Page 4 of Chosen By the Alien
“I wanted to speak to you.”
That brings me up short. “Me?”
“You were the only one who did not stare at me inside. You seemed... different.”
“Different how?”
“You are the only one not trying to impress anyone.”
“Didn’t realize that was a compliment.”
“It is.”
His voice is soft now, almost reverent. Like we’re in some sacred space instead of a shitty party with EDM rattling the walls behind us.
“You came here alone?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “I came with a friend, but he’s around there hooking up with someone probably… hell, it’s like I’m alone.”
“You are also alone in your heart.”
I stiffen. “Jesus. Okay, easy there, fortune teller.”
He doesn’t laugh. He just watches me like he’s listening to something beneath my words.
“You think I’m making fun of you,” he says. “I am not.”
“Okay.”
“You do not believe me,” he adds.
I sigh. “I’m just tired, man. I didn’t come here looking for... whatever this is.”
Tahl steps a little closer. Not enough to crowd me. Just enough for me to feel his heat, literal warmth, radiating from his skin like he’s running hotter than a human. Maybe he is.
“Have you ever felt truly seen?” he asks.
I freeze.
That question. Out of nowhere. Cutting through the haze of noise and alcohol and bitter memories like a fucking scalpel.
He keeps speaking. “Most people fear being seen. But you are desperate for it. You want someone to look andknowyou.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
He lifts one hand. Not fast. Not demanding. Just slow, deliberate, like he’s asking for permission. And then he touches my forearm.
It’s a light brush. Fingertips only. But something... happens.
Heat. A pulse. Not emotional, not metaphorical. Literal. Like static crawling up my skin. Like something humming between us that wasn’t there before.
My body jerks, just slightly, but he doesn’t pull back. His fingers hover there, reverent. Not possessive.
I stare at his hand. Then at him.
“What are you?” I whisper before I can stop myself.
