The night had been perfectly ordinary—at least, until the moon decided otherwise.
Lala had been sitting on the balcony of her small house in the quiet countryside, her favorite place to unwind after a long day. She was sipping warm tea, the air heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine, and the crickets sang their usual chorus from the fields. The moon was already high above the horizon, glowing with its familiar silver light.
She didn’t expect anything unusual. In fact, she was half-asleep in her chair, letting the night lull her into calm. But then—something caught her attention.
At first, it was subtle: the light of the moon seemed… warmer. Instead of the usual pale glow, it began to shimmer faintly with gold. Lala blinked, rubbed her eyes, and leaned forward over the balcony railing.
The moonlight was changing.
She stood up, holding her breath. The silvery disc above seemed to ripple, as though a veil of water were flowing across it. Then, without warning, a thin vertical line appeared right down the center of the moon, splitting it in two.
“What on earth…?” Lala whispered.
The two halves of the moon began to drift apart—slowly at first, then more quickly. Between them, a strange swirling light emerged, like the opening of a cosmic tunnel. It pulsed with colors she had no words for—hues between green and blue, and shades beyond red. It was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic.
Lala’s heart was pounding.
She was no scientist, but she had read enough astronomy books to know this was impossible. The moon didn’t just split in half. She fumbled for her phone, trying to record, but the camera failed to focus. All she got was a blur of light.
And then she realized something else—everything around her had gone completely silent.
The crickets had stopped singing. The wind was no longer brushing through the grass. Even the distant hum of motorcycles on the highway was gone. The silence was absolute, thick enough to make her ears ache.
From the glowing rift in the moon, something began to emerge.
At first, she thought it was a beam of light. But as it descended, it took shape—a long, delicate ribbon of luminescence, like a thread of silver silk unspooling from the sky. It touched the earth somewhere far beyond the horizon, glowing faintly as it swayed in the still air.
A strange tingling sensation crawled over Lala’s skin. She could feel the moonlight—not just see it. It was warm and cool at the same time, an impossible mix. She clutched the railing, afraid to move.
Suddenly, the silver thread flickered, and an almost invisible wave pulsed down from the moon toward the ground. As it passed over her balcony, she felt something shift inside her head—a momentary dizziness, followed by an overwhelming rush of… memory?
She saw flashes: vast oceans under alien skies, tall crystal towers, and people—or beings—walking among gardens of glowing flowers. She felt emotions that weren’t hers—wonder, longing, joy—and an unshakable sense that she had been here before.
The vision faded as quickly as it came, leaving her breathless.
The two halves of the moon began to move back together, sealing the glowing rift. The thread of light retracted, vanishing into the closing gap. Within moments, the moon looked whole again—perfectly normal, as if nothing had happened.
The crickets resumed their song. A breeze stirred the jasmine. Somewhere, a motorcycle roared past.
The world had gone back to normal.
Lala, however, had not.
She sat down slowly, her tea long since gone cold. What had she just witnessed? She tried to convince herself it was an optical illusion, maybe some rare atmospheric event. But no—she could still feel that strange warmth in her chest, and her mind buzzed with the images she’d seen.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound. She froze, straining to listen. It was a voice—soft, melodic, but coming from nowhere she could pinpoint.
“Lala…” it whispered, barely louder than the rustling leaves.
Her skin prickled. “Who’s there?” she called, her voice trembling.
Silence again
She shook her head, forcing herself to breathe. Maybe she was tired. Maybe her brain was filling in the blanks with dreams. She decided to go inside, but as she closed the balcony door, she caught one last glimpse of the moon.
It seemed closer.
That night, Lala couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, the vision returned—the alien ocean, the crystal towers, the glowing flowers. And always, the faint voice calling her name. She woke several times, heart racing, half expecting to see the moonlight spilling into her room.
The next morning, she checked the news. Strangely, there was nothing—no reports, no videos, no discussions about any strange lunar events. Social media was silent, too. It was as if she had been the only witness.
By afternoon, she was pacing the living room, restless and frustrated. She knew what she saw. It wasn’t a dream. But how could something so massive happen without anyone else noticing?
That evening, as the sun set, she went back to the balcony. Part of her hoped the phenomenon would happen again; another part dreaded it.
The moon rose slowly, bathed in the usual silver glow. Lala kept her eyes on it, barely blinking. Hours passed. Nothing unusual happened.
But just as she was about to give up and go inside, a sudden shiver ran down her spine. The air grew still again. The crickets fell silent.
She looked up.
The moon wasn’t splitting this time—but its surface rippled faintly, as though something beneath it was shifting. And then, for the briefest moment, she saw a shadow pass across it. Not the shadow of a cloud—something moving inside the moon.
The voice returned, clearer now.
“Soon.”
And then, as quickly as it had come, the feeling vanished. The crickets resumed their song, the wind returned, and the moon was just a moon again.
Lala gripped the railing, her breath shallow. She didn’t know what “soon” meant—but she had the unshakable feeling her life had just changed forever.
She would keep watching the moon.
And next time, she wouldn’t just be a witness.
