Chapter 7: First Bloom of Affection

The weeks following the meteor shower were the happiest of Prince's life. Though Daksha remained in her parrot form most of the time, everything between them had changed. The words "I love you" had been spoken, and there was no taking them back—not that either of them wanted to.

They spent their days much as they had before—Prince going to school, coming home to share his experiences with Daksha, the two of them exploring the jungle on weekends. But now there was a new dimension to their conversations, a deeper level of honesty, of vulnerability.

And sometimes, when they were alone in the jungle, far from prying eyes, Daksha would transform briefly into her humanoid form. These moments were precious, stolen intervals where they could touch, could hold each other, could share kisses that left Prince dizzy with wonder.

The transformations never lasted long—an hour at most before the constraints of Daksha's exile reasserted themselves. But they were enough to sustain them through the days when such closeness was impossible.

"It's getting easier," Daksha told him one evening as they sat in their clearing, her briefly human hand entwined with his. "Each time I transform, the constraints weaken a little more. Soon, I might be able to maintain this form for longer periods."

"That would be amazing," Prince said, squeezing her hand. "Though I love you in any form."

Daksha smiled, the expression lighting up her face in a way that still took Prince's breath away. "And I love you," she replied. "More than I ever thought possible."

But as their love deepened, so did Prince's awareness of the gulf between them. Daksha was ancient, had seen millennia, had knowledge and experiences he could barely comprehend. And he was... what? A seventeen-year-old boy from a small town, with no special talents, no extraordinary qualities.

These thoughts began to gnaw at him, creating a shadow over his happiness that he tried to hide from Daksha. But she knew him too well, could sense the change in his mood even when he tried to mask it with smiles.

"Something's bothering you," she said one day as they walked through the jungle. She was in her parrot form, perched on his shoulder as usual. "Tell me."

Prince sighed, knowing it was useless to deny it. "I've been thinking," he said slowly. "About us. About... the future."

"What about it?" Daksha prompted when he fell silent.

"You're... extraordinary," Prince said, the words coming out in a rush. "You've lived for centuries, seen things I can't even imagine. You're from an advanced civilization, have powers I can barely comprehend. And I'm just... me. A nobody from nowhere special."

Daksha flew from his shoulder to land on a branch in front of him, forcing him to stop walking and look at her. "Is that really how you see yourself?" she asked, her voice sharp with what might have been anger. "As a nobody?"

Prince shrugged, uncomfortable under her intense gaze. "It's just the truth," he said. "I'm ordinary. And you're... not. I guess I've been wondering why you would choose me, when you could have anyone."

Daksha's feathers dimmed, a sign Prince had come to recognize as sadness or disappointment. "After all this time," she said softly, "after everything we've shared, you still don't see your own worth."

"It's not about worth," Prince argued. "It's about... compatibility. You deserve someone extraordinary, someone who can match you. Not some kid who talks to plants because he has no friends."

"That 'kid' saved me when I was injured and alone," Daksha countered, her voice growing stronger. "He saw me—truly saw me—when I was disguised as a simple parrot. He listened to me, cared for me, showed me kindness when I had known only cold logic for centuries."

Her feathers began to glow more brightly, pulsing with emotion. "That 'kid' taught me more about love, about connection, about what it means to be truly alive, than all the accumulated knowledge of Veloria. So don't you dare diminish him in my presence."

Prince stared at her, taken aback by the passion in her voice. "I didn't mean to upset you," he said. "I just... I worry that someday you'll realize you made a mistake. That you'll want someone... more."

"More what?" Daksha demanded. "More arrogant? More closed-minded? More concerned with appearances than with what truly matters?"

She flew back to his shoulder, nuzzling against his cheek in a gesture of affection. "Prince, I chose you. Not because there was no one else available, but because your soul called to mine across the void. Because in all my centuries of existence, I have never met anyone who sees the world the way you do—with wonder, with compassion, with a heart open to possibilities."

Prince felt a lump form in his throat at her words. "I'm afraid," he admitted. "Afraid that I'm not enough for you. That I never will be."

"And I'm afraid too," Daksha confessed, her voice softening. "Afraid that my presence in your life will bring you harm. Afraid that my people will find us. Afraid that I'm being selfish, loving you when I know the dangers it poses."

Prince reached up to gently stroke her feathers. "I guess we're both afraid," he said with a small smile. "But I'd rather be afraid together than safe apart."

"As would I," Daksha agreed, leaning into his touch. "Always."

They continued their walk, the tension eased but not entirely gone. Prince knew his insecurities wouldn't vanish overnight, just as Daksha's fears for his safety wouldn't simply disappear. But they had acknowledged them, brought them into the light where they could be examined, understood, perhaps eventually overcome.

That night, as they lay in Prince's bed—Daksha in her parrot form perched on the headboard, Prince staring up at the ceiling—a new thought occurred to him.

