Here comes the beauty of moonlight, shining all over the sky—settling uneasiness for some, stirring restlessness in others. As the night stretches toward its end, it promises a new beginning. That promise feels exciting to someone, depressing to another. Some people enjoy every young, white, twinkling night until it slowly turns old, embracing its beautiful, radiating transition.
And then there are those who love each and every night too deeply to let it go. They count seconds, not hours. They share their dreams, anxiety, sorrow, imagination, creativity—everything—with the night. They don't want it to end. They fall in love with every night just to observe its ending, as if endings themselves have meaning.
Those words were written on an old wall.
Who might have written these lines here?They're… strangely good.
What the fuck did I just think?
Hrishav frowned. Who even writes things like this in a place nobody cares about—on an old wall hidden between buildings? A wall people pass every day without ever looking twice.
He bent down and picked up a small, broken piece of red brick lying near the wall. It felt rough against his fingers. After a brief hesitation, he added something below the writing.
Scratch… scratch… scratch…
The sound felt louder than it should have been, echoing in the quiet street.
"Let's go," he muttered to himself. "I don't believe I'm wasting time on unnecessary things."
He stepped back, glanced once more at the wall, and walked away without reading what he had written.
After quite a while, he reached his building. The street was almost empty now, streetlights glowing lazily, casting long shadows that felt heavier than usual. His footsteps echoed as he climbed the stairs, unlocked his apartment, and stepped inside.
"Finally," he exhaled. "Home."
Tomorrow demanded his attention. A client presentation. Expectations. Appearances. He placed his bag aside, opened his laptop, and got to work.
Khit-kat. Khat-kat-kat.
The keys danced beneath his fingers, each sound clearly audible in the unusually quiet room. Nights like this made even small noises feel amplified. Time slowed down, stretched thin, bending around focus.
He was in that satisfying zone—alert, absorbed, steady.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang.
His fingers froze mid-air.
"Who comes at this hour?" Hrishav muttered, almost whispering, as if the night itself might hear him.
He stood up slowly and walked toward the door, every step measured. He opened it.
No one.
The corridor stood empty, silent, indifferent. He leaned out slightly, scanning both ends.
Nothing.
"Great," he sighed. "Who the hell is pranking at midnight?"
Grrn… rng… grrn…
His phone vibrated.
"Yes, Kushan," he answered.
"Hey,". "Have you ever been ghosted?"
Kushan rubbed his temple. "What?"
"Let me ask properly. There's no girl in your life without my knowledge, right? If there is, talk to me sincerely—as a friend."
"Relax," Hrishav replied. "I called because someone rang my doorbell three or four times and vanished. When I opened the door, there was no one to be found. I was just curious. Nothing dramatic."
"Then now , why did you call me?" Hrishav asked.
"About tomorrow. I'd like to meet an hour earlier. Will that be okay?"
"Why? Any problem?"
"No such problem," Kushan said. "I heard the guest likes flowers—she's into flower gardening. Maybe we should gift her a nice live pot."
"Fine by me," Hrishav replied. "Done with work?"
"Not yet. I'll make some good coffee and push my brain a little more."
"You sure there's no girl?" Kushan teased.
"Seriously?" Hrishav chuckled. "Do you really have time to argue on this?"
"I'll make instant coffee and wrap up my work too."
"You really know how to ruin coffee," Kushan said. "Really painful to hear this for a coffee lover."
"Bye."
Tutt. The call ended.
Some time later, Both finished their work and took a deep, nice breath of satisfaction while taking the last sip of their coffee at their own respective time getting ready for next day. The coffee tasted different at this hour—bitter, warm, grounding.
Outside, the night felt thinner now, as if it were preparing to leave.
city lights blinking quietly, and breathed out a calm, satisfied sigh. It felt like giving a final greeting to this last moment of the night for them.
Oh, beautiful night, he thought, pray for me to have a wonderful tomorrow. Wish me good luck.
GOOD NIGHT!!!!