This was written on the bus in about 20 minutes.  Who knows.

She's aware of what they say. “Poor girl. Can't face reality. A shame, really.” They think it's some sort of denial where the mind can't make sense of something terrible and shuts it's self off.

When they met he asked her, “Do you think we are alone? Or is there something more out there?”

She replied, “It is a simple case of probability. In an infinite universe, all things are probable.”

It was probable they would fall in love.

Love is not made up of romance or arguments. It does not consist of assets or documents. It is a creation of shared experiences, discussions on dark evenings and over coffee. So they discussed what they would do if aliens arrived and offered a ride. They would ask the visitors to wait for each other. They would hold out as long as they could. But in the end, given the chance, they would go. Neither would hold it against the other. They packed bags to store in their cars, filled with clothes, photos and mementos. So they could fly away at a moment's notice with clean underwear and memories. They promised if they had to leave without the other, they would return. Both dreamed of a life in light years.

So when they found his car in the river she had a moment of pain. When they said there was no body, there was a moment of slow joy. The bag was missing as well. And they said he was dead, body drifted to a lonely spot. They said she must have been mistaken about the bag.

She knows otherwise. Somewhere, he is returning for her. One day she'll disappear and everyone will say she slipped away in grief. Let them believe what they will. Her love will cross light years.

Her bag is still packed.