During the day, there’s tension in the air. She knows I’m about to finish the translation, and the so-called “secret” will soon reveal itself. Lunch with her is clouded by this foreboding, and I eagerly look forward to heading to the library. Finally sitting there, bowing over the cryptic document on this last afternoon, a strange sensation begins stirring in my stomach. Fear rises. What if the “secret” changes everything? Am I ready for that?
Yet, determined, I press on. The library—this place I’ve grown to love—feels both comforting and oppressive as I advance sentence by sentence. With each step forward, it feels more and more like I’m digging through thickening jelly in my mind.
And then, it’s done. The last revealed lines confirm my innermost fears: the fear of having been prey to a lie. Yet, strangely, I feel nothing. Or do I feel something? A void expands in my mind, and an emotion of loss begins to surface. For a few moments, I stare motionless into the late evening darkness outside the window. A weak echo of thought stirs silently: *Why did she choose to do it this way? Why?*
Slowly, I tidy up my spot at the library, return the books to their shelves, and stack the five translated sheets under my arm. Heavily, I wade my way back through the village and into the deep jungle forest that frames my daily proceedings. The forest is like paradise—lush and vibrant. Most of the time, I couldn’t see it. And now, I do see it, but it weighs heavily on me.
Like in a distant dream, I open the door to the house, step inside, and walk toward the kitchen. There she is. Kehan. She notices me and sits down at her usual place at the table. Dinner is neatly set—she did the cooking today instead of me. It’s a gesture. She knew I would be late. She knew that today would be the day I’d learn everything written in the papers.
Numbly, I grab the backrest of my chair, pull it toward me, and slump into the seat. She watches me patiently until I settle, then leans slightly forward, waiting for me to start.
“It was never about slavery,” I say flatly.
“No, not in that sense.”
“Why? Why all this?”
She lowers her eyes and fidgets with the napkin in front of her as she starts to explain.
“It was like this: You were convinced that we Manides were luring humans into evil deeds and that you had to defend Earth from us. You’d seen me kill your colleagues. The staff at the detention center told me there was no chance of convincing you that we were truly offering you a future here. So, I played into the ‘bad Manide’ role, redirecting your personal death wish into a new goal. That was supposed to be the first step—to make your survival instincts kick in. The plan was for you to see me as an opponent, someone to escape from or fight against, while the village and Steve would provide you with new perspectives. Steve agreed to help me from the beginning.”
She pauses, hesitating, then lifts her eyes to meet mine. “I... I didn’t like the plan either, but it was recommended. Others had tried friendliness from the start, and it didn’t end well. Most people like you committed suicide. They saw all friendliness as a trap, because they’d been told we’re cunning devils. That’s our problem: when we’re friendly, people lose hope. But when we’re ‘evil,’ they at least want to fight us to prove their worth.”
She pauses again. Taken aback, I stare at her. Somehow, I can wrap my mind around this. She’s right—I did see them as masters of deceit. But at the same time, hadn’t she chosen another form of deceit to deal with me? There’s a bitter irony to it all.
Taking a deep breath, she continues. “With that plan, we hoped you would slowly get used to the surroundings and find your own options. The more you knew us, the less likely you’d fall back into the propaganda you were told. But I admit it—my story with you was a setup. For that, I’m deeply sorry. I wish I had been wiser, but I wasn’t. Honestly, I’m still not. I’m just lucky you somehow managed to leave that propaganda behind. It doesn’t always happen, they told me. And yet, I’m guilty of not being honest with you from the start.”
Dumbstruck, I stare at her, sorting through the turmoil in my mind. Would I have been any wiser? Was I? Part of me is pissed to have been manipulated into this situation. But on the other hand, she’s right. Back then, I wouldn’t have listened to any “good words” from her or anyone else. Maybe they should have just let me die, as I’d wished. That would have been the most honest approach of all.
Suddenly, I remember how I caused her to fall into that discrepancy stasis months ago. She believed the same thing—that letting me die might have been the most honest outcome—but she chose to do something about my death wish. And when I told her that I still wanted to die, it froze her mind completely.
My hands start to tremble. The mental load is apparently weighing too heavily on me as well. Cautiously, I cover my eyes with my hands and brace my elbows on the table to keep myself upright and steady the trembling. Blindfolded by my palms, I carefully whisper,
“So, uh, what is this now? Is it all real, or is this another story happening? I’m just... incredibly confused. Where does it go from here?”
After a moment of hesitation, I hear her voice.
“When the year is over—in just a few weeks—you’ll go to court again, and the judge will offer you the same choice. Death, or a future here. But this time, your decision will be final, and no one will be allowed to interfere.”
“Okay. And what happens if I choose to live and stay here?”
“You’ll enter an integration program to learn how our world works. But in your case, you won’t need to complete all the sessions since you’ve already learned some of the basics—like the language and how things function here.”
Uncovering my face, I dare to peer at her. “Uhm... and what about you trying to get me in touch with my mom?”
With a serious expression, she bluntly replies, “That’s something I’m already working on. Steve is involved too. We’re negotiating an option for you, but the problem is that any attempt could fail at any time. So all I can give you is my word that I’m trying. Whether we succeed or not... I don’t know.”
