Chapter 2 #3
Before he can protest, I plunge my hand into the center of his pumpkin and pull out a final clump of seeds and strings he’d somehow missed in all his careful scooping.
A drop of pumpkin goop lands on his hand. Not much at all, to be honest, but enough that if he’s a germaphobe, he’d definitely be freaking out about now.
He stares at it like it’s a live grenade.
“There. Now you’re officially messy. We can be wicked together.”
Slowly, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Not a polite smile. A real one that crinkles at the corners of his dark-colored eyes. Not quite black, I realize, but a very dark brown. But the longer I look, the more subtle flecks of amber I see. I could get lost staring into them.
“I suppose I am,” he says quietly.
I clear my throat and step back. The air between us feels heavy.
Charged. My casual flirtation suddenly feels…
intense. Something more. Distracting myself, I grab my carving knife.
“Come on, let’s finish these things. I want to see what a military-raised Volscian considers a proper jack-o’-lantern. ”
We carve in silence, but it feels different now. Something has shifted between us.
I keep glancing at him, watching the concentration on his face, the careful way he works. Every so often, he looks up and catches me watching, and his skin darkens in a burgundy flush.
And I realize something: I’m having fun. Actual, genuine fun. Not the kind of fun I try hard to achieve around the other girls when they are all laughing and merry. This is real.
When was the last time I felt like this? When have I last relaxed enough to share embarrassing childhood stories, to get messy, to just be?
Not since before.
Ever since I woke up aboard that spaceship, surrounded by other women with no idea how I got on board…
I’ve struggled to just relax. I certainly haven’t found myself happy like everyone else.
I’ve felt like a shell, always missing something.
It’s been so hard to connect with anyone, even if they’ve experienced the same thing.
I haven’t even been able to talk about it.
And talking to some alien about my non-existent problem and loneliness is out of the question, not when they were the reason I ended up out here.
I glance across at Khatak. He’s got me talking. He’s got me smiling and even genuinely laughing.
The thought that an alien has this much control over me should scare me, should trigger that familiar need to pull back, to retreat to safe ground.
But sitting here, covered in pumpkin guts, listening to Khatak’s careful questions about human traditions, watching emotions play openly across his face—no masks, no hidden agendas, just genuine curiosity and growing comfort—I don’t want to pull back.
He’s not trying to trick me. He’s not trying to get something from me.
And so, I find that I want to stay right here.
“Selene?” His voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.” He ducks his head. “For letting me join you. For sharing your stories. I don’t… I don’t often get to do things like this.”
“Things like what?”
“Things that are just…” He gestures at the pumpkins, the mess, the room full of laughing guests. “Fun.”
The word sounds almost foreign coming from him, like he’s testing it out for the first time.
You and me both, buddy, I think to myself.
“There’s something I wanted to ask you, if that’s okay,” he says, hesitancy creeping into his voice.
“Shoot,” I tell him.
“Does that mean I can ask?” he says.
“Yeah.”
“Well, the thing is, I was hoping...”
But before he can say more, Elana’s voice rings out across the room. “Alright everyone! Time to show the group your creations!”
Chatter fills the space as guests begin lifting their finished pumpkins, turning them to face the center of the tables.
To my left, a Drakoon guest has carved an intricate snout into their pumpkin, complete with carved scales and fearsome teeth protruding from the mouth.
Beyond them, a Nakar has somehow carved into the skin of their pumpkin to form a coiled serpent, multiple eyes gleaming in the hollow shell.
Row after row of terrifying creations. Monsters and demons and creatures from nightmares.
Damn. This was supposed to be a beginner class. These aliens with claws and extra appendages make it look easy to create masterpieces.
My own creation? He’s a bit misshapen, a streak of purple running across his flesh sideways, contrasting nicely with the yellow.
His eyes are lopsided, one definitely smaller than the other.
And maybe he’s got three teeth because I accidentally cut the fourth clean off when I was trying to carve it.
He’s great. Who cares if he doesn’t look as good as theirs? I’m not some alien out trying to impress the others in the room. I did this for myself. He’s my pumpkin and I had fun making him and right now that’s all that matters.
Khatak lifts his pumpkin reverently, turning it to face towards the crowd.
Someone snorts. Then another.
