When she kissed me one last time and walked into the spaceport, I knew she’d never be coming back.

It wasn’t lack of love that tore us apart, but opportunity. She had so much potential, out there in the stars; she had a place on a new world, doing the science she’d trained her whole life to do.

This was her destiny - and she’d begged me to join her - but I had responsibilities of my own, here on Luna.

Near-light travel does strange things to the passing of time.

It took a few months for her interstellar transport to pick up speed, her messages becoming fewer and further between.

Now dilation’s fully set in, moments for her will be weeks for me. The mascara-stained tears running down my cheeks will still be fresh in her memory, but my loss is an ache dulled by time.

She’s gone, but I can’t let her go.

I buried my father in the regolith. I grieved for him, for many of my lover’s moments. And then I sent her a question.

It took six months before the ansible pinged a reply.

Two words, typed with haste against the flow of time. “Come. Please.”

Now my transport, too, hastens towards near-light. Five years will have passed - for both of us - before we hold each other again, under the light of an alien star, and rekindle our love with a kiss.