Love in the Moonlight

“What is that in your hand, baby?” he asks, covering themselves with a blanket from the biting cold.


“My diary. I used to write one as a child. And then I stopped, you know. Today while cleaning our store room, I found this in a box of my old photographs that I had brought here with me after our marriage.”


“Have you ever lied to your diary?”


“I was too small to lie when I used to write this,” she says, lazily rolling her eyes towards him.


“Mum always asked me to write one. She used to say that there is no good habit than keeping a journal. It’s like having the only friend whom you can open your heart to. But I never wrote.”


“Writing a diary is bliss. You’re tired. Sleep now, Nishant,” Chaandni says, planting a peck on his lips.


“No, I want to read your diary. Let’s see,” he crawls up to her body, to reach the table by their bed. She sighs, as he begins to read.




Dear Diary,

This boy in my class, my bench partner; I like him. But I don’t know if I can tell him about it. I think I haven’t had much time to actually tell him because you see, Ma’am keeps us busy with learning multiplication tables, and colouring sceneries, fruits, vegetables, bats and balls.


He colours much better than me. I have noticed closely, the borders of his fruits and vegetables. They do not have a smudge of colour outside them. I don’t understand why I can never do that.


Last week it was, when I was in tears. Ma’am had beaten me for having pulled some hairs out of a friend’s head. Do you know what he did for me? He took my eraser from my pencil box, and a pencil from his, pierced two holes on it, and then a curve under them. And my eraser smiled. It smiles even today, as I write and rub some of what I am sharing with you. He keeps me happy, Diary. I really like him. Or perhaps not. I love him.


Today, during games, I decided to tell him about it. So when we went to the school field, I took him to a corner, under a tree with a lot of branches. We sat there, talking and giggling, and I sometimes just wanted to stay still, and gaze at him.


I wanted to touch his head, and throw him against the tree so that his eyes would shut, and he’d collapse. I don’t know why. Maybe because he would have looked beautiful that way.


I would try to open his eyes with a twig, and when he would fail to do that, I’d put the twig inside both of his eyes, one by one. That cute sound of my twig piercing through his eyes, would be so pleasing to listen to.


And then I would take his fingers and place them inside his mouth. Then I’d press his head hard against his jaw, hoping that the pain of biting his own finger would wake him up. His teeth would bite through his flesh, then crack his finger-bone, and perhaps even slice the finger, and how I wish he’d still just not wake up. Only so that I could keep doing these to him, and tell him how much he means to me.


I wanted him to look like a living dream. So after all that, I wanted to hit his stomach with a sharp rock that I had found under the tree, and I would close my eyes and hit and punch his stomach until the stone felt warm and wet, and then my cheek, my nose, and my eyes. When I’d open my eyes, I would see everything that was once inside of him. How can someone not look beautiful, with everything inside the person shown to us? Wouldn’t that be the moment?


He would have looked at peace, that way. And then I would twist his hands until I felt them crack under my fingers. I would pull out his cheeks the way Ma tells me to tear pieces of stale bread. I wanted to spread his legs, and hit them against the ground until they slid out of his overflowing body.


But I am sad. Because I couldn’t do this to him. I couldn’t tell him that I love him. Everyone in school would get to know about it. So I will love him, and I will find him in the man I will love.


Just a while ago, when Ma was combing my hair in the verandah, I looked at the full moon and I saw him peeping at me from behind the moon. I promise, when I love a man, I will tell him how much I love him. But only once, on a full moon night. Just like everything that I have wanted to say today.


~ Yours loving little,




Nishant swallows, and turns towards her. Her face curves into a skewed smile, as she looks at the moon through the window behind him.


“The full moon looks so beautiful, baby,” she says, and inches closer to tell him how much he had always meant to her.


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“Love in the Moonlight”

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