Wordlessly, I take in her promise. I realize then how my emotional strength is fading. It’s all somehow acceptable, and yet I feel utterly drained. I need to process this. I don’t yet know what’s right or wrong here. So I decide,
“I need some space. I need to go and think.”
She nods subtly. I rise from my chair and numbly stride toward the door to get outside.
##
In large strides, I pace down to the village. It’s quiet—everyone is at home eating. That’s good. I like the solitude. Desperately, I head toward the village well. It’s a cool place, and I’ve always loved watching the water in its round stone basin.
Climbing onto its solid rim, a wall of smooth stone, I sit and wearily bury my chin into my hands, focusing on the water.
Surely, my mind has entered some nutty mode. This is probably not the most logical place to retreat to after such a confrontation. But somehow, the still water and the well’s quiet position are exactly what I need to calm down. Tears start running down my cheeks again. And again, I don’t know why. This is all too strange. Much too strange.
About half an hour later, someone from the pub joins me. At first, I feel a small urge to be bothered by the interruption, but then I realize I’m not. In fact, it might be nice to talk to someone who isn’t directly involved. After all, the entire village knows me and my situation. There are no secrets here. And, as is common with these people—when they see someone with a troubled face, they feel concerned—the woman sits down next to me and kindly asks,
“What’s up?”
“I translated that damn paper.”
“Oh!”
She shifts uneasily, clearly thinking about what this might mean for me. I jump forward, uttering my immediate worry,
“I’ll have to leave this place, right?”
The woman frowns, gathering her thoughts for an adequate reply. “Mmmh, I don’t know much about these things.”
“Yes, but I know anyway. It’s all going to end, isn’t it? Right now, after I’ve finally gotten used to the situation—it ends.”
“Maybe.”
She hesitates, staring off for a moment as if trying to form an idea. Then, suddenly, she looks at me with a thoughtful expression and says,
“Well, uhm... given the situation, how about changing the whole angle?”
Riddled, I wonder what strange thoughts she’s come up with now. This situation isn’t about “angles.” She has no idea how trapped I am. So, I just prompt,
“What?”
“Well, you know, all this time, you’ve been driven by the circumstances around you. You haven’t had much control over yourself. No wonder you feel stuck when things change in a way that doesn’t suit you—because you’re not in control.”
“Yeah, funny. I know that.”
“What I’m trying to say is: That’s not entirely true. You believe you can’t control your fate, but you could—if you change your angle of perspective.”
“How’s that supposed to work?”
“Just start to allow yourself to be in control of your own life. Act as if all the parameters that restrict you don’t apply.”
“Oh, come on! For example—if I made a run for it now, she’d catch me.”
“You think?”
“Yes! She did last time!”
“As far as I know, you were about to die.”
“Yes, that too.”
Troubled, the woman side-eyes me, clearly realizing I’m a difficult case. But at least she doesn’t give up.
“And since then? Have you ever tried again?”
“Well, uh... uhm, no.”
Suddenly, I think back to when Steve gave me that window of opportunity to make a run for it. But was it really a window? No. Steve just wanted me to be reliable in helping Kehan. He would have let me run at any other time, too. And I chose not to.
A bit humbled, I admit, “Okay, I get your point. I’m already complying all the time.”
She shrugs. “Well, compliance isn’t a bad thing—if it’s what you want. The real question is: What do you really want? If you can answer that, you’ve already taken the first step in starting to control your own life.”
As simply as that. Baffled, I look her in the face, and she meets me with a blunt, honest expression. She’s got it. The woman has nailed it to the point. I shouldn’t keep pondering my destiny. I should think about what I want to do next. What I want to do with the rest of my life.
That’s it. That’s all I have to do.
##
The days pass quickly and peacefully leading up to the celebration. Since my chat with the villager at the well, I’ve been kind to Kehan, and she’s been kind to me. I don’t dare address profound subjects about our situation here, and she seems to notice and respect that. Our daily routines return swiftly, and everything feels like normality again. But I know it won’t last—and it shouldn’t. I’m preparing to design my future. Until then, I let life flow smoothly, gathering the strength I need for the daring steps ahead.
Finally, the evening of the celebration arrives. Kehan and I finish dinner and get ready to head down to the village. The sky has settled into its nightly darkness, and the warm air lingers, making the outdoors feel cozy and welcoming. I enjoy walking the thin path with her, as by now, I know every step like an old friend.
The village square is crowded when we arrive, filled with people chatting and sipping beers. Along the edges, tables are arranged to form a makeshift bar offering drinks and snacks. In one corner, a DJ controls the music, which flows smoothly over the square through well-placed speakers. We mingle with the crowd, and soon enough, we’re each wrapped up in small talk with different groups of people.
After some time spent lost in idle conversation, I finally fetch my desired beer from one of the tables. The music shifts into more rhythmic beats, and people seem to feel the pull of the dance floor. Soon, the first couples of Manides step forward, pacing gracefully back and forth in their elegant way. Their impressive hinds move with fluid precision, and for a moment, I’m mesmerized. I sip my beer, watching them and wondering how I could ever manage such a dance. My legs aren’t like theirs, after all.
