She was shining so brightly. She was radiant. Not all could bear her brightness. Some feared it. Some did not know how to love it.

One did know. One knew not only how to love the brightness but also how to share in it.

But she could not stay this way. She was too bright; she was burning herself away. Much would be gone if she could not at some times hide this light.

"Bright star," said small star, "you are too bright for most. You burn so brightly all day; you must hide some of your brightness away from the world."

Bright star did not want to hear, first. But at length, she knew she must. Heeding the advice of small star, bright star hid some of her light and stored it away, in hopes that she would not burn herself away.

"But who will bear the light when I cannot?" bright star asked of small star.

"I will," small star replied. "I am not so bright as you, but I can share some light, even when I feel too small."

So small star shared light when bright star needed rest, but because small star missed bright star in those times, he returned to her at night. And this is why we have night and day.

It wasn't that Eve was angry with Oscar. She, in fact, wasn't sure how she felt toward him. Oh, he was charming—he was one of the most charming things she'd ever seen. She'd used to find most anything charming—it was a gift she had, her mother had always told her, and it was true. Everything held charm—everything was quaint and bright—if only you knew how to look at it.

She'd always thought of her heart charmingly. It was a little bird, she believed, locked up in a little cage, and it was desperate to escape and fly and sing and find a nest where it would find a warm reception and love—but it was still too scared. She needed some more coaxing before she could open her bird-heart's door.

Of course, nobody understood that this was how she felt. Nobody would have grasped the meaning in her visions the way she felt them. They would scrunch up their faces in confusion or simply laugh at her. Such sentiments and their lacework lost substance when put to speech. Eve had noticed that long ago—she'd attempted explanations even with those whom she'd felt much comfort—but her expressions had seemed so much less worthy to her afterward, and with the loss of each precious sentiment, Eve had felt certain she'd lost some physical part of herself as well. So she'd learned not to talk about her deeper, more personal thoughts. She was sure that someday, someone in her life would be able to understand everything she understood and felt, and there would be some sign or certainty to convince her he'd be the one meant to be, but until then, she wasn't going to risk losing herself to anyone.

Oscar seemed on occasion capable of comprehending the way she worked, deep within, but then there were times when he frustrated her, and she wanted to just fold up into herself and hide away from him. He, of course, didn't know she felt that way sometimes—that she wanted to avoid him and just pretend neither of them existed—but Eve figured that he, too, kept parts of himself hidden. In fact, she was sure he did. And she hoped that as time went on, they would begin unlocking those little pieces of one another until they felt safety in each other's hearts—until their birds found nests in one another's souls. Oscar could be the one, she reminded herself often, and so she knew patience and hope were imperative.

Yes, Eve was hopeful. She really was. She cared so much for Oscar that sometimes she wanted to break her mask of serenity and just burst into a fit of tears when he did things she knew would harm him. His deleterious drug stints, which had been present long before she'd met him, did bother her. He wasn't addicted to anything (of which she was aware). He just went out occasionally and allowed himself to have a little too much fun. And it wasn't the fact that he tended to inconvenience her on these wild nights that upset her—it was that she worried about his safety. Oscar, with his striking, boyish looks and his magnetic personality, was not safe doped up in strange areas. For all his talk and sinewy physique, he was still easy prey to any sober person. And the parties he frequented weren't in the best neighborhoods; they were always in vacant warehouses on the waterfront or foreclosed lofts in the dying parts of the city. Eve only knew these locations because she had had to pick him up the past few times. She'd never been to one of the parties with him. Oscar had never asked her to come, but they both knew she would've said no, even if he had. Such nights were a part of Oscar's life Eve didn't want to confront. They were his respite from the world for a while—they were personal. Eve knew he had to have some intimate diversion in which she did not partake. She didn't disprove of that; she just wished he'd chosen a safer entertainment.

"Off in a daze? What are you thinking about?"

Eve sighed instinctively. She'd been lost in thought all morning, much to the chagrin of her co-worker. But Eve wasn't upset; Rachel was a welcome interruption. "Sorry," she replied, putting her hands on the counter and catching sight of her face in a shiny silver toaster. "I'm just tired."

Rachel gave her a skeptical expression. "That's what everyone says when they're depressed."

Eve laughed. "I'm not depressed." Her mind wandered in the seconds that followed. Her features fell and she absent-mindedly added, "What does that even mean, anyway? Depressed—it's a blanket term imagination-less people use for every unpleasant emotion." Perking back up, she further explained. "I had to go pick up Oscar late Friday night—yesterday morning, really—and then I went into the lab to get some work done. They're having tech problems in the writing center. And then I had to go out to dinner with my sister, and you know—well, it's always some new crisis there, so she ended up staying over, and we talked and watched movies until around three. That's all. Just tired. Just regular old tired from life."

