Moon Night

I don’t usually stay out this late.

Not because anyone stops me, but because nothing ever made the night feel worth waiting for. No one to meet. Nowhere to be. The dark hours were just background noise to the next morning.

But tonight felt carved out from a dream I wasn’t supposed to be in.

It started with the moon. Full, almost too full. The kind of moon that doesn’t just shine, it glows, spills onto surfaces like spilled milk across black marble. Soft, stubborn light. That kind of moon.

She stood at the edge of the terrace wall, one hand curled around the railing, the other holding up a peeled orange. The segments caught the moonlight. Her skin did too. Like the universe was trying to spotlight her, gently, without permission.

I had come up for air. For nothing, really. But she was already there.

Her eyes weren’t small, pretty things. They were wide, thoughtful. The kind of eyes that didn’t ask questions because they were too busy noticing answers. And when she looked at the moon, really looked, I saw its reflection sitting inside them. Not poetic, not exaggerated. Just real. Like two moons facing each other. One in the sky, one in her gaze.

She didn’t say hi. Just gestured toward the step next to her.

I sat. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to feel her presence in the way my shoulder suddenly noticed the wind more sharply.

“Orange?” she asked, holding out a piece.

“Sure,” I said.

It was sweet. Cold. Like something pulled straight from winter's pocket.

We talked.

Not fast, not clever. Just words pulled out slowly, carefully, like they’d bruise if said too hard.

She told me about a dream from last week. That her childhood home had turned into a library, but every book had blank pages. Only when she spoke did the words appear.

I told her I don’t dream anymore. That my head is filled with notifications instead.

She smiled. Not pity. Just quiet understanding.

For a few minutes, we sat in complete silence. Only the buzz of a tube light nearby, the hush of leaves, and our occasional shared glance.

And that’s when I said it.

I didn’t mean to be poetic. I just... didn’t want time to keep moving.

The moon was still full. She was still glowing. Her fingers, sticky with citrus, brushed her loose hair back from her cheek.

“ए रात ज़रा आहिस्ता गुज़र...”

She didn’t move.

Her eyes turned slowly from the moon to me, and in that pause between motions, I caught it again, that same reflection of light. As if the sky and she had signed some quiet agreement to dazzle me tonight.

“मेरी चाँद से मुलाकात है...”

She tilted her head. Smiled, just slightly.

I looked down. Peeled my own piece of orange and tried not to let my hands shake.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said.

“I live here,” she replied.

“No, I mean, like this. At night. In this light.”

She leaned back, arms behind her for balance. Her posture loose. Almost boyish.

“You think I only belong to daylight?”

“I think,” I said, slowly, “you belong to whatever hour wants to be remembered.”

The smile faded from her lips, but not from her eyes. She watched me now like people watch waves, knowing they might crash, but still drawn to them.

I bit my lower lip and looked at the ground, embarrassed.

“I just meant, ”

“I know,” she said. Soft. Kind.

We both stared ahead again. The lights of the campus twinkled like lazy fireflies. Someone played faint music from a distant window. A dog barked once and then forgot what for.

She reached into the tiffin again. Picked up the last slice.

I didn’t stop her. But she held it in her hand and didn’t eat.

“It’s just one night, right?” I said.

“बस इक रात की बात है...” she whispered, completing it.

Her voice didn’t echo. But it stayed. Inside me. Like steam on glass.

She moved closer, slightly. Her shoulder brushed mine.

No fireworks. No tension. Just warmth. Like we were both made of the same hour.

Her thumb touched my hand for no reason. Stayed there. Didn’t ask anything from me.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t lean in either. But inside, a part of me folded.

“मोहब्बत की बात है...”
(It’s a matter of love…)

Not a declaration. A confession of momentary truth. Nothing beyond this night.

I looked up again. The moon had shifted. But she hadn't.

“थोड़ा रुक रुक के गुज़र...”
Just stay. Just a little longer.

Let her keep glowing like this. Let my hand stay warm. Let her smile stay half-formed, open-ended.

Let this not end just yet.