My breath catches. Are they laughing?
I look down at Khatak’s pumpkin—a simple, slightly crooked face with a wide smile. Not scary at all, really. Just… happy.
“Are your claws that dull, or are you that incapable of a simple carving? You could have at least included scales,” the Drakoon guest asks, barely suppressing a laugh.
He waves a hand to encompass himself, all the while pointedly looking at me.
“After all, a truly fearsome male has scales and wings.”
“It’s supposed to be frightening,” a Nakar adds, their tone condescending. “You know, for the humans’ Halloween event? It’s supposed to show them who’s the most powerful here.”
More chuckles ripple around the room, each alien taking pride in what I am belatedly realizing is their miniature-me sculptures.
Each one having carved likenesses of their own races.
My gaze travels around the table, taking in the terrifying faces, the monstrous snouts, the rows of sharp teeth carved into orange flesh.
Their pumpkins are terrifying. And worthy to be put into competitions.
Khatak’s expression falls.
Not dramatically. Not with any attempt to hide it. Just… falls. His shoulders drop slightly, his tail goes still, and something that looks painfully like disappointment crosses his features. Maybe even embarrassment.
He thinks he’s done it wrong.
It’s written clearly across his face. Just honest emotion, playing out in real-time for anyone to see.
And in that moment, watching him react with such transparency, such genuine feeling, I realize something.
I’ve spent days dealing with alien diplomats and their blank, unreadable faces.
Trying to parse meaning from neutral tones and carefully chosen words, never quite sure what they really wanted or were really thinking.
Always second-guessing, always hypervigilant, waiting for that moment when they’d reveal their true, malicious intentions.
Because, after abduction, it’s certainly hard to trust aliens at face value again.
When was the last time I could just trust what I was seeing? When was I last around someone who didn’t make me question every word, every gesture?
But Khatak? I can see exactly what he’s feeling. The disappointment. The embarrassment. The worry that he’s failed at something. No games, no political maneuvering, no hidden agenda.
Just him.
He’s not trying to get something out of me, or trick me into anything. He simply wants to just enjoy his time while on holiday.
And to think, the others are just outright laughing at him. Something in my chest clenches. He tried so hard! He even got dirty, something he clearly didn’t want to do, just to enjoy the activity. For them to laugh at him. To mock him.
“I tried to make a human face,” Khatak says quietly.
He gestures to the features he’s carved with such care.
“Humans have such smooth, flawless skin—not scales or rough hide. And their eyes...” He glances at me, then away, his skin darkening.
“Large and round. They capture your gaze, draw you in. All-seeing. Beautiful.”
The room has gone quiet around us, other guests examining his pumpkin with interest. But I barely notice them.
I feel heat rise to my own cheeks. There’s something about the way he said it—not flowery or exaggerated, but simple and true. Like an artist explaining their inspiration, the thought process behind each deliberate choice.
He’s carved me. Or his impression of me. Of human features. And he’s called my eyes beautiful.
It’s one of the most genuine compliments I’ve ever received.
“It’s beautiful,” I declare, my voice carrying.
Khatak’s gaze snaps to mine. His eyes are wide, disbelieving.
Did he think I’d let him stand up to bullies alone?
I’ve learned that you have to stand up for yourself, else you’ll be whisked away by others with no control over your life.
It’ll never happen to me, ever again, and I won’t let others lose their choices either.
I don’t look away from Khatak’s pumpkin. “Seriously. It’s my favorite one here.”
His eyes meet mine, searching. “You don’t have to—”
“I mean it.” I hold up my own pumpkin with its crooked, happy face. “Look, we’re matching. The weird ones.”
Hope flickers in his eyes.
I should get back to the activities, or even help Elana wrap up the class.
But I can’t look away from Khatak’s warm gaze. His skin is still slightly flushed, and a goofy grin stretches his lips. His pointed teeth don’t look dangerous; they are just a part of him. Like my pumpkin, beneath the pointed teeth, there is a friendly smile.
And he’s looking at me like I’m something precious, despite being covered in pumpkin guts.
And I realize, with a little flutter in my chest, that I like the way he looks at me.
That I fancy him.
Like, really fancy him.
Damn. I think I finally understand what Elana and the other girls like about aliens.