I started awake at the sound of my phone ringing. I groaned at the faint recollection of switching it off silent last night. What time what was it? Two in the morning? I answered the phone.
“Hello,” I grumbled.
“Raman! Thank god you’re up. Listen –”
I imagined rolling my eyes behind the eyelids. It was typical of my little brother to call me at absurd times of the day with his highly inappropriate requests, asking for favors that always asked too much of me. I called him little brother, but he was just five years younger, thirty now. He needed to start acting like it.
“I really need my sleep, you know that, Pratham.”
“I know, I know. But you know I wouldn’t call you if it weren’t important.”
False.
“I’m waiting,” I said, with an obvious tone of impatience.
Silence.
“Pratham, I’m going back to sleep.” I started to cut the call.
“Don’t look up, Raman!”
I stopped. What?
“What?”
“Don’t look up.”
I look up. The fan rotates in a silent, hypnotizing motion. When did I last clean the blades? They were starting to get dusty. “What’s up?”
“The moon.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No! I mean it! Don’t look at the moon, Raman.”
I sigh. “Hold on.”
I shook off my sleep and sat up, rubbing my eyes. Tossing the sheets off my legs, I switched on the bedside lamp. I reached for my glasses and put them on. I was talking on the phone, what did I need my glasses for? It was a power move. It helped me focus. It intimidated my clients. It impressed my clients.
Tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder, I poured myself a glass of water and said, “Pratham.”
“Yes! Did you listen to what I said? Don’t look-”
“Have you been drinking again?”
He stopped abruptly. “No?”
I took a sip of water. “How much did you drink last night?”
“You’re not listening to me.”
“I am listening to you. Just not to what you’re saying. Two very different things Pratham.”
“I just called to help you. I don’t need your help.”
“Fine. Help me.”
“Don’t look at the moon, please. Just for tonight. Don’t believe anyone else. I have seen people-”
This was new. Did our parents know about this? Did the doctor know?”
I downed the water. “Look, Pratham.”
The line went silent. I called back a couple of times.
The number you are calling is switched off. Please try…
Typical of him, shutting me off. He’d had a tough time in his twenties, getting into the wrong company multiple times. In March 2034, after the massive militant religious cult was exposed by the journalists, the religion had crumbled as millions of people started converting or switching to atheism in a historical cascading effect. Immediately after, multiple other religions started cropping up, trying to establish dominance. Pratham got involved with one religious group after the other, and they all dissolved in a couple of months. It left him and so many other people stranded in a faithless existence for years, many losing their wits. I thought the country had finally starting to get used to a world without religion after six years.
I wondered what his therapist would say about this new moon thing. Did he even go to therapist anymore? I didn’t know. I took off my glasses and switched off the bedside lamp. I would deal with this tomorrow.
What now? I certainly couldn’t go back to sleep right away. I scrambled for the bottle of pills under my pillow and popped two into my mouth. Three? I couldn’t tell. I turned my phone on and waited for the auto brightness to adjust. A little social media before the pills kicked in couldn’t hurt. Not more than the pills anyway.
Suddenly, a news alert with the word ‘moon’ caught my eyes. I wasn’t much for current affairs except in my business, but I tapped on it anyway.
‘Prettiest moon in a century, scientists say.’
I frown. Strange headline. I scrolled through other headlines.
‘NASA confirms supernatural beauty of the moon’
‘Breathtaking moon starts poetry revolution overnight.’
‘Van Gogh sent moon, say conspiracy theorists.’
I frowned. Had I slept through all this? It seemed surreal, such ado about the moon. And what was Pratham saying about the moon? It was probably one of his mad ravings, to put it crudely, but could it have been triggered by this?
A notification alert on my phone. I shook my head. This way I’d never get any sleep. I would check my phone again next morning, I decided.
But suddenly, my phone chirped again. And again. And again. And again, and again, and again.
The phone dropped out of my hand and continued to chirp, dancing on the floor. I stared at it, not wanting to admit to myself how much it unnerved me, but not being able to mute the thumping in my chest. Sitting on my bed in the dark room, the light from the phone looked spectral. I steeled my nerves and reached for my still vibrating phone and looked at the screen.
It was filled with messages from all kinds of social media – Instagram, Facebook, Whatsapp. Even SMS and Email notifications. From my friends, from my parents, from my colleagues. From acquaintances I had not spoken to in years. From that guy I fancied at my gym.
I started reading.
My eyes widened as I went through the messages. Because they all seemed to say the same thing.
‘Look at the moon.’
‘The moon looks so pretty tonight, Raman.’
‘Raman, look up!’
‘This is the prettiest moon I have ever seen.’
‘The night sky looks gorgeous tonight.’
‘Look at the moon ‘
‘Look at the moon.’
‘Look at the moon.’
I shut my eyes. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing on my terrace, fifteen stories above ground level, leaning against the parapet. I didn’t remember how I got there, but I was still in my night clothes, barefoot. I knew it wasn’t possible, but I could have sworn that I still heard my phone buzzing downstairs. As I wriggled my toes against the mossy concrete I hadn’t set foot on in years, I realized that I was standing underneath the bare sky.
The moon.
What was it all about? I mean, sure, the moon was beautiful and all, but how pretty could it be? How different could it be? But everyone was saying it was, so it must be. I was just about to look up when a frantic voice rang in my ears.
Don’t look at the moon!
Why had Pratham seemed so scared? Sure, he was depressed, probably drinking again, but he had never in the last six years called me of his own accord. He had too much of an ego. His desperate, pleading voice was different. It was something I had never heard before. Why shouldn’t I look up at the moon? What was the big deal? Heck, NASA would agree!
I pushed Pratham to the back of my mind and resolved to deal with him the next day. For now, I would enjoy this apparent lunar masterpiece everyone was talking about. The moon seemed to nudge me playfully.
Look at me, Raman. I’m beautiful.
Slowly, I looked up. The moon was perfectly overhead. I stared at it for a while. A perfect circle, it glistened against the prussian blue sky. I could feel the moonlight making everything around me beautiful, peaceful. I couldn’t tell why, but it was true; this moon felt different. It felt prettier than any other moon I had ever seen. I sighed as the moon filled up my lungs, filled up my veins with its moonlight. It took control of me; the moon was my soul, my mind. My brain was clear of any reservations I had had. I didn’t remember… anything. There was something that had been bothering me, but I didn’t remember it anymore. The moon was too beautiful.
I gazed at the moon, mesmerized, for a good thirty minutes. I stood there, my neck craned up, just staring. My eyes glazed, but I don’t think I blinked.
Finally, smiling, I looked away from the moon. I rested my hands against the parapet, still smiling, and looked over.
And then I jumped.
