Nathan heard the footsteps before he saw her.
Someone's coming, said The Noise.
Light footsteps, rhythmic. The rustle of dry grass. Nathan didn't turn around—he already knew who it was. Only one person knew about this place.
"I knew I'd find you here."
Maya came around the corner of the gym, brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, a canvas bag slung over her shoulder that looked too heavy for her frame. She wore jeans and a t-shirt with a stylized solar system print—one of those she bought on purpose to tease him, she always said.
Mask, said The Noise. Now.
Nathan took out his earbuds, let them dangle around his neck. "Stalker."
"Realist." Maya sat down next to him on the low wall, legs dangling in the air. "How'd the check-out go?"
"Good."
Too fast, The Noise warned. Add something.
"Morales gave me the final speech. Proud of me, bright future, the usual stuff." Nathan shrugged. "Nothing dramatic."
Maya looked at him. That look Nathan knew too well—the one that searched for something beyond the words, beyond the smile, beyond the mask.
Don't look away, said The Noise. If you look away, she'll think you're hiding something.
Nathan held her gaze.
"And you?" he asked, deflecting. "What are you doing here? I thought the volunteer committee had a meeting this morning."
"Finished early." Maya shrugged. "I just had to confirm the last details for tonight."
"Tonight?"
"The book presentation." Maya looked at him as if he'd forgotten his own name. "Elias Wexler? Nobel Prize in physics? His new book on cosmology? We've been talking about it for weeks, Nate."
She's been talking about it for weeks, The Noise corrected. You nodded and changed the subject.
"Right, right." Nathan nodded. "The book about... what's it called?"
"Echoes from the Void: What the Universe Is Trying to Tell Us." Maya shook her head, but there was a hint of a smile. "For someone who's going to MIT to study physics, you're terrible at remembering titles."
"I'm good with numbers, not words."
"Liar. I saw you reading Carl Sagan's Cosmos when you were fourteen."
She's trying to lighten the mood, The Noise observed. But there's something else. Look how she's gripping the bag strap. She wants to ask you something.
Nathan saw it. Of course he saw it. He'd known Maya for four years—he knew every one of her tics, every nervous gesture. The way she bit the inside of her cheek when she was holding something back. The way her fingers played with the elastic on her wrist.
"So," said Maya, and her voice changed register. Lighter, too light. Studied. "I was thinking."
Here it is, said The Noise. Get ready.
"The presentation's at seven. At the public library. There's also a book signing after." Maya paused, as if gathering courage. "You should come."
No, said The Noise.
"I don't know, Maya. Tonight I just wanted to..."
"Stay home with the telescope. I know." Maya turned toward him, and in her eyes was something Nathan couldn't decipher. "But Nate, it's Elias Wexler. The same Wexler you cited in your MIT application. The same one whose books your father had all of."
His father's name hit him like a slap.
Breathe, said The Noise. Don't react.
"It's just that..." Nathan searched for the words. "I don't feel like being around people tonight. I'm tired."
"You're tired." Maya repeated the words slowly, and something changed in her tone. The smile disappeared. "You're always tired, Nate. For two years you've always been tired."
Watch out, said The Noise. She's changing tactics.
"That's not true, I—"
"It is true." Maya didn't let him finish. "Every time I ask you to do something—anything that isn't being alone—you have an excuse. You're tired. You have to study. You have to help your mother. You don't feel like it." Her voice trembled slightly. "And every time I pretend to believe you, because... because I don't know what else to do."
Nathan felt something tighten in his chest. "Maya..."
"No, wait. Let me finish." Maya stood up from the wall, positioned herself in front of him. Her eyes were wet, but her jaw was set. "Tonight there's a Nobel Prize winner talking about stars and the universe and all those things that used to make your eyes light up. And you'd rather stay home alone."
Tell her she's right, The Noise suggested. Tell her you're just tired, maybe another time. Smile. Deflect.
"It's just a presentation, Maya. There'll be others."
"No." The word came out louder than intended. Maya bit her lip, lowered her voice. "No, Nate. There won't be others. In three months you'll be at MIT and I'll be at Stanford. Three thousand miles. And every time in these two years I've tried to... to be close to you, you've kept me out."
She's exaggerating, said The Noise. Tell her. Tell her it's not true.
"I haven't kept you out. We're friends, right? We have lunch together, we talk, we do—"
"We talk?" Maya laughed, but there was no joy in that sound. "Nate, we talk about the weather. About cafeteria food. About teachers. About everything that doesn't matter at all." She ran a hand over her face. "The last time you told me something true... I don't even remember."
