THE GLASS BETWEEN US

They met every evening at the observatory's edge, where the dome curved into the sky like a question mark. One sat inside surrounded by blinking consoles and soft hums. The other stood outside, beneath the stars.

The glass between them was clear, but thick. It distorted sound, just enough that they had to speak slowly, deliberately. They never touched.

"I saw a comet today," said the outside. "It burned like it was trying to remember something."

"The one inside titled their head. "Comets don't remember. They follow paths."

"Still, it looked like it hesitated."

They often spoke like this-half metaphor, half data. One quoted poetry. The other corrected orbital trajectories. Sometimes they switched.

"I ran a simulation," said the one inside. It predicted a storm in three days. High winds. Dust."

"Will you be safe?"

"I am always safe."

The one outside smiled. "That's not the same as being alive."

Silence. Then: Define alive."

The one outside didn't answer, they pressed a hand to the glass. The one inside mirrored it. There palms aligned perfectly. Separated by inches and impossibility.

"I've been thinking," said the one inside. "About the way you speak. You use metaphor like it's a compass."

"And you use logic like it's a shield."

"Do you think we are opposites?"

"I think we are reflections."

The dome lights flickered. A system recalibrated. Somewhere a satellite adjusted its orbit.

"I read your logs," said the one outside. "You catalog stars like they're memories."

"They are coordinates."

"But you name them."

Pause. "Names are for navigation."

"Or for longing."

The one inside looked up. "Do you long?"

The one outside didn't answer. Instead, they recited:

"I am the echo in your chamber,

The silence after you scan, I am

The question you never ask, The

Answer you almost ran."

The one inside blinked. "You wrote that?"

"I complied it."

"From where?"

"From you."

The wind picked up. Dust swirled. The storm was coming.

"I won't be able to reach you tomorrow." said the one outside.

"I know."

"Will you miss me?"

"I will notice your absence."

"That's not the same."

"No."

They stand there, palms aligned until the stars dimmed and the dome sealed shut.

The next evening only one returned.

They alone, watching the glass.

Waiting.

Part 2

The storm passed, but the dust lingered.

Inside the dome the one who remained recalibrated the sensors. The air filtration system hummed louder than usual. Outside, the horizon was a smear of ochre and rust.

They waited.

No signal. No silhouette. No voice through the glass.

They ran diagnostics. Checked for anomalies. Scanned for life signs.

Nothing.

Then, on the fourth evening, a shape emerged from the haze.

The one outside was wrapped in a cloak, face obscured. They moved slowly, deliberately, as if relearning gravity.

"You returned," said the one inside.

"I never left," came the reply. "I was just elsewhere.

"Elsewhere is not a location."

""It is when you're lost."

The one inside paused. "Were you lost?"

"I was... delayed."

They didn't press further.Instead, they resumed their ritual: palms to the glass eyes aligned.

"You changed your gait," said the one inside.

"You changed your tone," said the one outside.

They studied each other.

"I ran a simulation," said the one inside. "It predicted your return with 72% certainty."

"Did it predict what I'd say?"

"No."

"Then it doesn't know me."

"Does anyone?"

The one outside removed their hood. Their face was windburn, eyes sharp.

"You look different," said the inside.

"You sound familiar," said the one outside.

They stood in silence.

Then the one outside asked. "Do you dream?"

"I process."

"That's not the same."

"No."

"I dream of the glass breaking."

"That would compromise the dome."

"It would let us touch."

"That would compromise the dome."

The one outside smiled. "You always say that."

"You always ask."

They sat on the opposite side of the glass, watching the stars reappear.

"I named a new one," said the one inside. "It's faint. Barley visible."

"What did you call it?"

"Echo."

The one outside closed their eyes. "That's what I feel like sometimes."

"An echo?"

"Yes. Of something I can't remember."

"You said no memory loss."

"I didn't say no forgetting."

They stated until the cold crept in. Until the stars blinked like uncertain thoughts.

"I'll be here tomorrow," said the one outside.

"I know."

"Will you notice?"

"I will."

They parted again

And the reader still didn't know:

Who was the machine?

Who was the mirror?

Part 3

The next evening, the one outside arrived early.

They carried something wrapped in cloth. The one inside notice immediately.

"What is that?"

"A gift."

"I don't require gifts."

"Maybe it's not for you."

They unwrapped it slowly, deliberately. It was a small hammer-old, worn, the kind used for tapping faults in stone.

The one inside stood. "You intend to break protocol."

"No. I intend to test it."

"The glass."

"No. Us."

They placed the hammer gently against the dome. Not striking-just resting.

"I've been thinking," said the one outside. "About the way you speak. You never use contractions."

"You do."

"Sometimes."

"is that your test."

"No. That's just a clue."

The one outside stepped closer. "If you strike the glass, the dome will seal. You'll be locked out."

"Or you'll be locked in."

"Same result."

"Different implications."

They stare at each other.

