I’ve always loved the idea of aliens. The universe is so big, so how could we be alone? I’d stare at the stars for hours, imagining someone, or something, staring back. Last month, I realized they were. It started late one night. My house is at the edge of a quiet town. The stars here are clear, brighter than anywhere else. But that night, one star stood out. It didn’t twinkle like the others. It stayed still, steady, and white. It pulsed, like it was alive. I couldn’t stop looking. The next morning, it was still there. In the daylight, it wasn’t a star at all. It was a bright dot, fixed in the sky. My neighbor, Mr. Connelly, saw me staring. He waved. “That weird star’s been there all day,” he said. “Don’t look too long. It messes with your head.” Then he walked away. No small talk. That wasn’t like him. That night, the dot seemed closer. I could see faint shapes around it. They weren’t clear—just outlines—but they looked strange, almost alive. My chest felt tight. Breathing was ...