I couldn't sleep. Again.
The stars looked the same above my rooftop, but they no longer just shimmered — they whispered. As if they carried echoes of that night… the night when **she** came into my world like a secret moonbeam walking on water.
Since then, everything felt heavier. Or maybe lighter. I couldn't tell. All I knew was that her absence pulled at me like a tide, and her presence haunted me like a fragrance I couldn't forget.
I sat there, hoodie wrapped around me like a shield, staring up at the blinking silence of the night sky.
And then—
**A soft knock.**
I froze.
No one knocks on a rooftop door.
I stood slowly. My heart was already sprinting ahead of me, screaming her name.
**It was her.**
She stood there, just like that first night — silver hair catching the moonlight, her eyes clouded with something that looked like sadness and wonder.
"You're awake," she said softly.
"I'm always awake lately," I answered.
She smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "I know."
---
We didn't speak for a few minutes.
She sat beside me, legs tucked up, arms wrapped around her knees like she was holding the entire galaxy in her chest.
"I had the dream again," she whispered. "Only this time… you weren't in it."
That hit deeper than I expected.
"I was looking for you," she continued, her voice thinner than the wind. "I kept calling your name. The world around me was fading. And I… I forgot your face in the dream."
I turned my head toward her. Her fingers trembled slightly against her sleeves.
"I'm right here," I said, gently. "You don't have to search anymore."
She looked up at me.
"No," she said. "That's not what scares me."
"Then what does?"
She hesitated. Then with a barely-there breath:
**"That one day… even if you're beside me… I won't remember how it felt to meet you under the night sky."**
I didn't know what to say. That kind of fear wasn't loud. It wasn't the kind of fear that made you scream. It was the kind that lived quietly in your bones. Like frost.
---
She leaned her head on my shoulder without asking. My entire body froze for half a second, then slowly relaxed like I was returning to something I'd been waiting for.
Her voice was muffled against my arm.
"Do you believe in fading stars?"
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Stars that shine only once… and then disappear, not because they burned out. But because they fulfilled their only purpose — to be seen by the right person."
I smiled faintly. "And then they vanish forever?"
She nodded.
"I think I was one," she said. "And I was meant to be seen by you."
---
My throat tightened.
This girl, who appeared out of nowhere, who knew me before I ever knew her name, who showed up only when the sky went dark — she was talking like someone who didn't belong to this world.
"Are you saying you're… leaving?"
She didn't answer.
But the silence did.
---
"I don't want you to be a fading star," I said, voice shaking.
"I don't want to be either," she replied, "but I'm not sure I have a choice."
There was a small pause.
"I think…" she said slowly, "there's a clock ticking somewhere. I can't hear it. But I feel it. And every night I spend with you makes the ticking louder. Not in a bad way… just in a final way."
---
I hated this.
I hated how her presence felt like a dream I was about to wake up from.
And yet, I couldn't stop myself from wanting every second of it.
"Then let me memorize you," I whispered. "So even if you vanish from the world, you won't vanish from me."
Her eyes widened slightly. Her breath hitched.
"Can I?" I asked. "Can I memorize your voice, your eyes, your name—"
"My name," she interrupted, her voice trembling, "doesn't belong in this world."
"Tell me anyway."
She closed her eyes.
Then slowly, as if tearing open a part of herself, she whispered,
**"Aurelia."**
It echoed. Like a lost word that had been floating in the space between stars, waiting to be spoken.
---
She didn't say anything else after that. Just leaned in closer, her body so still, it felt like time had paused for her.
I looked at her delicate features in the moonlight — her pale lashes, her trembling lips, the way her hair floated around her like silver mist.
If this was a dream, I didn't want to wake up.
---
The breeze picked up. She shivered slightly.
I took off my hoodie and wrapped it around her without saying a word.
She looked surprised.
"You'll be cold."
"I'd rather freeze than see you disappear."
She lowered her head, hiding her face behind the collar.
But I saw it.
**Tears.**
---
We sat in silence again, but it wasn't empty.
It was the kind of silence that had a heartbeat.
And then… she began humming something.
It was low and soft. A melody I didn't know, but it stirred something in me — like an old memory I'd never lived but always missed.
"What's that song?" I asked.
"It doesn't have a name," she said. "It only exists between two people… under the night sky… when one of them is about to say goodbye."
My heart dropped.
I turned to her, panic rising.
But before I could speak, she looked up with the softest, saddest smile.
"Not now," she said. "But… soon."
---
I couldn't speak. I just stared at her. At **Aurelia** — this starlit stranger who felt more like home than the house I'd grown up in.
I wanted to stop time.
I wanted to hold onto her hand.
But I knew — deep down — that some moments are like feathers in the wind. You don't catch them. You just feel lucky you touched them.
---
When she finally stood, the hoodie still draped over her shoulders, she looked at me one last time.
"I'll be here tomorrow," she whispered.
"But if I'm not… don't wait for the sky to bring me back."
"Then how will I find you again?" I asked.
Her answer was soft.
**"You already have."**
And with that, she stepped into the night.