I think back to what she sent me last week: her favorite parts of Starworld and an email that almost broke my heart all over again. I’m not ready to look at Starworld yet, but I think one day maybe I will be. The knowledge that she’s learning about where she came from, that she couldn’t have done it without me . . . it makes me wish I could reach out and let her know how glad I am for her even though the happiness is bittersweet. I still wish things could have been different — that she could have returned my feelings or that I could have somehow avoided fucking things up. I feel worse about how much it must have hurt her when I disappeared.

But even though there are painful memories, there will never be a day I don’t remember what it felt like when someone saw me for the first time, in spite of my determination to stay invisible, and wanted me in a way that was uncomplicated and true and kind. There will never be a day I’m not aware that she altered the course of my life simply by being herself and giving me the gift of her friendship.

She taught me so much.

I am not invisible.

I am not a robot.

So now I try to let myself be seen in small ways — by adding to the lexicon of f-bomb variations, or by sharing my drawings with people once in a while. I doodle gifts for my coworkers and painted a psychedelic moonscape for Dad’s flat. And even though all I’m doing for now is fixing other people’s math at an internship where my contributions are small, I know someday I’ll find a way to engineer rockets that send people to explore the real wonders of the cosmos, not just the galaxies I make up.

These are the ways I pay tribute to Zoe and to Starworld.

To the friend who changed me forever, and to the place that made it possible.

Epilogue — Zoe

October in Portland is true to form: rain, rain, and more rain, a vast swath of gray that frames a wide canvas of gold- and fire-splashed trees. Now, though, it’s dark as I hurry across the campus from the Performing Arts Building to my dorm. There is a Halloween party in a while, but first I have a package to open. I’ve been carrying it around for hours. Sam’s lush handwriting is unmistakable, and although I feel fairly steady where she’s concerned most of the time, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to open this in public.