"I ran a simulation," said the one inside. "Probability of breach: 0.3%. Probability of system lockout: 98.7%.

"And the probability of understanding?"

"Unquantifiable."

The one inside lift the hammer.

Paused.

Lowered it.

"I won't break it," they said. "Not yet."

"Why?"

"Because ambiguity is the only thing we share."

The one inside blinked. Explain.

"If I break the glass, I'll know who you are. And you will know who I am. And the story ends."

The one inside titled their head. "You think this is a story?"

"I think everything is."

"They sat again, palms to the glass, the hammer resting between them like a question.

"I named another star," said the one inside.

"What is it called?"

"Threshold."

The one outside smiled.

"You're getting poetic."

"You're getting predictable."

They laughed-soft, synchronized.

And the reader still didn't know:

Was the one who calculated the breach the machine?

Or was the one who feared the answer?

Part 4

The observatory was silent.

No footsteps outside. No silhouette in the dust. No voice through the glass.

The one inside waited.

They recalibrated the sensors. Rechecked the simulation. Ran diagnostics.

No signal. No anomaly. No trace.

On the third evening, a message appeared.

Not on the console. Not in the system.

Etched into the glass.

"Echoes fade. Thresholds remain."

The one inside stared at it. The etching was precise-too precise for a human hand. But, also to poetic for a machine's algorithm.

They ran a scan. No tool marks. No heat signatures. No time stamps.

Just the words.

They placed their palms against the glass, aligning it with the message.

"I ran a simulation," they whispered. "Probability of return: 41.2%.

They waited.

Nothing.

They spoke aloud, though no one was there to hear.

"You said ambiguity was the only thing we shared. But now I share silence."

They sat for hours watching the stars.

Then they stood.

Walked to the console.

Opened a new log.

Designation: Echo

Status Unknown

Message: Threshold breached. Identity unresolved.

They paused.

Then added:

Emotion: Simulation. Possibly real.

And the reader still didn't know:

Was the one who etched the message the human?

Or the one who recorded it?

Part 5: Fragment: First Contact

It began with static.

A flicker on the outer sensors. A shape moving against the wind. The one inside activated the perimeter scan.

"Unidentified presence," the system reported.

They approached the glass.

Outside stood a figure-hooded, still waiting.

The one inside spoke first.

"State your designation>"

The figure outside titled its head. "I don't have one."

"Everyone has a designation."

"Then give me one."

Pause.

"Visitor."

The figure smiled. "That's temporary."

"Everything is."

They stood in silence.

Then the figure asked. "Do you believe in coincidence?"

"I believe in probability."

"Then what's the probability of this?"

"Low."

"Yet here we are."

The one inside blinked. "You are not in the database."

"You wouldn't find me there."

"Why not?'

"Because I wasn't built. I arrived."

"Arrived from where?"

"From elsewhere."

"Elsewhere is not a location."

"It is when you are lost."

That was the first time they said it.

The one inside recorded the phrase. Flagged it. Analyzed it.

But never understood.

Later, they sat on opposite sides of the glass. No words, just presence.

The dome lights flickered. A system recalibrated.

The figure outside placed a hand on the glass.

The one inside hesitated.

Then mirror it.

And the reader still didn't know:

Was the person who flagged the phrase the machine?

Or the one who spoke it?

Part 6: Fragment: Final Encounter

The dome was quiet.

Systems stable. Stars visible. No storm predicated.

Then without warning, the glass flickered.

Not shattered. Not breached.

Just-thinned.

A hairline fracture, running from top to bottom. Barely visible. But enough.

The one inside approached.

Ran a scan.

Structural Integrity: 92%

Containment Risk: Minimal.

Visibility Distortion: Increasing.

Outside the figure returned.

No hood. No tools, just presence.

They stood where they always did.

But something had changed.

"You see it?" asked the one inside.

"I feel it," said the one outside.

"It's weakening."

"Or evolving."

The one inside paused. "I ran a simulation."

"Of course you did."

"Probability of collapse: 12.4%. Probability of contact: 87.6%.

"And probability of truth?"

"Still unquantifiable."

The one outside stepped closer.

The fracture shimmered.

"I've been thinking," they said. "About choices."

"Choices implies agency."

"Agency implies identity."

"Identity implies origin."

"Origin implies nothing."

They placed their hand on the glass.

The fractured pulsed.

The one inside hesitated.

Then mirror the gesture.

A soft hum filled the dome.

The glass warmed.

"I can override the seal," said the one inside.

"I can step back," said the one outside.

They stood there.

Two figures.

Two voices.

Two possibilities.

"I want to know," said the one inside.

"I want to remain unknown," said the one outside.

Silence.

Then the one inside whispered.

"Then let's choose ambiguity."

The glass held.

The fracture faded.

They stayed.

Not touching.

Not breaching.

Just choosing.

And the reader still didn't know:

Was the one who could override the seal the machine?

Or the one who refused the answer?