"Daksha," he said into the darkness. "If the constraints continue to weaken, if you regain more of your abilities... would you ever want to go back? To Veloria, I mean."

There was a long silence, so long that Prince wondered if she had fallen asleep. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she replied, "No."

"Never?" Prince pressed, needing to be sure.

"Never," Daksha confirmed, more strongly this time. "There is nothing for me there but cold perfection and emotional emptiness. My home is here now. With you."

The words should have reassured him, but something in her tone—a hesitation, perhaps, or a note of sadness—kept Prince awake long after Daksha's breathing had deepened into sleep.

The next day at school, Prince found it hard to concentrate. His mind kept returning to his conversation with Daksha, to the fears they had shared, to the gulf that still seemed to yawn between them despite their love.

"Hey, Earth to Prince!" A voice broke into his thoughts, accompanied by a hand waving in front of his face. "Are you even listening?"

Prince blinked, focusing on the girl sitting across from him in the school library. Meera, his lab partner in chemistry, who had asked him to help her study for the upcoming test.

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed. "I was... thinking about something else."

Meera rolled her eyes, but her expression was more amused than annoyed. "Obviously. You've been staring at the same page for ten minutes without turning it."

Prince felt his face warm. "Sorry," he said again. "I've got a lot on my mind."

"Anything you want to talk about?" Meera asked, her tone softening. "You've seemed... different lately. Distracted."

Prince hesitated. He and Meera weren't exactly friends—they worked well together in class but rarely spoke outside of it. Still, she was one of the few people at school who had always been kind to him, who had never joined in when Amar and his friends mocked him.

"It's complicated," he finally said. "I'm... seeing someone. And it's great, but also... hard sometimes."

Meera's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You have a girlfriend? Since when?"

"It's recent," Prince said, which wasn't exactly a lie. "And she's... different. Special. Sometimes I worry that I'm not good enough for her."

Meera studied him for a moment, her head tilted thoughtfully. "You know what your problem is, Prince? You don't see yourself clearly. You're smart, kind, interesting—when you actually talk, that is. Any girl would be lucky to have you."

Prince stared at her, startled by the compliment. "Thanks," he said, not knowing what else to say.

"So who is she?" Meera asked, curiosity evident in her voice. "Do I know her?"

"No," Prince said quickly. "She's... not from around here. We met in the jungle, actually."

"The jungle?" Meera repeated, her eyes widening. "That's... unusual."

Prince realized how strange it sounded and tried to backtrack. "I mean, she was hiking, and we ran into each other, and started talking, and..."

"It's okay," Meera said with a laugh. "You don't have to explain. I think it's nice that you found someone. You've always seemed so... alone."

The conversation moved on to other topics, but Prince remained distracted. Meera's words echoed in his mind—"You don't see yourself clearly"—so similar to what Daksha had told him.

When he got home that afternoon, he found Daksha waiting for him as usual, perched on his windowsill with a book open in front of her. She looked up as he entered, her feathers brightening in greeting.

"How was school?" she asked, the routine question comforting in its familiarity.

"Interesting," Prince replied, setting down his backpack. "I had a conversation with Meera—my lab partner—about... well, about you, sort of."

Daksha tilted her head, curious. "About me? What did you tell her?"

"Not much," Prince assured her. "Just that I was seeing someone special. Someone I worry I'm not good enough for."

Daksha's feathers dimmed slightly. "We talked about this yesterday," she said. "I thought you understood—"

"I do," Prince interrupted. "Or at least, I'm trying to. But Meera said something that made me think. She said I don't see myself clearly. That I'm... worth more than I give myself credit for."

"She sounds wise," Daksha observed, her tone warming.

"Maybe," Prince conceded. "Or maybe you both just see something in me that isn't really there."

Daksha flew from the windowsill to land on his shoulder, nuzzling against his cheek. "Or maybe," she suggested gently, "you're the one who doesn't see what's really there."

Prince reached up to stroke her feathers, a gesture that had become second nature. "Maybe," he said, not entirely convinced but willing to consider the possibility.

They spent the evening as they often did—talking, reading, sharing the small details of their day. But as night fell and they prepared for bed, Prince noticed Daksha growing restless, her movements agitated, her gaze frequently darting to the window.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he changed into his pajamas.

"I'm not sure," Daksha replied, her voice tense. "I feel... something. A disturbance."

"In the Force?" Prince joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Daksha didn't smile. "In the dimensional barriers," she said. "Similar to what I felt during the meteor shower, but... different. More focused. More deliberate."

A chill ran down Prince's spine at her words. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Daksha admitted. "It could be nothing—a natural fluctuation. Or it could be..."

She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. Prince knew what she feared—that her people had detected her, were searching for her across dimensions.

"What should we do?" he asked, fear beginning to curl in his stomach.

