The year is 2572. Humanity has finally cracked the code – not of faster-than-light travel, but of something arguably more profound: real-time interstellar communication. The key? Harnessing the spooky action at a distance: quantum entanglement.

Dr. Pema Sharma, a brilliant but weary physicist, stood before a swirling vortex of blue light, the gateway to Proxima Centauri b. Years of her life had been poured into Project Looking Glass, the culmination of humanity's quest to bridge the gulf between stars. Sweat beaded on her brow, not from the heat of the lab, but from the weight of expectation. Today was the first live test.

On the other side, orbiting Proxima b, a solitary lander housed the twin to her device – another swirling vortex, entangled at the quantum level with her own. Any image that fell on one camera would be instantaneously mirrored on the other, regardless of the 4.2 light-year separation.

"Cameras active, Dr. Sharma," a technician's voice crackled in her earpiece.

Pema took a deep breath and looked towards the large screen before her. Static cleared, and an alien landscape materialized. A world of purple skies and crimson vegetation swam into focus. A collective gasp echoed through the control room. They were seeing, live, a world beyond their own.

But the marvel quickly turned to confusion. The alien landscape was... empty. Sterile. No signs of life, no movement, just an eerie stillness.

"Readings are nominal, Doctor," the technician reported, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Entanglement is stable. We're getting a clear feed."

Days turned into weeks. The alien landscape remained unchanged. Theories flew: Was Proxima b a dead world? Was the camera malfunctioning? Was the entanglement somehow filtering out signs of life? Pema, haunted by the silence from the other side, started doubting her life's work. Then, one morning, a flicker. On the screen, a single, alien flower, unlike anything they'd ever seen, bloomed in the crimson field. Then another. Then a hundred more, unfolding in a wave across the landscape, a symphony of color erupting across the alien world.

Pema stared, transfixed. It wasn't a dead world. It was simply waiting. Waiting for a witness. And through the magic of entanglement, humanity had become that witness.

The implications were staggering. No longer were they limited by the agonizing crawl of light-speed communication. Exploration, diplomacy, understanding - the possibilities were endless. Project Looking Glass had opened a window not just to another world, but to a new era for humankind.

But as Pema watched the alien flowers bloom, a chill ran down her spine. What if they weren't the only ones watching? What if, on the other side of that entangled gaze, something was watching them back? The silence, she realized, might not have been the absence of life, but the quiet observation of something unknown. And humanity, in its eagerness to see, had just announced its presence to the cosmos.