It is strange how people forget things.

Stranger how some memories return only when something inside you shakes awake.

Five years ago I was in Rishikesh.

I joined a Yoga class because everyone said it was spiritual and life changing.

Maybe for me it was, but not in the way they meant.

There was a girl there.

Fair skin, deep eyes, hair like wet river stones.

She never spoke much, but she always smiled like she knew something you did not.

One evening after class, she asked if I liked horror stories.

I said yes, even though I rarely listened to any.

She suggested a podcast.

The story was about a small city where people started seeing full moon every night even when the calendar said otherwise even during new moon when the sky should have been dark.

I remember very little of the plot but I remember how she and I spent the night; laughing softly, speaking slowly and listening for almost eighteen hours as the story continued with no ending.

Eighteen hours feels like a lifetime when you do not sleep.

Eighteen hours feels like magic when your heart is young and open.

We shared something intense, something I thought would stay with me forever. But then she disappeared the next morning.

No goodbye.

No contact number.

No Instagram.

Nobody in class had her credentials.

Some said she went back to Germany.

No one could confirm.

After a few months, I forgot her.

Like we forget dreams by breakfast. Like we forget names of people we loved too quickly. Life replaced her with routine, bills, work, plans.

Until now.

Because I am getting married in seven days. A beautiful woman, a beautiful life ahead. Everything is perfect.

Except something is wrong with the sky.

For the last seven nights, I have seen the full moon.

Every night.

Bright, round, white.

People say it is normal but calendars do not lie.

There should have been darkness two days ago. But the moon was full, glowing like a white wound in the sky.

Yesterday, while checking old photos, I found a picture I never remembered taking. It was the girl. She was standing behind me. Her eyes were looking straight into the camera. Her smile was the same calm smile from Rishikesh.

But the moon behind her was full and huge like it was watching us both. I felt cold, but I kept it to myself. I thought it was coincidence.

Until today.

I was trying on my wedding sherwani when I heard a woman whisper behind me.

The voice was soft, like someone breathing inside my ear.

“Did you finish the story?”

I turned. No one was there. Only the mirror. Only me. And behind my reflection the full moon bright inside a room with no windows. Tonight is the eighth full moon. My wedding is in six days. And I do not think she ever left Rishikesh.

I think she followed me.

I think she has been waiting for me to remember.

Because some stories do not end.

Not after eighteen hours.

Not after five years.

Not even after marriage.

And I just realised something terrifying.

In that forgotten podcast they had said that the moon appears every night for only one reason. Someone who never left you is trying to come back.

To be continued…