Leah leaned against the chilled brick wall of the alley, her thin coat pulled tight around her shoulders as she checked her phone. The last client had canceled, and rent was coming up soon. She’d grown used to the cold, the glances from strangers, and the sounds of city life carrying on around her. This was her spot, this stretch of sidewalk and the shadows that wrapped around it. For Leah, it was a space she could control, where the ebb and flow of strangers brought small pockets of work, fleeting connections, and familiar solitude.

With a sigh, she tucked her hands into her pockets and thought about what tonight would bring. She remembered a woman she’d met on the street who’d told her, “Everyone deserves love, Leah. Even if it’s just for an hour.” Love. She shook her head, laughing under her breath. Love was for people with time, security, and a space to keep it safe. For her, there was just the job. Love was an illusion, a thing you sold like a quick fix. Her stomach growled, and she looked down the block to see if her friend Diane was on shift at the corner store.

Suddenly, she felt a tingling warmth around her, like a shiver but with a strange energy pulsing through it. The city streets blurred, and for a moment, her feet felt like they were floating. The air around her glowed, each particle taking on a bright, otherworldly hue. She barely had time to register the sensation before she was swept into a strange, twisting light that expanded, wrapping her in a disorienting embrace.

When Leah’s feet touched ground again, the world was no longer cold, gray, or gritty. She blinked, staring at walls that shimmered with energy. They were translucent, radiating a gentle glow that pulsed like a heartbeat. She was in a room, surrounded by strange forms and colors that seemed almost liquid, as if they could change shape at any moment. The warmth was back, too, a gentle, comforting heat that was altogether alien.

A voice, calm and detached, echoed around her. “Subject Leah, welcome aboard the Terratarian vessel.”

Leah’s gaze darted around the room, still disoriented from her abrupt arrival. She couldn’t make sense of the shifting, iridescent colors or the odd, liquid forms that filled the space around her, soft glows casting strange shadows across her face. She glanced at the two aliens standing nearby, their luminous blue skin almost comforting in its stillness.

One of them finally broke the silence, its voice smooth, carefully modulated. “Please be at ease, Subject Leah. We mean you no harm. You are aboard a Terratarian vessel. This space is safe for humans.”

Leah took a slow breath, nodding, though she wasn’t sure if she could trust their reassurances. “So…what do you want?”

“We seek knowledge of human concepts. Tonight, we hope to understand love. But first, we would like to know more about you. May we proceed with a few preliminary questions?”

Leah raised an eyebrow. “Preliminary questions? What, like…a personality quiz?”

The two exchanged glances, their antennae twitching in unison. “In a sense, yes. It will help us understand the nature of your experiences.”

She gave a small, resigned shrug. “Alright. Go ahead.”

The first alien’s voice softened, almost curious. “Leah, would you tell us how you spend most of your days?”

She crossed her arms, leaning back a bit, as if daring them to be put off by her truth. “Mostly? I’m on the street. I’ve got a spot in the city where I wait for clients. I, uh…work there, if you could call it that. Sometimes I grab a meal or a drink at the corner store. I’ve got a few people I look out for, friends, other folks just…trying to get by.”

The aliens absorbed this, their eyes never leaving her. After a brief pause, the other Terratarian chimed in, its voice warm yet formal. “You mentioned that you ‘work’ on the street. May we ask what kind of work you engage in?”

Leah’s jaw tensed, her eyes flicking away for a second. She’d been judged enough in her life to recognize the tone of prying questions. But here, strangely, there was no judgment in their voices, only a strange and gentle curiosity.

“I’m a sex worker,” she said bluntly, watching them closely. “I meet people, sometimes give them what they need to feel less alone.”

The two Terratarians exchanged a glance, their antennae twitching slightly. “We understand. And do you find this work fulfilling?”

Leah blinked at the question. Fulfilling? The word echoed in her mind, almost mocking. “It’s not about fulfillment. It’s about survival. There are moments, maybe, where it feels like I’m helping. But mostly? It’s just a way to get by.”

They nodded, their bulbous eyes studying her with a level of empathy that surprised her. “Your honesty is…appreciated, Leah,” one of them said, almost reverently. “Would you say that this work requires an understanding of human emotion, specifically of loneliness?”

She hesitated, a twinge of vulnerability flashing in her eyes. “Yeah,” she admitted softly. “I see a lot of lonely people. People who just want someone to look at them like they’re real, like they matter.”

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The Terratarians’ antennae stilled, as if processing this deeply. “In your experience, do people find comfort in…illusion? The idea of being seen, even if it may not be real?”

Leah let out a dry laugh. “Look, people need to believe in something. Maybe it’s real; maybe it’s not. But the feeling—that’s what they’re after. So yeah, a lot of people settle for an illusion if it means they can feel good, even for a little while.”

“Fascinating,” one of them murmured. “Is it fair to say, then, that humans create and pursue relationships for reasons beyond…love?”