"Nothing, for now," Daksha said, though she didn't sound convinced. "Wait. Watch. Be careful."

Prince nodded, but sleep was long in coming that night. He lay awake, listening to Daksha's restless movements on her perch, wondering what new dangers tomorrow might bring.

The disturbance Daksha had sensed seemed to pass, and the next few days were quiet. But something had changed between them—a new tension, a wariness that hadn't been there before. Daksha was more cautious about transforming, even when they were alone in the jungle. And Prince found himself looking over his shoulder more often, jumping at unexpected sounds.

It was as if a shadow had fallen across their happiness, a reminder that their love existed in defiance of forces they barely understood.

And then came the fight—their first real argument, sparked by something so small it seemed absurd in retrospect.

They were in the jungle, in their clearing, and Daksha had briefly transformed into her humanoid form. They were lying on the blanket Prince had brought, looking up at the clouds, hands intertwined, when Prince mentioned his conversation with Meera.

"She asked about you again today," he said. "About my mysterious girlfriend from the jungle."

Daksha tensed beside him. "What did you tell her?"

"Nothing specific," Prince assured her. "Just that we're still together, that things are good."

"You shouldn't talk about me at all," Daksha said, her voice taking on an edge Prince rarely heard. "It's not safe."

Prince turned to look at her, surprised by her tone. "It's just Meera," he said. "She's harmless. And it's nice to have someone to talk to about... this. About us."

"Nice for you, perhaps," Daksha replied, sitting up and pulling her hand from his. "But dangerous for both of us. The more people who know about me—even indirectly—the greater the risk of discovery."

Prince sat up too, a flicker of anger igniting in his chest. "So I'm just supposed to keep everything bottled up? Never talk to anyone about the most important relationship in my life?"

"Yes," Daksha said simply. "That's exactly what you're supposed to do. What we agreed to do, for safety."

"We didn't agree to anything," Prince countered, his voice rising. "You decided it was dangerous, and I went along with it because I didn't want to upset you. But it's hard, Daksha. It's hard having this huge part of my life that I can't share with anyone."

"Hard?" Daksha repeated, her amber eyes flashing. "You want to talk about hard? Try being exiled from your home, transformed against your will, cast into a dimension where everything is alien. Try living in constant fear that your mere presence might bring destruction to the person you love most."

Prince felt a stab of guilt at her words, but his anger didn't subside. "I know it's been hard for you," he said. "I can't even imagine. But that doesn't mean my feelings don't matter too."

"Your feelings matter more than anything," Daksha said, her voice softening slightly. "That's why I'm trying to protect you."

"I don't need protection," Prince insisted. "I need honesty. Partnership. I need to feel like we're equals in this relationship, not like you're the all-knowing alien and I'm the naive human who needs to be managed."

Daksha recoiled as if he had slapped her. "Is that how you see me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "As managing you?"

"Sometimes," Prince admitted, the anger draining out of him as quickly as it had come. "Sometimes it feels like you make all the decisions, set all the boundaries, and I just... go along with them."

Daksha was silent for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, her form began to shimmer, to lose its solidity.

"What are you doing?" Prince asked, alarmed.

"The constraints," Daksha said, though Prince suspected it wasn't entirely true. "They're reasserting themselves. I need to change back."

Before Prince could respond, she had transformed back into the emerald parrot, flying up to perch on a branch above him, physically and emotionally distant.

"Daksha," he called, standing up. "Please. Let's talk about this."

"I think we've said enough for today," she replied, her voice cool. "I need time to think. Alone."

And with that, she flew away, disappearing into the dense foliage of the jungle, leaving Prince standing alone in their clearing, the echo of their argument hanging in the air around him.

He waited for hours, hoping she would return, but as the sun began to set, he finally gathered his things and headed home, a hollow feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with hunger.

Daksha wasn't in his room when he arrived, nor did she appear that night. Or the next. Three days passed with no sign of her, the longest they had been apart since they met.

Prince moved through his days like a ghost, going through the motions at school, coming home to an empty room that felt colder, smaller without Daksha's presence. He returned to the clearing in the jungle each afternoon, hoping to find her there, but it remained empty.

On the fourth day, as he sat alone in the clearing, journal open on his lap but no words coming, Prince finally allowed himself to consider the possibility that Daksha might not come back. That their argument had been the final straw, the thing that made her realize she was better off without him.

The thought was like a physical pain, a tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe. He had known, intellectually, that he loved Daksha. But it wasn't until faced with her absence that he truly understood the depth of that love, how completely she had become part of his life, his heart, his very being.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the empty clearing, tears blurring his vision. "Please come back. I need you."

Only the rustling of leaves answered him.

As the days of separation stretched on, Prince found himself remembering something Daksha had once said: "Love doesn't grow in the presence of each other. It grows in the absence." At the time, he hadn't fully understood what she meant. Now, feeling the ache of her absence like a physical wound, he began to comprehend.