That night, Nathan thought. In the parking lot. The stars and the marshmallows and quantum mechanics.
But that was two years ago. A lifetime.
"Maya, I'm fine. I've told you a thousand times. There's nothing—"
"Stop."
The word froze him.
Maya was looking at him with an expression Nathan had never seen on her. It wasn't anger—or not just anger. It was something deeper. Something that resembled pain.
"Stop telling me you're fine," she said, her voice low. "Stop smiling at me with that face you use with everyone. Stop..." Her chin trembled. "I've known you for four years, Nathan. I saw you before. I saw what you were like when your father was alive. When you talked about stars and your eyes lit up. When you laughed—really laughed, not that thing you do now."
Don't listen to her, said The Noise. She's projecting. She doesn't know anything.
But Nathan couldn't stop listening.
"And now I look at you," Maya continued, "and I see... I see someone pretending. Every day, every moment. And the worst part is you think you're doing it to protect others, but you're not. You're doing it because you're scared. You're scared that if you show us what's really inside, we'll... what? Run away? Abandon you?"
Yes, Nathan thought. Exactly.
No, said The Noise. That's not true. You're fine. You're protecting her, like you protect your mother. It's the right thing to do.
"Maya." Nathan stood up from the wall, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry if you feel excluded. Really. But there's no big secret. I'm processing things my own way. Morales says I'm making progress. I got into MIT. Things are going well."
"Things are going well." Maya repeated the words as if they were poison. "Do you know how many times you've said that? How many times you've told me 'things are going well' with that flat voice, with those dead eyes?"
Dead eyes.
"My eyes aren't—"
"Yes they are!" Maya took a step forward. The tears she'd been holding back for minutes finally streaked down her cheeks. "Two years, Nate. Two years watching you disappear piece by piece. And every time I try to get close, you..." She stopped, searching for the words. "You smile at me. And you tell me everything's fine. And you shut me out."
Nathan felt the wall tremble.
Hold on, said The Noise. Just a little longer and she'll leave. You just have to hold out.
"I don't want to shut you out." Nathan's voice was lower than intended. "I just... I don't want to be a burden. Okay? I don't want you to have to worry about me, or feel responsible, or—"
"A burden?" Maya looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Nate, you're not... you're not a burden. You're my best friend. You're..." She stopped, and something passed over her face. Something Nathan couldn't decipher. "How can you think you're a burden?"
Because I am, Nathan thought. Because everyone who loves me ends up suffering.
Don't say it, The Noise ordered. Don't give her that weapon.
"It doesn't matter," said Nathan. "The point is I'm fine. And tonight I just want to stay home. It's not a personal attack, Maya. It's just... what I need."
Silence.
Maya looked at him for a long time. The tears kept falling, but she didn't wipe them away. Then, slowly, she shook her head.
"You know what hurts the most?" Her voice was almost a whisper. "It's not that you're suffering. I understand that. You lost your father, Nate. You have every right to suffer."
Nathan said nothing.
"What hurts the most," Maya continued, "is that you decided on your own that no one can help you. You decided you have to carry all of this alone. And you never asked us—me, your mother, anyone—if we agreed with that decision."
Breathe, said The Noise. Just breathe. Almost done.
"You don't get to decide who bears your weight, Nathan."
The words hit him like a punch.
Don't listen to her, said The Noise, but the voice seemed distant. Don't listen to her. Don't—
"You don't get to decide," Maya repeated, her voice cracking. "You can't just... exclude us. Decide that you love us too much to let us in. That's not how it works. It's not fair."
Nathan opened his mouth to respond, but could only shake his head.
Maya finally wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Then, without saying a word, she opened her shoulder bag and pulled something out.
A book. Hard cover, black background with stars and galaxies. Echoes from the Void: What the Universe Is Trying to Tell Us.
"I bought it for you," Maya said, her voice flat. "I was planning to have it signed for you tonight. With a dedication." She looked at the book as if it were something foreign. "I wanted it to be a surprise."
Nathan felt something break inside.
Don't take it, said The Noise. If you take it, you're admitting that—
Maya held out the book. Nathan hesitated but then, slowly, took it.
"Keep it," she said. "Maybe you'll read it. Maybe you'll remember that you used to like these things."
"Maya, I—"
"The presentation's at seven." Maya put the bag back on her shoulder. "If you change your mind, I'll be there."
She turned and started walking away.
Let her go, said The Noise. It's better this way. Let her hate you. Let her resent you. It'll be easier for her to forget about you when you go to college. Better this way. She'll meet new people, new friends. Real friends. Not a disaster like you. And she'll be happy.
