a strange look on her face.
“What?” he asked.
She tilted her head, studying him like a new equation. “So. Caltech, Princeton, Geneva, and… a modeling contract?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Dreamboy.”
Owen smirked, clearly amused. “Ah. The dorm gossip network. Efficient as always.”
She crossed her arms tighter. “You could’ve mentioned you were MIT’s poster child.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t seem relevant. You already hated me.”
Sarah tried not to laugh. “I didn’t hate you.”
“You called me arrogant.”
“Because you were arrogant.”
He smiled. “Fair.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “You know, I thought you were just another overconfident genius. Turns out you’re a humble overconfident genius.”
“I’ll take that as progress.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them; soft, charged, electric. Then Sarah rolled her eyes, turning back to her moss chamber. “Don’t let it get to your head, Anderson.”
“Too late,” he said with a grin.
She bit her lip, hiding a smile.
Outside, the dome lights dimmed into night mode, leaving them both under a faint wash of green from the bio-pods; two silhouettes standing closer than either cared to admit.
Week Three
The lights were dim. Only the soft blue glow from the prototype filled the room. Sarah had fallen asleep at the desk; head resting on her notebook, a blanket loosely over her shoulders, Owen’s hoodie under her cheek. The faint scent of cedarwood and rain lingered in the fabric, warm and calming, wrapping her in the quiet comfort of something she didn’t yet dare to name.
Owen looked up from his terminal and saw her; hair loose, breathing soft, the stubborn spark that usually blazed in her eyes now softened into peace. He smiled faintly and, without a word, draped the blanket higher over her shoulders. For a long moment, he simply watched her; how her fingers still clutched a pen even in sleep, how the lab’s cold light touched the strands of her hair like threads of silver. He could have gone back to work immediately. He should have. But something about that quiet; about her; made him pause. There were equations all around him, models waiting to be perfected, data scrolling endlessly across his screens. But none of it felt as alive as the girl sleeping beside his chaos.
“You’d probably yell at me for staring,” he whispered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But you really are something else, Williams.”
He turned away before the thought lingered too long and returned to the terminal. The hum of the prototype filled the silence as he worked through the night, eyes heavy but determined. He finished adjusting the propulsion core, re-checked the moss membrane tension, finalized the control loops, and ran the test simulation alone.
When it beeped “Success,” he exhaled and slumped next to the module, arms crossed, back against the base. He glanced once more toward her desk, the faint rise and fall of her shoulders steady and safe. His eyelids grew heavy. The last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was the soft outline of Sarah’s face resting on his hoodie.
Next Morning, 7:12 AM
Sarah stirred, blinked against the light… and gasped.
The project was complete.
And Owen… was asleep right beside it.
She walked over slowly, heart thudding. Coffee in hand. A look of wonder on her face.
She set the coffee next to him and knelt beside him.
“Hey, Rocket Boy,” she whispered, brushing his hair slightly. “Wake up.”
Owen stirred, eyes blinking open.
“Hmm… Moss Queen?” he murmured.
“You finished it?” she asked softly.
“You were asleep,” he said, sitting up slowly.
“You could’ve woken me.”
Owen looked at her. Smile lazy, warm.
“You looked beautiful while sleeping.”
She blinked.
“Didn’t want to disturb the calmness on your face,” he added.
A long silence. Her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.
She handed him the coffee.
“You’re not just equations and engines, are you?”
“Nope,” he said, sipping. “I have depth.”
She laughed.
“Well... you have decent taste in coffee.”
Week Four
The lecture theater was packed. Students, professors, research associates; all waiting.
Sarah and Owen stood side by side beside their prototype; a glowing, living spacecraft hull reinforced by carbon-moss tissue and guided by phototropic navigation. It pulsed with green light, shifting gently in response to environmental conditions, alive with both science and instinct.
Owen explained the propulsion and thermal shielding systems. Sarah covered the plant neural network and adaptive growth rates.
Then came questions.
“Mr. Anderson, how did you ensure the propulsion system wouldn't destroy the organic elements?”
Before Owen could speak, Sarah stepped forward.
“He incorporated a micro-layered coolant loop to insulate the biological layer. He thought two steps ahead.”
A nod of approval.
“Miss Williams, does the moss have any weakness to acidic buildup in long-term exposure?”
Owen stepped in.
“She genetically designed the strain with self-balancing ion exchangers. Better than any filter I could’ve engineered.”
The room was silent; impressed.
They didn’t just defend their own work.
They protected each other’s.
After winning the Award both sat on MIT Rooftop
The sun was setting, casting soft light across the city. The award; a sleek black crystal disc etched with their names; rested on the bench between them.
Owen sipped from a water bottle. Sarah held two plastic spoons and a tub of ice cream.
