They met by the pond that belonged to no one and everything. It rested on the edge of the world—where silence spoke and the unseen lingered.
She came seeking meaning.
He came seeking disappearance.
At first, they said nothing. Their eyes met, and something ancient stirred— as if two silences had recognized each other after a long separation.
The pond, too, grew still, listening.
One evening, as day bowed to night, she sighed, “I can’t see the moon tonight.”
He looked into the dark water. “The moon is there,” he said, “but your thoughts have stirred the surface. The truth hides only when the heart trembles.”
Her eyes lifted to his face—there was no claim in his voice, only knowing.
In the days that followed, they met in quiet ritual. Sometimes they spoke of longing, sometimes of the Beloved who hides in every reflection. Their words wove through silence like prayers drifting toward an unseen shore.
The more she listened, the calmer her heart became.
The more he looked at her, the clearer the water grew.
One night, the pond turned still—utterly still—mirroring the heavens so perfectly that earth and sky became one.
The moon shone whole again, neither above nor below, but within.
He said softly, “See? The reflection was never lost—only your gaze was clouded.”
She turned toward him, tears glistening like dew.
“And you,” she whispered, “were the stillness I sought.”
The wind hushed. The pond glowed.
And with a tenderness that trembled through her voice, she said,
“You are my Moon.”
He did not answer.
He only smiled—the kind of smile that lingers in the heart long after the moment has passed—and the night, vast and full of compassion, folded them both into its quiet light.
