Disclaimer:
By proceeding, you agree to the following terms and conditions:
You may fall in love with a fictional alien boyfriend.
You may experience sudden laughter, blushing, and mild screaming at your screen.
Emotional damage is inevitable. Author takes no responsibility.
Snacks are highly encouraged. Tissues optional, but recommended.
No refunds. No regrets. Only space chaos.
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HELLO, EARTHLINGS (and possible sentient potatoes)!
Welcome to my brain. It's messy in here.
This story is told in first-person and present tense, which means you are now spiritually duct-taped to Yunhua—our moody, dramatic, occasionally-funny, absolutely-trying-her-best protagonist. She is me. I am her. Blame us both.
This is a slow-burn romance, like, "watching paint dry on a spaceship while two idiots fall in love at glacial speed" slow. There is no smut, but there will be:
Tension so spicy it might fry your emotional circuits
Awkward hand-holding
Accidental touching of antennae (okay, maybe not… or maybe yes?)
One (1) space boyfriend with no understanding of personal boundaries or sarcasm
Also! This space-hugging, heart-tugging disaster is a proud member of the WSA 2025 Contest, which means your votes, comments, and power stones are not just digital blips—they are the fuel that keeps this author alive. Spiritually. Emotionally. Caffeinated-ly.
So, if you laugh, cry, or feel personally attacked by fictional feelings—toss me a comment, slap a vote on it, or just yell "WHY?!" into the void. I'll probably hear you.
Alright. You ready?
Let's fall in love—with a glittery, six-foot-tall alien who doesn't know how doorknobs work.
(No aliens, authors, or feelings were harmed in the making of this story. Probably.)