“So,” she said playfully, nudging the trophy. “Who keeps it?”
Owen raised an eyebrow.
“We could share custody. You take it weekdays, I take weekends.”
“I don’t trust you with it on weekends.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll probably run simulations on it or use it as a calibration weight.”
Owen smirked.
“Guilty.”
A pause.
Sarah tilted her head.
“You built the propulsion frame. You deserve it.”
“You made it alive. You deserve it more.”
“We both did it,” she said, voice softer now.
Owen looked at her. Really looked.
Then pushed the trophy gently toward her.
“Take it. Just… let me borrow it for one weekend. I’ll be gentle.”
Sarah grinned.
“Deal.”
They bumped spoons over the ice cream.
The city glowed behind them.
And for the first time, neither of them felt alone.
They never said the word love.
Not once.
They just existed in each other’s orbit, drawn by gravity neither acknowledged. They stayed late after classes, shared playlists, challenged each other's views, and defended each other during thesis reviews.
Owen began to notice everything about her; the little things, the quiet details that no one else seemed to catch.
The way Sarah tapped her pen against her notebook when she got excited, as if her thoughts were racing faster than her words could keep up. The way her hazel-blue eyes lit up when she spoke about cellular memory in trees, her voice filled with wonder like she was uncovering a secret only she could see. And then there were the pauses; those small silences before she said something important, where her gaze would flicker, and she'd bite her lip, like she was afraid the world; or worse, he; might not understand what she meant. And every time, without fail, he did.
And Sarah… she noticed how Owen looked at the stars like they were calling to him. How he always ordered two coffees by accident when he was nervous. How his voice lowered slightly when he spoke to her alone.
They never kissed.
Never held hands.
Never said the words.
But every look they shared, every touch that lingered a second too long, every silence heavy with what neither dared to speak; was love.
A quiet, brilliant love.
One built on respect, rivalry, and recognition.
But neither said it.
Because genius minds are sometimes dumb about hearts.
Just after two days of the Presentation, The lab felt… empty.
Not physically; papers still cluttered the table, the scent of moss still lingered in the air, and their award still sat on the highest shelf, catching the light like a quiet trophy.
But Sarah was gone.
No messages. No calls. Not even a sarcastic post-it note on the prototype like she usually left when she vanished for coffee.
Owen Anderson stood in silence, scanning the workstation for anything she might’ve forgotten. His chest was tight in a way he couldn’t describe; like gravity itself was just a little heavier today.
He opened the drawer where she used to keep her field notes.
And there, tucked between a sketch of their carbon moss filament and a pressed leaf… was an envelope.
His name was written on it. In her handwriting.
His hands trembled.
He opened it. He found a letter. He read in his confused mind,
Owen,
I tried a hundred times to say this in person.
But every time you looked at me with those quiet eyes; the ones that listen even when you don’t speak; I couldn’t.
You’ve always dreamed of the stars. I’ve always believed in roots.
Maybe that’s why we worked. Because we were opposite enough to challenge, but close enough to understand.
Oxford offered me something I couldn’t refuse; a research track in human-botanical cognition. It’s everything I wanted to study before I knew it had a name.
I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d find a way to make me stay.
And that would’ve been… beautiful. And unfair.
You made me believe in things I used to mock.
Equations. Order. The possibility of someone who truly sees you.
But this next step… it’s mine. I have to take it.
And you? You’re meant to do something bigger than MIT, or me, or even yourself.
If the stars ever align again… you’ll know where to find me.
Thank you for seeing the moss beneath the math.
– Sarah
Owen sat back in the chair, the one she always claimed was “hers because it squeaks.” His fingers traced the edge of the paper.
No anger. No bitterness. Just that hollow ache of almost.
She was gone.
And yet… she left him with something. A truth. A goodbye. A promise.
He folded the letter gently and slid it into the back of his notebook, behind the propulsion diagrams they’d worked on together.
“If the stars ever align again…” he whispered.
He looked out the window; toward the sky that once felt like home…
The cabin lights dimmed to an arctic blue hue, mimicking the cold dawn that awaited them below. Outside the reinforced glass windows, clouds shimmered like frozen ocean waves, stretching endlessly over a white, unforgiving world.
Owen Anderson sat slouched in his reclining seat near the window, a thermal blanket draped loosely across his chest. His notebook rested half-open in his lap, a corner of Sarah’s letter peeking out from the pages.
His brow was furrowed in sleep, lips parted slightly, lost in a dream that still held warmth; rooftop sunsets, moss-lined chambers, a girl with hazel-blue eyes and soil-streaked cheeks who used to argue about stars and roots.
During his final year, Owen's senior thesis; Theoretical Warp Corridor Formation Between Proxima Centauri and Sol; was awarded best in class and gained brief attention in international research journals.