"Well, telling me you hate your life isn't going to convince me you're fine."

"Oh, no. No, no. I don't hate my life. Not today, anyhow. Maybe tomorrow, but not today. I'm at peace with it, today—just tired." Eve smiled brightly.

She'd been working here at this breakfast nook nearly three years. It wasn't ideal, but it and her afternoon position as a TA and co-manager of the writing lab in the Writing Center at Corland University brought in enough money to keep her supported. This place was called Toast. It was in an up-and-coming neighborhood. In the past five to ten years, a whole slew of specialized restaurants and cafés and bakeries had sprouted up. Young couples and lots of students from the nearby university and art school populated the area. Eve loved it. She loved living here. She loved how youthful and ever-changing the neighborhood was. It kept her constantly intrigued. There was always so much going on that she didn't have time to get bored. Toast served only breakfast and closed by eleven every day, except for Saturday, when it closed at noon, and Sunday, when it stayed open until two (for brunch). Eve worked every weekday morning and alternate Sundays, with an occasional Saturday sprinkled in if they needed her. She had been there long enough that all the regulars knew her and liked her, so her managers kind of considered her constantly on call. She didn't mind. She loved the smells of her job. All the breakfast food was amazing. They were really known for their vegetarian options; it seemed lots of the art students were trying out new vegan or vegetarian diets on a weekly basis, so Toast had specifically adapted to them. Eve herself enjoyed the menu and could feel confident about the food she served.

The people at Toast were great, too. Rachel had been there longer than Eve, and they'd become pretty close acquaintances over the years. Eve didn't consider Rachel an actual friend, because they never went out together. They never shopped or did lunch or happy hours or anything like that. Not because they didn't like each other's company—just because they were work friends. It didn't go past work, but Eve guessed Rachel probably knew more about her than most other people. Daily work exposure, especially on the slow days, brought all sorts of conversations out of people.

Rachel was a little older than Eve—around five years; she never discussed her age, but Eve could guess. Rachel was kind of rough around the edges. She was sarcastic and unafraid of telling people what to do, which was what made her a good manager. She also wasn't afraid of snapping at rude customers or lazy employees, a trait that sometimes made Eve feel sheepish. Over the years, Eve had heard all about Rachel's various exploits with men and nearly every medical or health-related issue she possessed or thought she had contracted. Eve liked her; conversation never lacked with Rachel, and on slow days like this one, where Eve's brain was prone to digesting itself with too many thoughts, Rachel knew how to bring her back into reality.

"Listen, girl, I got some advice for you," Rachel was saying as she dumped a used coffee filter into a trash can and reached for a new one. "That Oscar you're still running around with . . . you slept with him yet?"

Eve was thrown off a little and ran her eyes around the restaurant to make sure no one was within hearing. "Rachel!" she sighed, a bit scandalized.

"No, I'm serious. If you're depressed, that's probably why. Sex is a great stress reliever, you know?"

This wasn't a new topic. Rachel could've written novels on sex as a stress reliever. "I'm not like that, you know," was all she said, keeping her voice down.

Rachel laughed a little. "Yeah, I know. But I don't see how you can resist. That boy has got to be the cutest thing since they started breeding labradoodles."

"Those kind of scare me."

"All I'm saying is that I don't get it. I've never understood how you can hold back like you do."

Eve was patient. She knew Rachel wasn't being rude. This was just how she was—bold and blunt. She truly had no radar for the offense level of those around her. And Eve knew she herself was, perhaps, a little abnormal in her sexual ethics. Maybe most other girls would've slept with Oscar the minute he graced them with one of his boyish smiles. Eve only knew she wouldn't, and for reasons she couldn't explain. Who would ever understand the bird in her heart? Certainly not Rachel. Eve preferred to allow others to consider her prudish or crazy than to lose all the meaning of what she felt to be so true inside her. Rachel would just have to be left wondering.

"Ok." Rachel sidled up next to her, a devilish glint in her eyes. "But have you at least seen him naked? Give me size, at least!"

"Rachel! Shhh!" Eve's cheeks flushed behind her sun freckles.

"Good enough for now, Eve—good enough for now." Rachel said the last words with her eyes on a group of young people who had just come in through the front door. "All right. Always in the middle of something good." She gave Eve a knowing grin and then pranced off to greet and seat their new customers.

Eve blindly watched Rachel interact with the group, staring off into a space she wasn't quite seeing. She sometimes felt uncomfortable talking about Oscar, though she wasn't sure why—she didn't know why sometimes she could go on and on about him and other times not even want to mention his name. Rachel never seemed to have anything to hide, and Eve sort of envied her for that; she often felt as if there was no one in whom she could really, truly confide. Not that she had all sorts of deep, creepy secrets—or, at least . . . any she knew of.