Neteyam had been raised on stories. Stories of Sky People who burned forests. Stories of war. Of betrayal. And then there were the quieter stories — the ones Neytiri rarely spoke aloud, but that lived in the way she looked at Jake. The story of how she had once loved a human.

It was supposed to be complicated. Rare. A strange twist of fate. It was not supposed to happen again. Yet here he was.

Watching her from the edge of the lab platform while she laughed softly at something Norm had said.

The human scientist was nothing like the soldiers. No hard metal scent. No harsh movements. She handled plants like they were fragile songs — careful, reverent. She spoke Na’vi slowly, respectfully, even when she mispronounced the softer vowels.

Neteyam should have kept his distance. Instead, he found reasons to linger.

At first it was practical. Norm needed help carrying samples back to the village. He volunteered. She needed escort through the forest — for “safety protocol.” He was already there before the request was finished.

He told himself it was duty.

It was not.

The first thing he borrowed was small. A woven bracelet she had taken off while washing her hands in the river. Thin fibers braided with awkward human precision. She had sighed when she realized it was missing. “I must’ve dropped it somewhere,” she said. Neteyam said nothing. That night, he turned it slowly between his fingers, studying the uneven weave. It smelled faintly of the lab — clean water, paper, something floral she used in her hair.

He did not keep it forever. The next morning, he “found” it near the pathway. Her smile when he handed it back lingered with him for hours. After that, it became a quiet habit.

A datapad stylus left unattended. A folded scrap of notes written in rushed English. A pressed leaf she had meant to catalog.

He never took anything important. Never anything she would panic over. Just small pieces. Little reminders.

He would sit high in the branches at night, Pandora glowing beneath him, and turn those objects over in his hands. Trying to understand her world through them. Trying to understand why his chest tightened every time she looked at him like he was more than just “Jake Sully’s son.” She looked at him like he was Neteyam.

One evening, she caught him. He had been standing too close behind her at the work table, eyes drifting to the small pendant resting beside her notes — a simple metal charm shaped like Earth. “You can look at it,” she said gently, without turning. His ears flicked back in embarrassment. “I was not—” “You were,” she interrupted, smiling as she faced him. “You’re curious.” He hesitated before picking it up. “It is… your home?” She nodded. “A long way from here.” He turned the pendant in his fingers. So small. So plain. Nothing like the living beauty of Pandora.

“Why stay?” he asked quietly. Her gaze softened. “Because this place matters. And because… the people here matter.” The implication settled heavily between them. Neteyam swallowed.

“My mother once loved a human,” he said suddenly. “Many did not understand.” Her expression changed — not fear, but awareness. “And do you?” she asked. He looked at her then. Really looked.

At the way she watched the forest like she was listening. At the way she thanked Eywa before touching certain plants, even though she did not have a queue to connect.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that sometimes Eywa’s path is… unexpected.” She stepped closer, close enough that he could see the fine lines of ink on her fingertips. And are you walking an unexpected path, Neteyam?” His tail swayed behind him, betraying him. He reached into the small pouch at his side and held something out. A folded scrap of her handwriting. “You dropped this,” he said, though they both knew she had not.

Her smile was softer this time. “If you wanted something to remember me by,” she murmured, “you could just ask.” His breath caught.

Na’vi were not meant to hide feelings. They where tough to feel deeply. Honest