He thought everything would begin from there.
But nothing did.
A soft hand touched his shoulder.
“Sir?” came a gentle voice.
He stirred, eyes fluttering open.
A smiling flight attendant, dressed in navy and silver, leaned over him.
“We’re beginning our final descent into Sector Twelve Base, Antarctica,” she said softly.
“Estimated arrival in seventeen minutes. Cabin temperature’s dropping, so please prepare thermal gear.”
Owen blinked a few times, adjusting to the light.
“Right… thanks,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.
As she moved down the aisle, Owen sat upright, pushing his seat back and glancing out the window.
What he saw stole his breath.
A vast white silence. Endless sheets of snow and ice below, jagged mountains poking through the frost like alien spires. The horizon bled pale gold, kissed by a sun that hovered low and tired. The Earth felt still. Ancient. Untouched. Waiting.
The warmth of Sarah’s voice still echoed in his head.
The ghost of her laughter.
The curve of her writing on the letter tucked in his bag.
He reached into the pocket of his worn MIT coat and pulled out a pair of thermal gloves.
His hands trembled; not from the cold, but from something else.
“You better be down there,” he whispered.
“Or this is the dumbest leap of faith I’ve ever taken.”
The engines shifted pitch, deepening into a low, resonant hum that vibrated through the cabin floor. A subtle shudder ran through the aircraft as it began its descent from the upper atmosphere. The view outside the window changed; dark space-blue gave way to swirling white, a canvas of clouds and frozen brilliance stretching endlessly below.
Owen tightened his grip on the armrest, his reflection caught in the frost-glazed glass. He could see the faint tremor in his fingers, the exhaustion in his eyes, and beneath it all; the flicker of something dangerously close to awe.
The captain’s voice came through the intercom, steady but distant.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our final descent into Antarctica Sector Twelve Base. Estimated surface temperature: minus fifty-one degrees Celsius. Secure all gear and prepare for atmospheric turbulence.”
The lights dimmed automatically, bathing the cabin in an icy blue glow. The air grew colder, thinner. Owen pulled his jacket closer, watching condensation form on the inside of the window. The clouds parted below, revealing the vast expanse of Antarctica; endless fields of snow broken by jagged ridges and frozen rivers, glinting beneath the pale sun like fractured glass.
It was breathtaking… and merciless.
The jet cut through a crosswind, tilting sharply. The seatbelt dug into his chest as gravity reminded him where he was; plummeting toward the coldest, loneliest edge of the world. A trail of vapor streaked past the wings, sunlight refracting through it like a halo of ice.
Outside, the horizon shimmered gold and silver. Inside, all Owen could hear was the hum of the engines and his own heartbeat.
What am I doing here? he thought. What if this is nothing? What if I’m chasing ghosts?
But then he reached into his pocket and felt the worn edge of Sarah’s letter; the paper soft from the number of times he’d unfolded it, reread it, remembered it. He exhaled, slow and steady.
“No turning back now,” he murmured.
The jet pierced the final cloud layer, and the base came into view; a cluster of metallic domes and spires buried in ice, their surfaces glowing faintly under the morning sun. The landing strip stretched like a narrow scar across the white expanse, marked by faint blue guide lights flickering through the snow haze.
The craft tilted again, stabilizers flaring. The engines roared as the landing gear deployed with a heavy thump. The hum turned into a controlled scream of wind and power.
Owen’s pulse matched its rhythm.
Snow whipped past the windows in wild spirals, streaks of white against silver. The pilot’s voice came again, calm but clipped.
“Brace for impact in three… two…”
The world jolted.
A shock ran through the cabin as the wheels met ice; metal groaning, snow exploding in a cloud around the hull. The jet rattled down the frozen runway, engines reversing, brakes screeching in protest. Then, finally; silence.
The engines wound down into a low mechanical sigh.
Outside, everything was still. The snow swirled lazily again, like nothing had disturbed it.
Owen unbuckled his harness slowly, his breath visible in the freezing air. For a moment, he didn’t move. He just stared out the window at the endless white, the rising columns of steam, and the far-off figures waiting near the landing zone.
He pressed a gloved hand against the window, the cold seeping through.
“This is it,” he whispered.
The cabin lights flickered to green. The door released with a hiss, flooding the aisle with biting, glacial air. Owen stepped forward, his boots echoing softly against the metallic ramp.
Outside, the Antarctic wind roared like a living thing, howling across the plains. The cold bit instantly at his skin, but he didn’t flinch. He looked up at the sky; pale, endless, unforgiving; and then down at the snow beneath his feet.
Every step he took crunched like glass breaking under pressure.
He wasn’t just descending from the sky anymore.
He was falling; into destiny, into secrets, into the unknown silence that had been waiting for him ever since she left.