And then I see her—Kehan—dancing with Steve.
Oh, how perfect they look together. Both young, athletic, and strikingly attractive. There’s no denying how well they match. My stomach begins to twist. Maybe it’s the beer, but deep down, I know it’s something else. A sharp pang grips me, stealing away my courage to face my fate.
But then—something shifts. I pull myself together. As I was advised, I need to take control of my life. I need to steer it, and tonight is about gaining or losing. Both I will face with dignity. Doing something—anything—is always better than staying passive and never knowing what could have been.
I tip back my beer, emptying it in one go, and place the glass on a table behind me. With newfound resolve, I stride forward toward Kehan and Steve. The song playing from the speakers comes to an end, as if perfectly timed. I stop in front of them, and they both turn to look at me. Geez, they’re both taller than me! That realization makes me hesitate for a second, but I push past it. I bow politely to them both, then turn to Kehan and ask,
“May I ask for a dance as well?”
In truth, I don’t mean just a dance. Not one, not two, but all of them—for the whole night. But that’s too much to ask. Too daring. So, I settle for one and hope that, somehow, some flash shall strike me down or whatever needs to happen to spare me from facing my own bluntness.
But she just smiles and says, “Yes, sure!”
Steve smiles at me and willingly steps aside, letting me dance with her. A bit humbled, I can’t shake the feeling that he gave way a little too easily. Standing in front of her now, I suddenly have no idea what to do. Where do I put my arms? My legs? And how do I manage this when she’s nearly a head taller than me? I feel completely lost.
“Uh, I didn’t think this through... technically speaking. How do we—?”
She grins and replies playfully, “There’s a way. Mixed couples aren’t that unusual.”
As I puzzle over her brief comment, she shifts slightly to one side, guiding my arm around her waist and placing her hand on my outer shoulder. I respond in kind, mirroring her hold. Our positioning leaves enough room for our legs to move freely, but -in an unexpected way- it brings us even closer than couples of equal height.
The music starts a new song, and we ease into the rhythm, moving surprisingly well together. It could be wonderful, but I’m too nervous about doing everything right. I’m barely aware of the music or the people around us; instead, the world feels like it’s buzzing wildly. Slowly, though, I start to relax. My breathing evens out, and when I notice her enjoying herself, a bit of confidence creeps in. I’d planned this moment so carefully, and I begin running through my internal checklist.
Forcing myself to speak with care, I say, “Uh, this is working pretty well. I was just wondering... since you and Steve have known each other for four years, do I even stand a chance here?”
She laughs softly, and I instantly realise how clumsily I’d phrased that. But she answers casually, “Yeah, people do say we look like a picture-perfect couple.”
Her words send a chill through me, but she continues, “But it never ‘clicked.’ Steve’s a great guy, but he’s not right for me. He’s a true friend, though. I just prefer guys who’ve seen the uglier sides of life. The ones who’ve fallen, struggled, and somehow managed to claw their way back up. I guess I like the edgy types—the ones who aren’t perfect and know it.”
My mind stumbles. Is she talking about me? I feel more like the guy who’s fallen due to sheer stupidity. “That sounds nice,” I mutter. “But wouldn’t it be better to be with someone smart enough to avoid hitting rock bottom in the first place?”
She smirks. “See? That’s exactly it.”
“You mean... what?”
She just smiles, and before I can process it, my tinnitus flares up again. Then the music’s volume drops, and I panic, wondering if my senses are giving out. But no—the music actually stops. An abrupt pause ripples through the crowd, and everyone halts, murmuring excitedly as they turn their eyes skyward.
The faintly shimmering, nacreous shield above us—a constant reminder that this world is under siege—begins to dissolve. A hole appears, then more, until the entire barrier shreds itself into countless tiny specks. A distant crackling, like electricity discharging, accompanies the spectacle. And then, as if by miracle, the shimmer is gone. A bold, starry sky unfurls above us, with two moons hanging low on the horizon.
It’s a dazzling, deeply profound moment. The end of the bombardment. The end of an era. But as I try to comprehend its significance, my thoughts zero in on every place where my body is still touching hers. She turns gracefully, aligning herself with me as we both face the sky. Her other arm slides around my shoulder, holding me close.
Dazed, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and summon the courage to speak in the Manidian language: “Kehan, io ohev hez.”
She turns her head toward me and whispers, “I love you, too, Eric.”
Instinctively, my arm tightens around her waist. If I wasn’t already lost in a haze of emotions, I am now. She leans down, and time slows as our lips finally meet in a kiss. It feels like a revelation—like something I’ve craved without even knowing it. The kiss starts tender, but a growing urgency takes over. Soon, it’s fierce and consuming. Tongues meet, teeth graze, and our hands grasp each other wildly.
Gasping, I pull back slightly, aware of the crowd around us. “Where do you plan to devour me?” I ask breathlessly.
She grins, her lips brushing my ear as she whispers, “Wherever you want to take me.”
Her words knock the wind out of me, but somehow, I manage to say, “We’ve got an entire house for that, don’t we?”
She nods, her gaze locking with mine. “Let’s go.”