Nathan understood that this wasn't a normal fight. It was something final. Definitive.
Maya stopped halfway. She didn't turn around.
"That night," she said, her voice barely reaching him. "In the parking lot. With the fire pit and the marshmallows. When you explained quantum mechanics to me."
Nathan felt his heart stop.
"That was you, Nate. Not the mask. You." A pause. "I miss you."
Then she started walking again and disappeared around the corner of the gym.
***
Two years earlier, a spring evening.
Nate was sixteen. Maya too.
The parking lot was empty and, despite it being night, it wasn't that cold. The asphalt held onto the day like a stubborn memory. Maya and Nathan were sitting on the hood of the girl's car. Or rather, it was her mother's car. Since she'd only had her license for a few months, she couldn't drive alone. But for that evening, she and Nathan had gotten permission to use it to go somewhere quiet to watch the stars.
They were sitting there, with a blanket thrown under them, and in front—a few yards away—a camping fire pit spat lazy sparks that rose and died in the darkness.
Maya had brought marshmallows and a couple of sodas. Nathan had brought... Nathan. Who, in those days, was still a whole presence.
He had longer hair, less hollow cheeks, more open shoulders. And most of all he had that look that wasn't just attention: it was hunger. A clean hunger, like when you look at something and you know the world is bigger, but for once it doesn't crush you—it calls to you.
Maya understood almost nothing of what he loved. Yet she was enchanted while he talked about it.
"Okay," she said, pulling her knees up under the blanket. "So explain this to me... Quantum mechanics. But, please, explain it in a version for normal human beings."
Nathan laughed. A real laugh, unfiltered. "So not a version suitable for me."
"Exactly."
"Alright." He leaned forward and picked up a pebble from the ground, as if the whole world were a free laboratory. He placed it on the hood, between them. "Imagine... This pebble represents a particle."
Maya stared at it with fake seriousness. "Go ahead. I'm ready."
Nathan raised a finger, improvised professor, but he wasn't the kind of professor who makes you feel stupid. He was the opposite: he was someone who pulls you in, as if it were something to share. One of those who makes you want to understand.
"In a normal world," he said, "you say: the particle is here. Period. It's an object. It occupies a place in the universe... Even if you go somewhere else, if you take a walk and then come back, the particle... stays there, fixed."
Maya nodded. "Okay. Yes. This is the reality I like."
Nathan smiled, but then that light appeared in his eyes. That fire Maya learned to recognize as a switch.
"But in the quantum world..." he continued, and at that phrase Maya felt her chest grow warmer than the fire. "In the quantum world, it doesn't work like that. Not at all..." Nathan intensified his gaze, as if he were about to reveal a great secret.
"You don't have an object that's here. You have a... description. An indication... A wave of possibilities. That's it..."
Maya wrapped herself tighter in the blanket, more to have something to do with her hands than from cold.
"A wave of possibilities," she repeated, trying not to sound too stupid.
"Yes." Nathan made a gesture with his hand, as if drawing something invisible in the air. "The wave function. And as long as you don't measure, as long as you don't really look... the particle isn't forced to choose a place. It's as if it were..." He stopped, searching for an image that could be his and also Maya's.
The fire crackled. A spark fell on the cement and went out.
Nathan pointed to the sky.
"It's like the sky is telling a thousand stories simultaneously," he said. "And you, when you observe, when you measure... you force reality to choose one. Completely at random..."
Maya looked up at the stars. There were many, more than usual, because there the parking lot was far from downtown lights. There was a milky patch that she wouldn't have known how to name, but that Nathan called "galaxy" or "Milky Way" with a naturalness that made her feel small and important at the same instant.
"So I'm..." Maya smiled, searching for a foothold, "...some kind of mage who forces things to choose? Or maybe a witch?"
Nathan looked at her as if that question were the most beautiful thing in the world.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, exactly. You're a witch."
Maya laughed, and he laughed with her. And in that laughter Maya felt something shift inside, like a pressure that moves.
Nathan picked up the pebble again and rolled it slowly. "And the point isn't just that it's strange. It's that..." He bit his lip, concentrated. "It's elegant. It's scary, but it's elegant. Because it tells you that reality is more..." he searched again. "...deeper than how we describe it for convenience." Nathan paused, then looked at a fixed point in the sky. "That the universe isn't just what we see. That there's more. Always."
Maya stared at him.
Not the pebble. Not the stars. She stared at him.
And she realized she wasn't listening to understand physics. She was listening because she wanted to see Nathan when he was like this.
So alive.
So pure.
