Personal Log: Robert Robinson Stardate 5878.5
If someone had told me a few years ago that I’d be spending my evenings in a holodeck simulation of a cabin in the woods, cooking meals and listening to the crackle of a replicated fireplace, I would’ve laughed them out of the room. Now, it feels like the only thing that keeps me grounded.
The holodeck is my sanctuary. It reminds me of home—the Maine woods, the stillness of a winter’s night, the way the stars shine when there’s no city light to drown them out. I replicated everything just the way I remembered: the creak of the wooden floorboards, the smell of pine logs burning, even the snow crunching underfoot outside. It’s a slice of my past, a place I can go to feel like I’m still connected to something real.
Tonight started like any other. I was making dinner—a simple roast with vegetables, some fresh bread, nothing fancy. It’s not the kind of thing anyone on the Enterprise does anymore, not when replicators can whip up anything you want in seconds. But there’s something about the process of cooking, the rhythm of chopping vegetables, the smell of spices warming on the stove—it makes me feel alive.
Then she knocked.
Alex.
I don’t know why I was surprised. She’d mentioned being curious about the program, about what life in my time was like. But when I opened the door and saw her standing there, brushing snow off her coat, I felt a strange mix of excitement and nervousness.
“Alex,” I said, stepping aside to let her in. “What brings you here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied, smiling as she looked around the cabin.
There was something in her eyes—something curious, maybe even a little vulnerable. I’ve seen that look before, usually when she’s asking me about Earth history or the artifacts I’ve replicated. It’s like she’s trying to see the world through my eyes, to understand the person I used to be.
As she stepped inside, I caught her glancing at the stove. “You’re cooking?” she asked, her tone equal parts surprise and fascination.
“Yep,” I said, turning back to the counter. “No replicators here. This is how we did it back in my day.”
I could feel her watching as I worked, her curiosity growing with every step of the process. I explained what I was doing, how the spices complemented the roast, how the bread dough needed just the right amount of kneading. She listened intently, asking questions, her eyes lighting up with every answer.
It felt…nice. Comfortable. Like sharing a piece of myself with someone who actually wanted to understand.
Dinner was quiet, but not in an awkward way. We sat at the small wooden table, the fire casting long shadows across the room. Alex seemed to savor every bite, her appreciation making me feel oddly proud.
“This is incredible,” she said, smiling at me. “You’ve got a real talent for this.”
“Thanks,” I replied, chuckling. “It’s not much, but it gets the job done. Back in my time, this was just how things were. You didn’t have a choice.”
Her smile softened, and for a moment, I thought she was going to say something more. But instead, she looked away, her gaze lingering on the fire.
After we finished eating, we moved to the living room. She sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, her legs tucked beneath her, her hands resting on her knees. I leaned back against the couch, feeling more relaxed than I had in a long time.
“Robert,” she said suddenly, her voice hesitant.
I turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
She hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
I stayed quiet, giving her the space to speak.
“I’ve been fascinated by you since the moment we met,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “Not just because of where you’re from or what you’ve been through, but because of who you are. You’re kind, and thoughtful, and…you make me feel things I’ve never felt before.”
Her words hit me like a wave. I opened my mouth to respond, but for a moment, I couldn’t find the right words. Finally, I smiled, leaning forward slightly.
“Alex,” I said, my voice low, “I’ve felt the same way. You’ve been one of the best parts of my time here. But there’s something you need to know.”
I told her about May, about the life we’d shared before I was pulled into the future. I told her about Amanda Higgins, about her passion for hobby horsing and the way she made me laugh.
Alex listened without interrupting, her eyes never leaving mine. When I finished, she nodded, her expression thoughtful.
“They sound like amazing women,” she said softly.
“They were,” I admitted. “And I still think about them. But meeting you…you’ve helped me start to move forward. You’ve given me something I didn’t think I’d ever have again: hope.”
The room fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Then I stood, retrieving my old acoustic guitar from the corner of the room.
“This is a song from my time,” I said, strumming a few chords. “It’s called Only You by The Platters. It was one of my favorites.”
As I played, I watched her face, the way her eyes softened, the way her lips curved into a smile. When the song ended, I set the guitar aside, my heart racing.
She leaned toward me, her gaze locking onto mine. And then she kissed me.
For a moment, time stood still. When we finally pulled apart, I smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” I said softly.
She smiled, her cheeks flushed.
I stood, taking her hand and leading her toward the bedroom. The firelight followed us, casting its warm glow as the door closed behind us.
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