until the moon fades

Yohan, voiceover: I have always thought people were strange.

Not in the philosophical way.

In the very literal way.

People will spend thousands of dollars removing a scar and then spend another thousand getting a tattoo designed to look like one.

They’ll cover their bodies in flowers because they think they’re beautiful.

They’ll tattoo dates they swear they’ll never forget.

Names they swear they’ll never stop loving.

Promises they swear they’ll never break.

And then they’ll grow old and realize half of those promises were lies.

That’s why I never tattooed names.

Too permanent.

At twenty-seven, I’d learnt to appreciate temporary things.

Temporary cities.

Temporary relationships.

Temporary parties.

Temporary happiness.

It made life easier.

If nothing lasted, nothing could really hurt.

At least, that’s what I believed.

Until Bali.

“You’re going to love it.”

Jay was standing beside the airport luggage carousel wearing sunglasses indoors.

I stared at him.

YOHAN: “You told me we were coming because your grandmother died.”

JAY: “She didn’t.”

YOHAN: “I know that now.”

JAY: “Technically, I said there was a family emergency.”

YOHAN: “You said funeral.”

JAY: “Funeral sounds more urgent.”

YOHAN: “I nearly called your mother.”

JAY: “And ruin the surprise?”

I looked at him.

YOHAN: “You’re a terrible human being.”

Jay smiled.

JAY: “Yet you flew twelve hundred miles with me.”

YOHAN: “Because I thought someone died.”

JAY: “And now nobody has.”

He slapped my shoulder.

JAY: “Vacation?”

I sighed.

YOHAN: “Vacation.”

Bali was different from what I expected.

It wasn’t just beaches.

It was noise and color and humidity.

Scooters everywhere.

Incense drifting through streets.

Rice fields stretching endlessly.

Tourists walking around as if sunscreen were a personality.

And people smiling.

Everyone seemed to smile here.

Everyone except her.

I saw her the next morning.

Ubud.

Around six.

I was walking alone because Jay had apparently decided that sleeping until noon was an appropriate response to jet lag.

Then I saw a girl sitting beside the road.

Barefoot.

Her sandals beside her.

Long curly hair covering most of her face.

She was crying.

Not loudly.

That was what caught my attention.

There was something almost peaceful about it.

Like she’d cried so much that the tears had become routine.

I stopped.

I should have walked away.

Instead, I said—

YOHAN: “You know, Bali is supposed to make people happy.”

She looked up.

Her eyes were red.

Beautiful.

Tired.

Annoyed.

NABI: “Maybe I’m defective.”

I smiled.

YOHAN: “That’s one way to start a morning.”

She wiped her cheek.

NABI: “Why are you talking to me?”

YOHAN: “I don’t know.”

I sat beside her.

She frowned.

NABI: “Why are you sitting?”

YOHAN: “My legs hurt.”

NABI: “You could sit somewhere else.”

YOHAN: “I could.”

She looked at me.

NABI: “Then why don’t you?”

I smiled.

YOHAN: “Curiosity.”

NABI: “Curiosity killed the cat.”

YOHAN: “Good thing I’m not a cat.”

She looked at my tattooed arms.

NABI: “You could be.”

YOHAN: “Are you flirting with me?”

She looked horrified.

NABI: “No.”

YOHAN: “Shame.”

She rolled her eyes.

And somehow—

I made her smile.

Only for a second.

But I saw it.

YOHAN: “There.”

NABI: “What?”

YOHAN: “You smiled.”

NABI: “No.”

YOHAN: “You did.”

NABI: “Prove it.”

I lifted my phone.

YOHAN: “I’ll take a picture next time.”

She immediately covered her face.

NABI: “Don’t.”

I laughed.

YOHAN: “Okay. Definitely doing that.”

She laughed again.

And something about that sound made me forget I had somewhere to be.

Her name was Nabi.

Twenty-five.

Alone in Bali.

No proper hotel.

No itinerary.

No return plan.

That should have been my first warning.

Instead, I took her to our guesthouse.

Jay opened the door.

He looked at me.

Then Nabi.

Then me again.

JAY: “Oh.”

YOHAN: “Don’t.”

JAY: “I haven’t said anything.”

YOHAN: “Your face did.”

Nabi looked confused.

NABI: “Is he always like this?”

YOHAN: “Unfortunately.”

JAY: “I’m Jay.”

NABI: “Nabi.”

Jay smiled.

JAY: “Nice to meet you, Nabi.”

Then he looked at me.

JAY: “She’s pretty.”

YOHAN: “Jay.”

JAY: “What?”

YOHAN: “Stop.”

Jay walked away.

Then shouted from inside—

JAY: “Don’t have sex in my room!”

Nabi’s eyes widened.

I closed mine.

