Love in 2000 pieces

Flash Fiction

The Non fiction bit…..

Pluto is stationary in Aquarius just now, is the ultimate cosmic "vibe check" at the threshold of a new era.

As the planet of deep transformation stalls in the sign of friendship and collective systems, the social air thickens with a strange, magnetic tension. It is a moment of profound stillness- a gatekeeper’s pause which some of you may be able to feel.

Before Pluto goes retrograde by retreating into the past, it demands a an investigation into the power dynamics of our "casual" connections. It asks if our bonds are built on genuine investment or mere proximity.

The following story is somehow dedicated to this vibe! 😁

Love in 2000 Pieces

Dawn had heard about the St. Jude’s "Social Mix" on a community radio station that usually specialized in the results of the local sheep-shearing competition and easy-listening covers of Metallica.

The announcer’s voice had been thin and crackly, but it had promised "connection in an age of isolation”, and dawn was at a phase in her life where she felt maybe that was exactly what she needed.

As she pushed through the heavy double doors of the community center, the smell hit her first: a sharp, industrial top note of lemon bleach and antiseptic. It was the distinct olfactory profile of a surgical ward. The floor was polished to a terrifying, high-gloss shine-the kind of mirror-finished lino found in hospitals that allows you to see the exact moment your dignity leaves your body as you slip.

At the entrance, a woman with a lanyard and a face like a dried apricot shook a plastic bucket. "Two pounds for the hall hire, love."

Dawn fumbled in her purse, dropping two cold coins into the bucket. ‘Two pounds to sit in a room that smells like a hip replacement,’ she thought. ‘Is this the current market price of loneliness? Is there a bulk discount if I promise to stay until the lights go out?’ She almost turned around and walked back out into the damp Tuesday night, but then she saw him. Steve was standing by a stack of board games, leaning against the one warm radiator in the place with an effortless, unstudied grace.

He caught her eye and smiled, not the predatory grin of a salesman, but a warm, expression that made the hospital smell vanish and the sterile lights feel almost like a candle lit dinner.

They spent three hours bent over a table playing board games and , debating the tactical merits of ‘Trivial Pursuit’. Dawn found the experience deeply ironic; as they argued over the capital of Burkina Faso, she was increasingly unsure if falling in love with Steve was a trivial pursuit in itself. He was gorgeous in a way that felt like a cosmic glitch. Thick dark hair, a jawline that should have him cruising the paris catwalks, and eyes that held a genuine, quiet kindness. The maddening part was his old brown baggy jumper. He didn't preen; he just existed, radiating a low-frequency magnetism that pulled Dawn’s personal orbit closer and closer to his own.

"So," Dawn said later, her voice doing that breezy, 'I-definitely-don't-care' thing she’d practiced in her head. "I was thinking... maybe we could continue this conversation somewhere that doesn't smell like a sterilized kidney bowl? Can I get your number?"

The air in the room suddenly felt vacuum-sealed. Steve’s smile didn’t drop; it fossilized. The transition was so abrupt it felt like a break in the laws of physics. One moment there was heat; the next, absolute zero.

"If you want to get to know me, Dawn, come back to the next games night," he said. His voice was soft, but the rejection had a sharp, jagged edge that felt oddly calculated.

"Is that a 'no' or an invitation to a stalk you?" Dawn joked, though her pride was doing a slow-motion car crash in her chest.

"It’s a 'be here,'" he whispered.

"He’s either some sort of misunderstood genius or a murderer," her best mate Sammy said the next morning, leaning over her latte. "There is no middle ground for a man that good looking who refuses to use a phone.

"He doesn't even realize he’s gorgeous, Sammy," Dawn sighed. "He has absolutely no ego. He’s just... wounded. He told me his last relationship ended like a controlled demolition. He’s terrified of being a ‘temporary’ person in someone's life again."

"A gorgeous man with no ego and a tragic backstory?" Sammy rolled her eyes. "Dawn, babe, that’s a trap. It’s weaponized vulnerability. Lock your windows and doors."

For three months, the ritual continued. Every Tuesday, Dawn paid her two pounds to enter the hospital-scented hall. Every Tuesday, Steve was a dream. He listened when she spoke, he remembered her favorite tea, and he possessed a talent for playing guitar that bordered on the supernatural.

When they were playing board games he’d touch her hand as he passed the dice, a momentary spark that suggested an entire universe of potential. But the moment the clock struck ten, he became a ghost. No socials, no digits, no trail.

"Right, Steve," Dawn said finally, cornering him by the coat rack as the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed to grow louder, with her heart vibrating like the fabric of time itself, she spat it out and asked "Are you married? Secret family? Witness protection?"

Steve looked at his shoes. "I'm not married, Dawn. I’m just... fragmented. I need to know that if I let someone in, they aren't just here for the novelty."

"We’re all temporary, Steve! Entropy is the only constant!" she cried. "But usually, people share their WhatsApp !"

He reached into his canvas satchel and pulled out a heavy box. "This is a 2,000-piece jigsaw puzzle” he said

“It’s a custom print of the Andromeda Galaxy. Complete it in three days, and I’ll give you my number. I’ll know you’re actually invested in the labor of an ‘us’. "

Dawn was lugging the box into her apartment when Sammy walked out of the kitchen. Sammy stared at the massive box, then at the image on the front- a terrifying expanse of deep, featureless black space.

"Is that the 'test'?" Sammy asked.

"He says it proves I won't give up when things get tedious," Dawn muttered, clearing her table.

Sammy looked at the thousands of tiny, identical black pieces. She looked back at Dawn. " And you still think he has no ego?"

Dawn didn't answer. She just sat down at the table in the silence and began to sort the edges’.