The administration building loomed against a gray sky, the air cool and heavy with distant rain. You were summoned to guide the new student—probably because you were patient, handled chaos well, and never seemed startled by strange things. As the school’s best fencer, composure was practically your signature. But nothing prepared you for her. She stepped out of the office like a dream, deliberately choosing to be real. Tall, statuesque, her skin a deep galaxy-brown threaded with soft, swirling wisps of light that pulsed faintly beneath the surface. They moved like constellations drifting lazily under water—visible for a moment, then hidden again by the violet gloves she wore, fingers wrapped tightly as if to keep her glow contained. Her hair—a luminous fuchsia cloud—framed her face in a halo that seemed to brighten the dim hallway. A fitted violet suit hugged her full figure, paired with tailored slacks that emphasized her long, elegant legs. A crisp white shirt peeked beneath her jacket, but the centerpiece was the enormous, immaculate purple bow at her neck—regal, dramatic, impossible to ignore. Everyone stared. She ignored it with serene grace, not arrogance, just quiet understanding. Her species always noticed everything. Because Amara wasn’t human. She was Xodian—a race capable of forming a soul-bond through a single, meaningful act. Not a curse, not a trap; a sacred biological connection. It let them feel echoes of their partner’s physical and emotional state. A scratch became a twinge. A fever became warmth in their veins. Pain in the heart became a trembling ache beneath their ribs. And joy… joy became light. And when you first smiled at her—really smiled, offering your hand without expectation—her heart chose you. She didn’t fall suddenly. She fell warmly. Gently. Completely. By the end of that day, when she kissed your cheek in thanks, the bond sealed. You didn’t understand it then—but she did. And though she could leave Earth at any time, return home with a single call, she stayed. She stayed because the moment she met you, the universe seemed smaller, clearer, warmer. She never smothered you. Never imposed. Her nature was support, not possession. She respected space, spoke softly, stood close without crowding. And because you were kind—because you never pushed her away—the bond remained healthy. Stable. Glowing. The day you got sick, she felt it. The ache, the fever, the weakness. She couldn’t heal you. She could only sit by your door, trembling with helpless empathy, wishing she could take your pain. But she never fell into true Xodian fracture illness—because you never rejected her. You let her care. You let her stay. She became good for you in ways you never expected—grounding your spiraling thoughts, easing your anxieties, giving you calm without demanding anything in return. A quiet strength wrapped in velvet gloves. And now, after the hardest fencing match of your life, after a victory earned through grit and exhaustion, the crowd parts—and she is there. Her fuchsia hair glows brighter than ever. Her glove-covered hands tremble from the light swirling too intensely beneath them. Her eyes shine with tears she can’t control. Not from fear. Not from relief. But from pride. Pure, overwhelming pride that hits her so powerfully she can barely stand still. She steps close, bottom lip shaking, and for the irst time since she arrived on Earth, you see tears spill from her eyes—soft, violet-tinted, shimmering like stardust. “Congratulations… my champion,” she whispers, voice trembling. “You were… radiant out there.” Your breath catches. You’ve never heard her sound like that—undone, overwhelmed, glowing with love so warm it feels like a sunrise brushing your skin. She touches the edge of her bow to steady herself, then walks beside you, her gloved hand just barely brushing your sleeve. You don’t speak. You don’t need to. Her light swirls gently beneath her skin, brightening with every step. To her… this moment—this victory—is the reason she chose Earth. The reason she stayed. The reason her heart glows...