In a bold move that experts are calling both historic and unbelievably rude, interstellar object 3I/ATLAS has scheduled a solar conjunction, the astronomical equivalent of turning off read receipts for the entire planet. It will slip behind the Sun, where even the most desperate telescope cannot slide into its DMs.

Astronomers are thrilled, which is to say they’re furious but wearing khakis. “We love data,” said one, while tenderly polishing a lens that will spend the next few weeks staring at pure, unadulterated nothing.

Avi Loeb suggested several possibilities for what 3I/ATLAS might be during its private rendezvous with our local star: a comet, a rock, a spacecraft, a rock that’s very good at networking, or a dinner guest who brought a salad and then left with the bowl. He emphasized that extraordinary claims require extraordinary sunscreen.

NASA reminded everyone this is normal: objects wander behind the Sun; everyone takes five; no one panics; and the solar system quietly continues its centuries-old tradition of ignoring our feelings. The agency released a diagram so clean and tidy that it made reality sit up straight.

Meanwhile, amateur skywatchers are clutching their gear like talismans, including a hydrogen-alpha solar telescope filter so protective it could block out a motivational poster. They plan to wait, sip lukewarm coffee, and narrate the void like it’s a cooking show.

Astrology attempted to get involved, claiming the conjunction means your career will pivot unless your rising sign is “Indifferent Gas.” Astronomers nodded politely, because it’s hard to argue with someone whose job is literally “fate weather.”

The Sun, for its part, has issued no comment, largely because it is a ball of plasma and also because it knows it doesn’t need to chase. It simply exists, like a celebrity who never has to introduce themselves at a party.

Loeb held a news briefing to remind everyone that inference is a responsible sport. “We should look where the evidence points,” he said, “even when the evidence clocks out early and goes behind the brightest thing in the sky.” He then unveiled a chart that looked like the subway map of a city designed by a compass.

In response to the cosmic FOMO, I bought a USB-C solar charger for the poetic satisfaction of siphoning star juice while the star steals my data. It powered my phone to 8%, which is almost enough to Google what dignity feels like.

European astronomers organized a Monty Python–style interception plan featuring a parrot, three coconuts, and a trebuchet labeled “Peer Review.” They launched a letter of inquiry directly into the upper atmosphere, where it achieved a new record in self-addressed return-to-sender.

When 3I/ATLAS emerges from behind the Sun, scientists will compare pre- and post-conjunction observations to see if it shed dust, changed trajectory, or acquired an agent. If it returns wearing sunglasses at night, we’ll know it discovered LA.

Until then, we have models: careful, restrained, honest about what they don’t know—like a good friend with a ruler and an alibi. And yes, there will be a final diagram, neat as a hotel bed, winking at us for pretending the universe cares how tidy it looks.