One Month Before the Eclipse
The world had tilted slightly. Not enough to knock anyone off their feet—not yet—but just enough for the air to feel different. Heavier. Expectant.
It had been six months since the detentions began. Since Richard and Jordan had started sitting next to each other in silence, exchanging sarcasm that eventually softened into real conversation. And slowly, like the thawing edge of winter, something unspoken bloomed between them.
Now they walked side by side under the glowing lights of a retro arcade bar downtown, the thrum of neon bouncing off polished glass and rainy pavement. Richard's jacket was too big for Jordan, but she wore it anyway, arms folded tightly as they shared a milkshake at a booth tucked away from the main crowd.
"You’re still the worst at Space Invaders," Jordan said, smirking over her straw.
Richard grinned, leaning back. "I let you win. You needed the confidence boost."
"Right," she said, rolling her eyes. "Is that why you flinched when I beat your high score?"
He looked away, feigning offense. "That was a low blow."
It had been like this lately. Easy. Familiar. And though neither of them said anything aloud, it had become harder to imagine the day without the other in it.
Two of the three requirements for the Celestial Convergence had already been quietly fulfilled:
Heart — They had fallen for each other.
Mind — They thought of one another, constantly.
Only one piece remained. And they didn’t even know it.
Across the street, amidst the sea of shoppers at the mall, Luna paused. Her eyes had caught on the pair inside the arcade—Jordan, laughing, her hand playfully locked in Richard’s.
For a moment, Luna just stood there, watching from behind the glass like a ghost peering into someone else’s dream.
A strange ache bloomed in her chest. Not jealousy. Not quite sorrow either. Just... a quiet kind of knowing.
Then she looked away.
Later that day, Luna met her father at a small, rustic restaurant tucked beside a row of bookshops and art galleries in Cavendish mall. The kind of place that smelled like rosemary and old stories.
Her father was already seated, sipping from a mug, his coat folded neatly beside him. He looked up as she arrived and smiled, the years softening in his face for a moment.
"There she is. My favorite troublemaker."
Luna slid into the seat opposite him. "You say that like you have others."
"Only on Tuesdays," he said, straight-faced. Then added, "You’ve been okay?"
She nodded. "Just... a lot on my mind."
They talked. Ate. Laughed. The conversation meandered through simple things: school, music, her photography. It wasn’t often they got moments like this—normal, warm, undisturbed by everything she wasn’t saying.
When the plates were cleared and dessert had arrived, her father glanced toward the TV above the bar. Footage of the upcoming solar eclipse dominated the screen. Charts, dates, warnings, and conspiracy theories.
"A month away now," he murmured.
"Hard to believe."
Luna followed his gaze. "People are acting like it’s the end of the world."
"Maybe it is. Or maybe it’s just change. Either way, it’s coming."
She hesitated, then asked quietly, "Dad... what was Mom like?"
He looked at her then, really looked. And something softened.
"She was light. Not in that fake, floaty way. Real light. The kind that made shadows move. She had this laugh that made people stop and look up. Brave. Kind. So stubborn it drove me crazy."
Luna smiled faintly. "Do you think she’d be proud of me?"
He reached across the table, placing a hand over hers. "She already is. Every da.."
Then the ground trembled.
The lights flickered. A pulse of orange lit the sky just outside the restaurant’s window.
Boom!
The explosion ripped through the air like a tear in the atmosphere.
People screamed. Glass shattered. Luna’s father grabbed her arm, pulling her low beneath the table as dust and heat blasted through the front windows.
Sirens followed seconds later. The calm was gone.
And something old had stirred.
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