We’re two planets orbiting comfortably our yellow star. We can see each other in our skies at night, flashing messages back and forth.

But something happens and our star grows small and cold and white. Who knows why. All its hydrogen fused into helium? The proton-proton chain reaction stops reacting? These technical answers can’t satisfy.

Maybe it’s tired of being a star, tired of keeping us warm and alive.

Our planets flung out into infinity. We grow smaller and smaller in our night skies waiting for new stars. And our messages—pathetic radio waves flying off into the crushing nothingness of dark—search for new planets.