“Love…that’s something I left behind a while ago.” Leah paused, her mind drifting back to a time when someone had cared. There’d been a boy once, years ago, who’d held her hand like she was something precious. They’d made plans, dreamed of a life together far from here, but dreams were fragile things, easily broken by the weight of survival. “That kind of thing doesn’t last in my world,” she added softly, her gaze distant. She blinked, then studied them for a moment, her expression guarded. “Look, love’s complicated. Some people want love; others just want connection, even if it’s shallow. I’m there to give them something they need. Doesn’t have to be love—it’s just comfort. Even I can’t always tell the difference.”

“Is this comfort a form of…transaction, then?”

Leah shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, in a way. People pay for my time, my attention, my company. They get what they’re looking for, and I get what I need to keep going.”

“When you provide this comfort, Leah, do you lose a part of yourself in the process?”

Leah met their curious gaze, pondering their question. “It’s not about losing something,” she murmured, “but about giving just enough so they feel seen, without leaving myself empty. It’s a balancing act.”

The aliens tilted their heads, absorbing her words. “Fascinating. So in this ‘balancing,’ it seems that love, for humans, must contend with scarcity. How does that scarcity shape it?”

Leah thought, shrugging. “Maybe that’s why people want it so badly. We make it rare, so it feels valuable.”

The Terratarians’ antennae pulsed in unison, their eyes still fixed on her. “Human culture appears to be layered with nuances in relationships. These distinctions…they elude us. Perhaps you could clarify?”

Leah ran a hand through her hair, feeling a flicker of frustration. “Love isn’t something you can just…define. It’s different for everyone. And yeah, sometimes it’s a transaction. But sometimes it’s…more.”

They tilted their heads, the question still lingering. “And what about you, Leah? Do you believe in love? Do you seek it?”

The question took her by surprise, and she looked away, something guarded flickering in her gaze. “I don’t have the luxury to think about things like that,” she said, her voice quieter. “Love’s for people who can afford to believe in it.”

The aliens observed her silently, antennae still, then one spoke gently, almost kindly. “Do you feel that love, then, is only accessible to those with…resources?”

Leah sighed, her shoulders softening. “I don’t know. Maybe. Love takes time, energy…hope. When you’re busy surviving, you don’t have any of that to spare. So maybe love is for people who have a little extra to give.”

There was a beat of silence before one of the Terratarians spoke again. “What you describe…suggests that survival, for you, is rooted not in wealth but in adaptability. And yet, even in your position, you offer comfort to others. Why?”

Leah considered this, her gaze distant. “Because we’re all in this together, I guess. Even when people don’t have anything, they share what little they’ve got. I help because…that’s just what we do.”

The aliens exchanged a glance, something close to admiration in their eyes. “Your capacity to find purpose in connection, however fleeting, speaks to a resilience we are still trying to understand. Humanity, it seems, has evolved to survive through this…community, however tenuous.”

They leaned forward, an almost reverent tone in their voices. “Your strength, Leah, lies not in what you possess but in what you offer.”

A small, tired smile crossed her lips. “Well, thank you. But strength’s just a thing you have when there’s no other option.”

The aliens were silent for a moment, seeming to process this before one of them held out a small, unfamiliar device. It was circular, palm-sized, and glowed with a soft, blue light that pulsed gently. The surface was smooth, and strange, alien symbols glowed around its edges, whispering secrets she couldn’t understand.

“This device,” one explained, “is an Emotive Resonator. It captures and stores emotions—echoes of memories, feelings, experiences. Anyone who touches it will feel a specific emotion stored within. With it, you can give others a moment of peace, comfort, or…love.”

Leah’s fingers brushed over the device, feeling a pulse of warmth that was oddly soothing. She could feel the stored memory, a feeling of comfort and safety that she hadn’t felt in years, so deep and profound she found herself shocked. The Terratarians watched her, their eyes gentle and understanding.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

They nodded. “Thank you, Leah. You have shared more than knowledge—you have shared your humanity.”

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When Leah returned to the street, the cold bit into her skin, but the Emotive Resonator pulsed warmly in her pocket. She found herself back at her familiar corner, and soon, her friends gathered around, one by one—Steve, Donna, a few others who knew the rougher edges of city life.

“Check this out,” Leah said, holding out the resonator. “Here, touch it.”

One by one, her friends touched the Resonator, each of them closing their eyes as it hummed softly, sharing the stored warmth, the comfort of feeling understood. She watched as Donna’s face softened, a quiet smile replacing her usual hardened expression. Steve looked at her in wonder, murmuring, “Feels like home…like everything’s okay for a moment.”

Leah watched them all, realizing that, for the first time in a long time, she was giving them something real, something that wasn’t a transaction. Just a small piece of comfort to remind them they weren’t alone.

As she looked around, seeing their quiet smiles, she thought that maybe, just maybe, this was the closest thing to love she’d ever know. Maybe love was just something as simple as a warm feeling shared among friends on a cold night.