My Deskmate is an Alien

🌌 Chapter 3 Strange Signals

## Chapter 3: Strange Signals

*By Tiểu Tĩnh*

It had only been a week since Lyra arrived, but things were already starting to feel… off.

Minh used to drag himself to school, his mornings a blur of yawns, cold toothpaste, and barely caught buses. But now, he found himself **rushing**—sometimes even early—just to see if Lyra would do something bizarre again. Like answering a math problem before the teacher finished asking it. Or perfectly mimicking the way Linh sneezed. Or casually referring to satellites like someone who had lunch with them.

One Tuesday morning, as Minh settled into his seat, half-asleep and halfway through a bánh mì, Mr. Lộc walked in, arms full of folders and that dangerous glint in his eyes that only meant one thing: **group projects.**

The class groaned in unison like a tired orchestra.

“Settle down,” Mr. Lộc said. “This is your mid-term science assignment. You’ll be working in pairs.”

That earned even louder groans.

Minh braced himself. Please not Trung. Please not that kid who sets things on fire in chemistry.

“Minh,” Mr. Lộc called, scanning his clipboard. “You’ll be working with… Lyra.”

Minh immediately choked on a bite of bread, coughing so violently that Linh had to slap his back and Hải offered him a straw.

Lyra, meanwhile, nodded once without a hint of emotion. She didn’t even look at him.

Minh wasn’t sure whether to feel excited… or absolutely doomed.

---

That afternoon, they met in the library. Minh came prepared: printed research ideas, highlighters, a backup pen. Classic overachiever energy. Lyra brought... a notebook, one single pen, and a backpack that looked far too small to hold anything useful.

He tried to break the ice.

“So… I thought maybe we could build a model volcano. Classic but fun. Or like, magnets? Magnets are cool.”

Lyra didn’t reply.

She was staring at the ceiling. No, *through* the ceiling, like she was tracking a satellite in orbit.

“Hey,” Minh waved his hand. “Earth to Lyra?”

She blinked. Slowly. Like she’d just downloaded his voice into her brain.

“What is the objective of this assignment?” she asked, her voice calm, flat.

“Uh… get a good grade? Learn something?” Minh offered, feeling less confident by the second.

“I see.” She paused, then wrote something with unnerving precision. “Let’s study wave frequencies.”

Minh blinked. “You mean like… sound waves?”

“Yes. And radio signals.”

“That's... a bit advanced for high school, don’t you think?”

“I already built the receiver.”

And just like that, she pulled a small device from her backpack.

Minh’s jaw dropped.

It didn’t look like a school project. It didn’t even look like it belonged on Earth. The device was sleek, silver, oval-shaped with a tiny glowing strip down the middle. No wires. No screws. No labels.

“Where did you—?”

“I assembled it at home,” she said, completely unfazed.

Minh stared. “What kind of home has parts like *that*?”

Lyra tilted her head. “A quiet one.”

---

They met behind the school the next day, just past the soccer field where no one would bother them. The sky was overcast, casting everything in a strange silver light.

Lyra adjusted the device, extending an antenna that shimmered in a way Minh couldn’t quite explain. He held the portable speaker she handed him, still skeptical.

“Okay,” he said. “Turning it on now?”

She nodded.

A soft hum filled the air. At first, just static. Then a faint clicking, like insects tapping glass. Then—

A *voice.*

Minh froze.

It wasn’t Vietnamese. It wasn’t English. It wasn’t any language he'd ever heard.

It sounded like… a song? No, not quite. More like syllables arranged like music. Melodic and cold at the same time.

“What... is that?” Minh whispered.

Lyra’s eyes darkened. “That is not part of the experiment.”

“So it’s interference?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

The signal faded as suddenly as it came.

Minh lowered the speaker, looking at her.

“You knew that would happen,” he said quietly. “Didn’t you?”

Lyra didn’t deny it. She slowly packed the device back into her backpack.

“Some signals are only meant to be heard,” she murmured, “by those who are listening.”

Minh felt goosebumps ripple across his arms.

---

That night, Minh couldn’t sleep.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the melody replaying in his head. Over and over. Soft and strange and persistent.

He tried to tell himself it was a weird radio broadcast. Maybe someone playing a prank. Maybe Lyra just liked building fancy-looking devices and pretending to be mysterious.

But then… why had her eyes changed?

He remembered the exact moment the sound played. Her pupils had dilated, but not like a human's. There was a flicker—almost like a camera lens adjusting. Like they weren’t reacting to *light*, but to *code*.

And that device—he couldn’t get it out of his head. It had no buttons. No charging port. It hadn’t even been warm to the touch.

He rolled over, groaning.

Was he losing it?

---

The next day at school, Minh cornered Hải and Linh before class.

“Guys,” he whispered urgently. “Something’s not right about Lyra.”

Hải raised an eyebrow. “You mean besides the fact that she doesn’t blink, doesn’t laugh, and drinks milk like it’s data fuel?”

“I’m serious,” Minh said. “We picked up a signal. Like a *weird* signal. It wasn’t even a language, but it felt like… something.”

Linh leaned in. “Like what?”

“Like it was meant for her.”

The bell rang, cutting him off. But for the rest of the morning, Minh couldn’t focus.

In biology, Lyra identified every plant cell structure before the teacher finished drawing them.

In PE, she dodged a flying soccer ball with a spin so precise it looked choreographed.

And during lunch, she sat under the tree by herself, not eating, just... staring at the sky.

Minh made his way over.

“You okay?”

She glanced at him. “I am functioning at full capacity.”

“...That's not how normal people answer that question.”

She tilted her head. “Normal is a statistical majority. It does not imply correctness.”

Minh gave up.

“You’ve heard that signal before, haven’t you?” he asked quietly.

Lyra didn’t answer right away. Then she said:

“There are patterns in the air. Most people do not notice. Most people do not want to.”

Minh’s stomach flipped. “And you? Do you want to?”

“I have no choice,” she said simply.

He wanted to ask more. But suddenly—**the sky flickered.**

It wasn’t lightning. It wasn’t a cloud. It was like a glitch—just for a second—the blue turned *too* blue. Like the color on a screen when the graphics card fails.

Lyra blinked—yes, finally blinked—and looked up.

“I have to go,” she said, standing.

“Wait—go where? What was that?”

She didn’t answer. She walked off, faster than before, steps sharp and precise.

---

That night, Minh dreamed again.

Not of Lyra. Not even of the signal.

But of stars.

Dozens. Hundreds.

They blinked in and out of existence like Morse code in space.

He saw something moving between them. Something large and silent and watching.

And a voice—not like the one from the device—whispered something in the dream.

He woke with a start, gasping.

There were no words. Just one symbol etched in his memory:

A triangle of light.

Spinning.

Changing.

Calling.

---