Astronomers notice several stars dimming in unison. Headlines scream cosmic extinction. Then the stars move. Slowly, deliberately, they drift toward a darker patch of sky. Immigration, the scientists say. Celestial bodies leave crowded neighborhoods for new horizons. Bureaucracy springs up overnight: petitions to accept or reject stellar newcomers. Politicians argue about nightlight quotas. Priya, an amateur stargazer, feels empathy. Her parents crossed oceans; why not stars? She starts a grassroots welcome project, printing "This Sky Welcomes All" posters. Children stay up late to wave flashlights as the stars arrive. Religious groups claim omens. Skeptics demand proof.
When the first immigrant star settles, it emits a soft pulse like a sigh. Farmers notice crops grow better under its glow. Government drafts a Stellar Residency Act with visas and background checks that make little sense. Priya testifies: stars do not need paperwork; we need their light. The act stalls. Meanwhile, other stars arrive quietly, unregistered. Constellations shift, stories adapt. A new pattern forms overhead, resembling intertwined hands. Priya names it The Crossing. Years later, textbooks mention the migration briefly. Children learn to find The Crossing on clear nights. They ask why stars moved. Adults shrug, embarrassed by old debates. Priya sits on her roof, telescope idle, enjoying a sky more crowded and alive. She starts a club for kids to write welcome letters to anything else that might move overheadāa meteor, a satellite, a passing cometābecause hospitality is easier to practice before the paperwork starts.
One evening, a letter of light appears written across the sky in Morse-like pulses. Priya decodes it with a flashlight: "Thank you for the porch light." She laughs, tears in her eyes. The club cheers. The government quietly shelves the residency act. The stars settle where they please, no visas stamped, only gratitude exchanged in beams.
Priya later notices her old telescope cracked from overuse. She buys a new one with donations from the kids' club, then hosts a "welcome the wanderers" night where anyone, regardless of paperwork, can look up together. The stars blink in an irregular rhythm that looks suspiciously like applause, and for the first time, Priya thinks of the sky as a neighborhood rather than a ceiling.