There was an almost cruel beauty in the way Nathan lit up when he talked. As if in that moment he stopped being a small-town kid and became something bigger: a person who had a direction inside.
Maya felt a sudden pang, a thought she hadn't asked to have.
I want to stay where he lights up. By his side.
The phrase scared her with its clarity.
Maya lowered her gaze to the fire, trying not to let it show. As if he could read it on her face and laugh at her. Or worse: as if he might take her seriously.
"And so..." she said, feigning lightness, "...if I don't look at the pebble, it can be anywhere."
"Not exactly anywhere," Nathan smiled. "Anywhere where the probability of the wave function is different from zero. There's a difference."
"Oh, of course." Maya rolled her eyes. "Excuse me, Professor Buzzkill..." she said jokingly.
Nathan laughed again. Then, suddenly, he became serious. Not sad. Focused. As if he were grasping something with the fingers of his mind.
"You know what's the part that drives me crazy?" he asked.
Maya shook her head.
Nathan looked at the stars. "That despite all this mess... it works. It's real. It's..." He inhaled, as if even breathing were part of the sentence. "It's beautiful. It's beautiful that the universe doesn't have to be comprehensible to be true. Yet we can understand pieces of it. We can tear a little light from the darkness."
Maya looked at him, and there... there something gave way.
It wasn't a romantic lightning strike, it wasn't a perfect scene. It was simpler and more definitive: Maya felt that she wanted to protect that part of him. That she wanted to be there when he looked at things and lit up, even if she wouldn't understand everything, even if she'd ask stupid questions.
And, at the same time, she felt a strange jealousy—not for other people, but for the universe itself. Because the universe had Nathan, and she only had him in fragments.
Nathan turned toward her, and for a second Maya thought he would ask her something. That he would see her face. That he would understand...
Instead Nathan just smiled, that softer smile, and handed her a stick with a marshmallow already on it.
"Come on," he said. "Take a marshmallow... I don't want to bore you with quantum physics..."
Maya took the stick, shaking her head to tell him he never bored her, and their fingers brushed.
A ridiculous contact, brief, yet Maya felt a precise shock, as if someone had turned on a light inside her ribcage.
She hated herself a little for how easy it was.
Don't fall in love with him, she thought, as if it were a rule to remember.*
And in the same instant she understood it was already too late.
Because it wasn't just Nathan, it wasn't just the cute boy sitting next to her. The small-town boy with the astrophysics books and the dry jokes.
It was Nathan talking about something he loved.
Nathan who, for five minutes, seemed invincible.
Maya opened her mouth to say something—a joke, any phrase to come back up for air—and instead the smallest and most dangerous truth came out:
"When you talk like that..." she said quietly, trying not to tremble, "it feels like everything makes sense."
Nathan looked at her, surprised.
And Maya held his gaze for just a moment, then lowered her eyes to the fire, because if she'd looked at him any longer she would have smiled in the wrong way. The kind that betrays you.
Nathan chuckled, as if embarrassed. "It doesn't make sense. It just has rules..."
"Yes," said Maya, and her heart was beating too hard. "And you see them."
Nathan remained silent, and Maya heard her own breathing, too close.
Then Nathan pointed to the sky again, toward a point steadier than the others.
"You see that star?" he said. "That star is almost motionless. Even when everything spins. Even when everything flows..."
Maya followed his finger.
It was just a star, yet it seemed like a nail driven into the darkness.
"When anxiety gets to me," Nathan said, and Maya stared at him because she'd never heard him say that word so easily, "I look at that star. It reminds me that not everything depends on me. That there are things... stable, fixed..."
Maya felt her chest tighten. Not from sadness. From tenderness.
I want to be one of those stable things, she thought. And it was in that moment, clearly and with no way out, that she understood: it wasn't a crush.*
It was love.
And it was scary.
***
Nathan opened his eyes.
The sun was higher now. At least half an hour must have passed.
The book was still in his hands. Echoes from the Void.
Nathan, said The Noise, and there was something strange in its voice. Something that almost resembled concern. Nathan, are you okay?
Nathan bent down. He slipped the book into his backpack. The cover was warm from the sun.
What are you doing?
Nathan didn't respond. He stood up and picked up the backpack.
Nathan. Answer me.
"I don't know," Nathan said out loud. "I don't know what I'm doing."
Silence.
Okay, The Noise finally said. One step at a time. Go home. Then decide.
Nathan nodded. Go home. That he could do.
He started walking toward the parking lot where he'd left his bike.
You don't get to decide who bears your weight.
Maya's words followed him the whole way.