The ancient Chevy S-10 rumbled softly as Daniel and Amanda headed out of town on one of their drives. A classic and still running on gasoline, the old truck was fully permitted for two driving days a month. He could drive it more if he would convert it, but it was too full of memories of his Grandpa, his Dad, and a million nights spent driving and talking with Amanda.

 

He glanced at the passenger seat where Amanda sat beside him, foot tucked under her leg like always, watching the blinking lights of the orbital launch tower in the distance. He steered past glowing neon signs and under elevated roadways, where hovercars sped over their heads.

 

There was no destination, just a radio and good company.

 

Some things in town had changed since he'd enlisted four years ago; the old hardware store was now a hologram café, and fusion chargers had replaced the gas pumps at stations. However, the bones of the town remained the same.

 

He smiled at Amanda, who had her arm out the window, surfing the wind with her hand. He resisted the urge to tell her again. After years of trying, he knew she would only smile at him, hug him, or perhaps give him a playful slap on the shoulder, but she wouldn't say it back. She never said it back. Any normal person would have given up by now.

 

"You remember when we tried sneaking onto the colony tram?" she asked suddenly, voice edged with nostalgia.

 

Daniel smirked, thankful to be thinking about something else. "You mean when you talked me into it?"

 

She grinned. "You didn't have to go along with it."

 

"Yeah, well… I was never good at telling you no."

 

"We ended up two towns away," she said,

 

"And dragged back to some furious parents," he said.

 

They laughed.

 

Eventually, they drove past the Galactic Diner, its flashing holo-menu flickering in soft blues and pinks. It hadn't always been the Galactic Diner. Before the shuttle port opened, it had been Margette's Breakfast Bar, where truckers and second-shifters grabbed a coffee before dawn, where Amanda used to order blueberry waffles, and where Daniel had spent too many mornings hoping for a moment, one minor, fragile second, where she might look at him differently.

 

That moment never came.

 

Amanda sighed, running her fingers along the screen embedded in the dashboard. The starport's departure schedules flashed briefly. His shuttle will be launching tomorrow.

 

"So…" she hesitated, voice quiet. "Your mom said you signed on for another four."

 

Daniel's grip tightened around the wheel. Four more years; The number sat between them as heavy as the gravity anchors holding the orbital space docks in place.

 

He kept his voice even. "Yeah. I signed the paperwork last week. A quick refit, and I’m off on a patrol somewhere near Alpha Centauri."

 

Amanda went still, then she turned toward him, watching him carefully as if realizing, for the first time, that he might never come back.

 

Then she asked, "Have you ever wondered what might have happened between us if you hadn't reenlisted?"

 

Daniel exhaled sharply. He pulled the truck to the side of the road, shutting off the engine.

 

"You wait until now to ask me that?" he said, not looking up from the steering wheel.

 

She swallowed. "I thought... I thought you'd come home eventually."

 

Amanda's brown eyes reflected the flashing landing beacon lights overhead, but the glow did nothing to soften the sharpness in her gaze. "I thought you'd know. That you'd figure it out."

 

She let out a short, exasperated breath, crossing her arms. "I was waiting for you."

 

Daniel scoffed, shaking his head. His voice wasn't loud, but there was an edge to it. "So you planned to just wait rather than telling me the one thing that would have actually kept me here?"

 

In the distance, an orbital shuttle roared to life, its thrusters igniting in a burst of blue fire. The sky trembled, a deep vibration rolling through the earth as it began its ascent, climbing toward the fleet waiting in high orbit.

 

Amanda watched in silence, the reflection of its glow flickering against the windshield, and Daniel knew that this was the moment she finally understood.

 

He turned to face her. "You should have told me," he murmured. "You could have changed everything."

 

Amanda exhaled, shaking her head. "I didn't want... I don't want a part-time boyfriend. I wanted you to be done."

 

"And I was waiting for you to say something, anything," Daniel said a little too angrily.

 

Silence stretched between them, thick with missed chances and years of unspoken truths.

 

She leaned closer, just enough for him to feel the warmth of her.

 

Too close.

 

Her gaze flickered to his lips.

 

For half a breath, he thought she might do it, that she might close the space between them and kiss him, finally giving him what he had spent years hoping for. And goodness, he wanted her to do it.

 

But she didn't move.

 

And neither did he.

 

The moment hung between them, fragile, aching, filled with everything they had never been brave enough to say. His expression fell, weighed down with sadness for everything they would never be.

 

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, his hands cradling her face as his thumbs brushed away her tears.

 

"You still can't say it?" His voice was quiet, almost pleading.

 

He knew she wouldn't — even if she wanted to. If she said it now, she would have to accept his absence for another four years.

 

After a long silence, she looked into his eyes and asked, "Do we still have a chance?"

 

Daniel released her and leaned back. Memorizing how beautiful she was there in the dashboard lights. He wanted to tell her yes, but knew that he couldn't.

 

"I think we missed our moment," he said quietly.

 

Amanda's lips trembled slightly. Small, sad, knowing. "Yeah," she whispered. "I think we did."