3 July 2025

Moonlight

My heart stopped. I had never met her. Never even heard the sound of her voice. Yet I instantly recognised the smiling woman who had just brushed my shoulder with her hand.

I had been working on my computer at the office. When she had almost imperceptibly touched my shoulder, I had turned my head, thinking a colleague needed my help.

She had arrived by train earlier that day, travelling on the spur of the moment – I somehow knew. She had only packed a small suitcase and left her animal companion with her parents. After the train had arrived, she’d had second thoughts and had wandered along the river banks. The flow of the water somehow made the air feel cooler, a refreshing sensation in the otherwise sweltering summer heat. When she finally decided to come to my office, an impeccably-dressed receptionist greeted her, asked no questions, and promptly directed her to my desk.

When I turned my head and saw her, my breath caught in my chest. The smiling woman’s heart beat fast but she showed none of it. She didn’t say a word. I was speechless too as I rose to my feet, so pleasantly shocked that a smile felt like a foreign expression I couldn’t quite form on my face. With one arm behind her back and another showing the way, I nudged her towards a meeting room. Inevitably, two awkward people became clumsy: when she accidentally dropped her light jacket, I rushed to pick it up; after she sat down, I asked her if there was anything she wanted but didn’t wait for a response. I returned with a glass of water and a few nibbles.

“I just need a few minutes to wrap things up,” I told her. “I’ll be back very soon, please relax. I’m so happy you're here.”

Back at my desk, I rescheduled all my remaining meetings and sent a flurry of quick emails to avoid any trouble. I then turned everything off, gathered my things and ran towards the meeting room, worried the woman would have somehow disappeared. But she was still there. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t touched the glass. Her eyes were fixed on me, unblinking. It was as if she was waiting for me to do or say something – but I didn’t know what. So I simply said:

“Come.”

I gently took her hand. We ignored the gazes of my colleagues, and we walked out on the street, into the fresh air. I unconsciously squeezed her hand, needing to be sure this wasn’t a dream. We walked, aimlessly, in a silence that felt full and comfortable. I glanced at her sideways. Her eyes were gleaming, and a timid smile played on her lips.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her whisper like a caress.

“Anywhere,” I responded, “as long as it’s with you.”

She smiled a little more, perhaps letting out a small, kind laugh.

We both knew, however, that romanticism often leads to disillusion. But in that moment, it was her who held my hand a bit more firmly. Time felt suspended. In the sky, two moons appeared.

Two moons? How was that possible? That had only happened in fiction, in books like 1Q84. Something wasn’t right. My head started spinning, rewinding the last few moments: leaving the office, walking, smiling… but the two faintly-white moons remained stubbornly in the daylight sky. My heart hammered against my ribs in a surge of panic. Something was undoubtedly wrong. The woman was still by my side, but she seemed oblivious as my palm grew sweaty in hers. My ears started ringing, the ground suddenly felt unsteady. It was when she started to fade, as if someone were playing with an opacity layer, that I woke up.

For a second, the office, the woman, the impossible two moons, they all shimmered at the edges of my mind, indistinguishable from reality. Then, the rhythmic, metallic clatter of wheels on track solidified, filling my ears, pulling me back. A wave of nausea washed over me as the crushing weight of reality descended: it had all been a dream, a cruel, beautiful illusion. A monotonous voice announced the next stop. The stale air made me finally realise I was on a train, which rolling motion had lulled me into that treacherous sleep. And then, with a jolt that mirrored the train's own lurch, I remembered. My train was making a short stop at the station nearest to where she lived. I had never met her, but in a moment of wild hope, I had messaged her that my train was passing through, secretly wishing she might come to the station.

The sky’s reddish sunset glow reminded me of a Pedro Almodóvar film. I was the actor of my own melodrama. Past trauma resurfaced, creating an out-of-body sensation: I saw myself on that train; I remembered my past conversations with her, blaming myself for misusing words even as I prided myself on being “good with them”. In two minutes, the train would briefly stop at the fateful station.

As the train ground to a halt, I jumped onto the platform, welcomed by a gush of cool evening air. I turned my head left and right, scanning the faces of the few people waiting.