From the rooftop above the laundromat, Priya knew the night sky cold. So she spotted it at once: a tiny blue dot inside Cassiopeia's crooked W, sitting where nothing should be. She checked her star atlas twice, then three different apps. The dot was real to her eyes and to her phone, but it wasn't on any map. Her hands went cold. New stars don't just show up overnight.

Priya grabbed her telescope and aimed it at the blue dot. Up close, it didn't twinkle like a real star. It held perfectly still and pulsed, slow and steady, like a heartbeat. That wasn't natural. She started counting the pulses, hunting for a pattern.

The pulses weren't random. Three short, three long, three short, over and over. Priya knew that one from old movies. It was Morse code for SOS. Someone, or something, was sending a distress call from inside the constellation. She had to find where it was really coming from.

Priya decided to answer it. She grabbed her brightest flashlight, pointed it at the blue dot, and flashed the same SOS pattern back. For a long moment, nothing. Then the dot stopped pulsing and shone steady and bright, like it was saying: I see you. She wasn't alone anymore.

Priya flashed back for an hour, but the dot only glowed steady, never answering in code. At dawn it faded with the other stars. She never proved what it was. But that steady light, holding still just for her, stayed with Priya. Whatever sent it had seen her signal. For now, that was enough, and she kept her flashlight ready for the next clear night.