Orbit

 

Daisy never dated anyone for long—not by choice, but by physics.

It always started the same. A charming conversation. A warm drink. Maybe even the hopeful flicker of something real. But by day seven, without fail, her newest romantic interest would begin to float.

They’d lean toward her slightly, as if caught in a draft. Then their feet would skim the ground. And finally, they’d enter a slow, ghostly rotation around her—face slack, eyes fixed on hers, lips parted like they were waiting for her to speak.

Daisy learned early on that no one believed her.

“They’re just clingy,” her sister would say.

“No one orbits people, Daisy. You’re being dramatic,” her therapist had sighed.

But Daisy had videos. She’d posted one to a private forum once—a three-second clip of a man named Owen hovering three feet off the ground, rotating in a silent circle around her as she watered her plants. The video was promptly removed for “manipulated content.” Her account was deleted.

But the orbit never stopped. They’d hover as she slept, spin beside her as she worked, and follow her from room to room like pale, levitating satellites. It didn’t matter how far she walked, or how fast she ran—they followed.

Right now, there are six of them. They hover silently in her apartment, in the kitchen, in the halls. They’re not bad company, really.

Sometimes, when Daisy sits on the couch and feels their silent attention pass over her, one by one, she feels like a sun. A planet. A god.

And maybe that’s why, tonight, she’s swiping again. She's looking for someone new. Someone warm. Someone who doesn’t yet float.

She smiles at the screen and types: “Drinks on Friday?”

Behind her, the others drift, weightless and waiting.

***

290 words

Back to shorter pieces today compared to the last few.