LOVE IN THE MOONLIGHT

Two months apart

The day Rayyan left for his two-month tour felt like someone had taken the moon out of the sky and replaced it with nothing but empty space, because for the past month my nights had been defined by 2 AM rooftop meetings and coffee and his guitar and the sound of his voice telling me stories that made me feel less alone, and now I was standing at the bus station at 5 AM watching him load his guitar and one duffle bag onto a van with 4 other musicians while pretending that my heart wasn't breaking into a thousand pieces at the thought of not seeing him every day.

"You're sure about this?" I asked him for the fifth time that morning, hugging myself because the air was cold and because I didn't know what else to do with my hands now that I couldn't hold his.

He turned to me and cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks like he was trying to memorize the way I looked in the early morning light. "I'm sure," he said, but his voice was rough. "I have to do this. For my dad. For us."

"For us," I repeated, because those two words were the only thing keeping me from falling apart. "Text me when you get to the first city."

"I'll call you," he promised. "Every night. Even if it's just for 5 minutes."

The van honked and he pulled me into a hug that was too tight and too short, and then he was gone, waving at me through the window as the van pulled away, and I stood there until I couldn't see it anymore, wondering how two months could feel like forever when a month ago I didn't even know his name.

The first week without him was the hardest because I wasn't used to going to the rooftop alone, and every time I climbed the stairs I expected to see him there with his guitar and two cups of coffee, and when I didn't my chest felt hollow in a way that had nothing to do with failed exams and everything to do with missing him.

We texted every day.

`Rayyan: First gig was packed. Miss your face.`

`Aira: Studying. Miss your guitar more.`

`Rayyan: Come to my next show? It's in your city.`

`Aira: I have exams. But I'll try.`

And he did call every night, sometimes at 1 AM, sometimes at 3 AM after his gig, and we would talk about stupid things and serious things and nothing at all, and hearing his voice made the distance feel a little less wide.

In the second week I took my retake exam, and I was so nervous I almost threw up in the bathroom before it started, but right before I walked into the exam hall my phone buzzed.

`Rayyan: You got this. Official girlfriend of a competition winner doesn't fail. Prove them wrong.`

I got a B+. Not perfect, but enough to keep my scholarship, and the first person I called was him, and he screamed so loud on the phone that I had to pull it away from my ear.

"I'm so proud of you," he said. "Told you. You are amazing."

"I couldn't have done it without you," I said, and I meant it.

By week 4 things started to get easier, or maybe I just got used to the ache, and I started focusing on school and work and writing down everything that happened so I could tell him when he called, and he started sending me voice notes of new songs he was writing on the road, songs that sounded like missing someone and coming home.

But week 5 was different.

His calls got shorter. His texts got slower.

`Rayyan: Busy tonight. Show ran late. Love you. Talk tomorrow?`

Love you.

He had never said that before, not like that, and I stared at the message for 20 minutes before replying `Love you too. Sleep well.` because I didn't know if he meant it the way I meant it or if he was just tired.

Week 6 he missed two calls, and when he finally called on Friday he sounded exhausted and distant, like he was in a different world, and I tried not to read into it but it was hard not to when all we had was a phone line between us.

"Are you okay?" I asked him that night.

"Yeah," he said, but he didn't sound like it. "Just tired. Touring is... a lot."

"I know," I said. "I'm here when you're ready to talk."

There was a long pause. "Aira, I..."

"What?" My heart was pounding.

"Nothing. I'll call you tomorrow. Promise."

He didn't call the next day.

By week 7 I was a mess. I couldn't focus in class, I couldn't sleep, and I kept checking my phone every 5 minutes like that would make him call, and Nadia found me crying in the library and dragged me out for ice cream.

"He's just busy," she said, handing me a spoon. "Two months on the road is hard. Don't assume the worst."

"But what if the worst is true?" I whispered. "What if he met someone? What if he realized I'm not worth coming back to?"

"Then he's an i***t," she said firmly. "And you deserve better. But I don't think that's it."

I wanted to believe her.

On day 48, when I had almost given up hope, my phone rang at 2 AM.

Unknown number.

My heart stopped.

"Hello?"

"Aira."

His voice. Tired. Rough. Like he hadn't slept in days.

"Rayyan? Where are you?"

"Outside your dorm," he said. "Can you come down?"

I was out the door in 2 minutes, barefoot and wearing his hoodie that I had never given back, and when I saw him standing under the streetlight with his duffle bag and his guitar case I started running.

He caught me and spun me around, and then he was kissing me, hard and desperate and like he had been holding it in for two months, and I was kissing him back because I had missed him so much it hurt.

When we finally pulled apart we were both crying and laughing at the same time.

"What happened?" I asked, touching his face. "Why didn't you call?"

He sighed and rested his forehead against mine. "The tour was a mess. The van broke down. We got robbed in one city. I lost my phone for a week. And I was scared, Aira."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared that if I called you I would sound like this," he admitted, his voice breaking. "Broken. And I didn't want you to worry. And scared that you would realize you could do better than a guy who disappears for two months."

I hit his chest lightly. "i***t," I said. "I missed you. Every day."

"I missed you too," he whispered. "So much it hurt to breathe."

We sat on the steps of the dorm until the sun came up, talking and not talking, and he told me everything that happened, the good and the bad, and I told him about my exam and how I almost lost it without him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said finally. "Not for two months. Not ever again."

"Promise?" I asked.

"Promise," he said, and kissed me again. "Official. For real this time."

As the sun rose, I realized that maybe distance didn't break us, maybe it proved that what we had was real, that the moon could take him away for a while but it would always bring him back to me.

And this time, I believed it.

[TO BE CONTINUED...]