Every moment they had shared played in his mind like a film on repeat—their first meeting in the jungle, the gradual building of trust, the night she had healed him with her tears, the meteor shower that had revealed her true form, their first kiss. Each memory was sharper, more precious in her absence, the love he felt for her growing stronger rather than fading with each passing day.

It was as if the separation had stripped away all distractions, all doubts, leaving only the essential truth: he loved Daksha, across forms, across dimensions, across time itself. And he would do anything—endure any hardship, accept any limitation—to have her back in his life.

On the seventh day of their separation, Prince returned to the clearing as usual, though hope was beginning to fade. He sat on the fallen log, opened his journal, and began to write—not about his pain or longing, but about his understanding. About what he had learned in Daksha's absence.

Love isn't just a feeling, he wrote. It's a choice. A commitment. To see someone—truly see them—and accept them exactly as they are. To respect their boundaries, their fears, their needs, even when they differ from your own. To put their wellbeing above your pride, your convenience, your comfort.

I understand now what Daksha meant about love growing in absence. It's easy to love when everything is perfect, when you're together and happy. The real test comes in separation, in conflict, in the moments when love feels more like pain than pleasure.

If—when—Daksha returns, I will be better. I will listen more and demand less. I will trust her judgment about what is safe, what is wise. Not because she's "the all-knowing alien," but because I respect her experience, her perspective, her right to set boundaries that make her feel secure.

And I will tell her, every day in every way I can, that I love her. That I choose her. That whatever challenges come, whatever separations we endure, my heart remains hers across all dimensions.

As he wrote the last words, Prince felt a presence behind him. He turned, hardly daring to hope, and there she was—Daksha, in her parrot form, perched on a branch just a few feet away.

"How long have you been there?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Long enough," she replied softly. "I saw what you were writing."

Prince closed his journal, suddenly self-conscious. "I meant every word," he said.

"I know," Daksha said, flying down to land on the log beside him. "I could feel it. The truth in your words. The love behind them."

"Where have you been?" Prince asked, resisting the urge to reach for her, to assure himself she was really there.

"Thinking," Daksha replied. "Flying. Trying to understand my own feelings." She looked up at him, her amber eyes filled with an emotion he couldn't quite name. "I was afraid, Prince. Afraid that I was asking too much of you. Demanding sacrifices you shouldn't have to make."

"It's not a sacrifice if it's freely given," Prince said. "And I do give it freely—my silence, my discretion, whatever you need to feel safe. I was wrong to complain about it, to make you feel guilty for protecting us both."

Daksha hopped closer to him on the log. "No," she said firmly. "You weren't wrong. Your feelings matter, your needs matter. I was the one who was wrong—treating you like a child to be protected rather than a partner to be consulted."

She looked away, her feathers dimming slightly. "The truth is, I was projecting my own fears onto you. I've been sensing... disturbances. Fluctuations in the dimensional barriers that worry me. And instead of sharing those concerns, talking them through with you, I tried to control the situation. Control you."

"You were trying to keep us safe," Prince said gently.

"Yes, but at what cost?" Daksha asked, looking back at him. "At the cost of your trust? Your happiness? Your sense of equality in our relationship? That's too high a price, Prince. Too high by far."

Prince reached out slowly, giving her time to move away if she wanted to. When she didn't, he gently stroked her feathers, the familiar texture under his fingertips bringing a lump to his throat.

"I missed you," he whispered. "So much."

"And I missed you," Daksha replied, leaning into his touch. "Every moment. Every breath. It was like... like part of me was missing. A vital part."

"I know exactly what you mean," Prince said. "It's like you took a piece of my heart with you when you left."

Daksha's feathers brightened at his words. "They say," she murmured, "that love doesn't grow in the presence of each other. It grows in the absence."

"They're right," Prince agreed. "I've never loved you more than I do right now, after a week of missing you, of fearing I'd lost you forever."

"You could never lose me," Daksha assured him. "Not really. Even if we were separated by dimensions, by time itself, my heart would find its way back to yours."

As the sun began to set, painting the jungle in shades of gold and amber, Prince and Daksha sat side by side on the fallen log, the silence between them comfortable now, healing. The first fight had come and gone, leaving behind not scars but greater understanding, deeper commitment, stronger love.

And in that moment, as twilight gathered around them, Prince knew with absolute certainty that what they had found—this connection that transcended physical form, that defied the constraints of different dimensions—was precious beyond measure. Worth any risk, any sacrifice, any challenge that might lie ahead.

Because love, true love, isn't found in perfect moments of harmony. It's forged in the fire of conflict, tempered in the waters of separation, and emerges stronger, purer, more resilient than before.

It's easy to find, but once you find it, you never let it go.