On a clear night, the type of night where you can see the moon with your naked eye and you’re at one with nature, lying in the grass and looking up at the cloudless sky, you will be able to see around 3,000 stars. Another night after venturing into your dad’s study, just in your socks so no noise is made, by looking up at the sky through the telescope in the corner of the room you’ll see around 100,000 stars. On a different night, depending on your definition of stars and the equipment NASA has available, you could see more than 100,000,000,000 stars. In the observable universe, that is the amount of the universe that we are currently aware of, there is possibly 100,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 (One Hundred Quintillion) stars. And tonight, when the moon can clearly be seen, and the galaxy and universe both exist, as they do around us at all times, April Carter sits at her desk, just one, the only one in the universe.

April leans back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling, in an office where no stars can be seen aside from in the posters tacked onto the walls. She is shaken out of her reverie by Colin entering. “Coffee?” He asks, not waiting for a response as he places the mug on her desk “A little bit of milk and no sugar.” Colin and April share the small office, with their desks and filing cabinets taking up much of the space they have learnt to get along in close proximity to one another. 

Colin has been in this office since he began teaching, and though it has been an adjustment to share, it was a necessity for the department. Ultimately, he would have to share with someone, and he’s glad it’s been April. Over time April has grown accustomed to Colin; he is a comforting sight when she feels weighed down by the world and she appreciates the unprompted hot drinks. April sips her coffee and resumes her position staring at the ceiling.  

“Do you ever feel small?”

“Not really, wife’s on Weight Watchers and I’m thinking of joining her.” Colin laughs.

“We’re playing our part in the only way we can, with no real knowledge of what the meaning of it is.” her eyes drift to the model solar system that hangs in one corner of the office.   

“Oh I see, this is an existential thing.” Colin thinks for a moment “We all feel small sometimes, but you can take it either way.”

“Either way?” April asks. 

“Yeah. You can take it in the nothing matters we’re all gonna die so fuck it lets give up way or the nothing matters we’re all gonna die so fuck it lets live our lives how we want way. I prefer to look at it the second way.” He says. 

April takes this in, of course he’s right but that doesn’t help, “Do you like this job?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s alright. Are you oka-” 

“Is it what you thought it would be? With the tiny office, the research, the teaching, the conferences, the talks, zero funding, and shitty coffee?” 

“If you don’t like your coffee I can-” 

“It isn’t about the coffee, I mean it is, but it isn’t really.” April says, then, seeing the look on Colin’s face, adds “Whatever it is, it isn’t your fault.”

April checks her emails, Inbox: 3,000, same as the number of stars she would see if she could drive out of town right now and lie in a field somewhere. None of the emails are as interesting as that. Colin types away, working on grading papers and looking up intermittently to check on April, his typing halts as he sees her brow furrowed, he asks if she’s okay.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She responds.

Most of the emails are asking her for feedback, many are asking her to talk at conferences, and some are from shops that she can’t remember giving her address to. But there is one email that matters, one that might mean something.

April stands in front of the microwave watching the bowl of noodles turn, it beeps, and she removes them, heads to the couch, and switches on the TV. An anchor sits describing the day’s events. ‘…and though the hurricane continues to take its toll there is little to do for the people of Florida now but wait. In other news an unidentified flying object has been spotted in US airspace today as-’ April flicks between channels, choosing some trashy reality TV when Toby walks in.

“Really? This shit again?” He says, kicking off his shoes and landing on the sofa.

“What? Sometimes I like to turn my brain off, junk food TV is what I need right now.” April laughs as one of the women on TV makes a catty quip. “See, it’s good.”

“Good isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” Toby says, “But I didn’t mean the TV I meant this!” he gestures to her noodles.

“What? My noodles?”

“Your fourth bowl of noodles in the same number of days. Are you suddenly repulsed by real food?”

“It is real, I’m eating it aren’t I?”

“I guess.” Toby says, leaning his head on April’s shoulder and watching the screen as she continues making her way through the bowl. April doesn’t say anything as Toby steals the remote and pauses the TV, “So how was your day?” he asks. April points to the bowl, then her full mouth and motions for him to wait a minute, after swallowing she says “Fine. Yours?”

“Great, I got the kids’ slips in for the trip so we’ll probably be visiting next week,” Toby says, lifting his head from April’s shoulder “Should be fun, I’ll get to see you at work.”

April opens her mouth to talk- “And you’ll get to see me, and all the kids, and I know you don’t really like kids but you haven’t met these kids, they’re great and-”

“I lied.”

“What?”

“I lied about today; it wasn’t fine.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Toby says putting his hand on her shoulder “Is it about the funding? Don’t worry about it I’m sure you’ll-”

“I got it.”

“What?”

“I got it.”

“That’s amazing!”

“I’m being transferred to Hawaii.”

Toby pauses. The room is silent without Toby’s voice filling it and it feels as though the thoughts running through his mind fill the space, because even though he isn’t vocalising them April knows what he’s thinking. She’s been thinking it for a while now too, not just since getting the email today but since she applied for the research funding to write her paper.

“But you didn’t-” Toby starts “You didn’t say that you’d have to…” Toby’s body language reads heartbroken and April can see that, but when she lifts up her hand he moves away. 

“I know.” April says “I’m sorry- I know, but I need to do this for-”

“Yourself.” He says.

“No,” She says “For my paper, for science, for-”

“Bullshit.” He says “For science since when have you actually cared about science? Since-” 

“I went to school for years, I got my doctorate, I got my job, and I’ve been working for years for this funding. That’s since when I’ve cared about science.”

“So you’re in a relationship with science? Does science care about you?”

“No.” She says. “It’s an unrequited love.” April hangs her head and twirls her fork round the noodles left in her bowl. Toby sinks back into the couch.

“Yeah,” Toby says, “It feels like one.”

“Don’t start with that.” 

“With what?”

“Acting all woe is me.”

“Well woe is me, because it seems I’ve been in a relationship with you while you’ve been cheating on me with science. Did you ever care about me?”

“Yes of course! I have cared about you and I do, but I just care about this more.”

“You care about the lives of stars more than our life together.” Toby says.

“I care about you,” She says “But not us.”