Beneath the Winter Moon
He let the bond snap as he kissed her, as if I never mattered.
But I clapped along with the rest, my hands moving on instinct, not heart. As the happy couple made their rounds, basking in praise and admiration, I drifted toward the garden gate.
The garden was blooming, perfumed with roses and wild jasmine. Petals trembled under the soft evening breeze, catching slivers of moonlight like they were trying to glow. Laughter echoed behind me, clinking glasses and cheerful chatter bouncing off marble and stone—but none of it touched me. It all felt muted, as if I were underwater, sinking inch by inch.
Bab Populer