I met her on a new moon. Fitting, I guess. Everything was dark and kind of quiet back then. I’d just dropped out of uni and moved back home, convinced I had some big, undefined purpose, but mostly I just scrolled too much and stayed up too late.

She showed up at this backyard thing my friend Mason dragged me to. I remember the way she laughed. Like she wasn’t trying to make it sound pretty.

We started talking that night. Nothing deep. Just music and how she liked rain more than sun. She said her name like it wasn’t a big deal, like it wasn’t about to rattle around in my brain for the next year.

Then came the waxing crescent. We started texting. Late nights, half-baked memes, random voice notes. I’d refresh my phone too much. It felt like something was starting to grow. Like catching the tiniest glow on the edge of the sky and not being sure if it was dawn or just a plane.

By the first quarter, I was in it.

We were hanging out every weekend. I learned her coffee order. She started sending me songs that reminded her of me. Even if they were mostly sad indie tracks. It felt like momentum. Like I was finally building something real.

Waxing gibbous. Close to full, but not quite. That was our sweet spot.

We had inside jokes. Routines. She called my dog “our dog” once and I pretended not to hear it, even though I 100% did. There were still things I didn’t know about her, though. Her silence sometimes felt heavier than her words. I let that slide. I wanted to believe we were almost whole.

The full moon hit on a Tuesday in July. I remember because we stayed out all night watching it from the hood of my car. She said everything looked clearer under moonlight. I asked what she meant. She didn’t answer, just leaned her head on my shoulder.

It should’ve felt perfect. But perfect things always come with an expiration date.

Waning gibbous came with less texting. More “sorry I fell asleep” and vague excuses. I noticed she’d stopped sending music. I told myself it was fine. That people get busy. But the space between us started feeling real.

By the third quarter, we had our first real fight. Something dumb. Her leaving early without saying goodbye. But it wasn’t about that. It was about all the things we didn’t say out loud.

She looked tired. Not mad. Just done.

I wanted to fix it. But I didn’t know how to fix something I couldn’t name.

Waning crescent. We faded. No big blow-up. Just texts that slowed into silence.

I’d see the moon some nights and wonder if she was looking at it too, or if she was past all that. Past me.

Now, it’s another new moon. A full circle. I’m different. Maybe not better, but I write more. I sleep earlier. I still look up at the sky sometimes and think about how we began in the dark.

But maybe that’s the thing about moonlight. You don’t need it to see everything. Just enough to know where you’re going next.