It came to me in the shower. What if the linguistic systems on PA-99-N2 were somehow connected to ours on Earth? An entanglement, of sorts.

The models were showing an exciting possibility of intelligent life on the Andromeda planet, but we had no feasible way of contacting them. It would take over two million years for an electromagnetic signal to reach them, and at least as long to receive something back. 

But if entangled particles could transmit information faster than the speed of light, why not entangled languages?

Down the corridor my daughter’s bedroom door slammed. Determined not to let her teenage drama interrupt my Eureka moment, I wrapped my hair in a towel and headed to my desk to jot down some notes. What words or phrases were most likely to produce responses? 

Rose was weeping now, her wheezing, voiceless gasps breaching the sound barrier of the locked door. 

I pulled the towel over my ears and wondered what triggered this particular episode. Mud stains on her new shoes? An unacceptable item in the lunch I’d packed? My decision to shower in the middle of the day?

Greetings, I thought, are often returned with greetings. Hello? Woefully inadequate. Something more formal, perhaps? Peace be with you. 

The sobbing louder now.

Questions? I wrote. They invite responses.

Can I come in?

Relief from Rose as the door swung open and she threw herself into my arms. 

And astonishment later, when I returned to my notepad.

Please do. 

The handwriting not my own. The answer as miraculous as my daughter’s entangled embrace.

---

Would you like to know more about this story? Sign up to the Grammar for Dreamers newsletter to get monthly updates on the ideas that inspire my work.