YOHAN: “I hate him.”

Nabi laughed.

A real laugh.

And I remember thinking:

There she is.

That night, we went to Canggu.

Music.

Neon.

Bodies everywhere.

Nabi stood beside me looking like she’d accidentally walked into the wrong universe.

YOHAN: “You’ve never been to a party?”

NABI: “No.”

YOHAN: “You’ve never drunk?”

NABI: “No.”

YOHAN: “Smoked?”

NABI: “No.”

YOHAN: “Kissed someone?”

Silence.

I slowly turned toward her.

YOHAN: “Seriously?”

She looked away.

NABI: “Don’t make it weird.”

YOHAN: “I’m not making it weird. I’m impressed.”

NABI: “Why?”

YOHAN: “Because you’ve managed to avoid every bad decision I’ve ever made.”

NABI: “Maybe you’re just irresponsible.”

YOHAN: “Maybe.”

She looked toward the dance floor.

NABI: “You’re a tattoo artist, aren’t you?”

I glanced at her.

YOHAN: “How did you know?”

She pointed at my arms.

NABI: “The clues are subtle.”

I laughed.

YOHAN: “Yeah. I am.”

NABI: “Are you good?”

I placed a hand dramatically over my chest.

YOHAN: “That hurt.”

She smiled.

NABI: “It’s a simple question.”

YOHAN: “I’m very good.”

NABI: “Confident.”

YOHAN: “Successful.”

NABI: “Arrogant.”

YOHAN: “You forgot, handsome.”

She stared at me.

NABI: “I was trying to be polite.”

I laughed.

YOHAN: “Fair.”

She looked at my tattoos again.

NABI: “Why tattoos?”

For the first time that night, I didn’t have a joke ready.

I looked down at my hands.

YOHAN: “Art school.”

NABI: “You went to art school?”

YOHAN: “For a while.”

NABI: “What changed?”

I leaned against the railing.

The music behind us was loud enough that we had to speak closer.

YOHAN: “I started with drawing.”

NABI: “People?”

YOHAN: “Mostly.”

NABI: “And then?”

I smiled.

YOHAN: “Then I realized paper was boring.”

She laughed.

NABI: “That’s your artistic philosophy?”

YOHAN: “Pretty much.”

I looked toward the ocean.

YOHAN: “We had life-drawing classes.”

She waited.

YOHAN: “The first time I saw a nude model standing in front of the class, everyone became awkward.”

NABI: “Including you?”

YOHAN: “Especially me.”

She smiled.

YOHAN: “But after a while, I stopped seeing the body as something embarrassing.”

Her expression softened.

YOHAN: “I started noticing how different everyone was.”

NABI: “Different how?”

YOHAN: “Everything.”

I gestured toward her.

YOHAN: “Skin tone. Bone structure. Stretch marks. Scars. Moles. The way someone’s shoulders sit. The shape of their hands. The little imperfections people spend their entire lives trying to hide.”

She was quiet.

YOHAN: “That’s when I realized the human body is probably the most interesting canvas there is.”

NABI: “Because it’s imperfect?”

YOHAN: “Because it’s personal.”

She looked at me.

NABI: “What’s the difference?”

YOHAN: “A blank canvas doesn’t have a history.”

I paused.

YOHAN: “A body does.”

Her fingers slowly tightened around the railing.

NABI: “Scars?”

YOHAN: “Scars.”

NABI: “Moles?”

YOHAN: “Moles.”

NABI: “Wrinkles?”

YOHAN: “Those too.”

She smiled faintly.

NABI: “You really notice all that?”

YOHAN: “It’s my job.”

NABI: “No. It’s not.”

I looked at her.

She continued.

NABI: “Your job is tattooing.”

She stepped closer.

NABI: “You’re talking about people.”

That caught me off guard.

I smiled slowly.

YOHAN: “Maybe you’re more observant than you look.”

NABI: “Maybe you’re more sentimental than you pretend.”

I laughed under my breath.

YOHAN: “Careful.”

NABI: “Why?”

YOHAN: “You’re starting to figure me out.”

NABI: “And that’s bad?”

YOHAN: “For me? Usually.”

She studied my face.

NABI: “Do you tattoo scars?”

YOHAN: “Sometimes.”

NABI: “Why?”

YOHAN: “Some people want to hide them.”

NABI: “And others?”

YOHAN: “Want to turn them into something beautiful.”

She looked down.

Something changed in her face.

YOHAN: “Do you have one?”

She immediately looked at me.

NABI: “A scar?”

I nodded.

NABI: “Everyone has one.”

YOHAN: “I didn’t ask everyone.”

Silence.

Her eyes met mine.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then she looked away.

NABI: “You’re nosy.”

YOHAN: “You’re mysterious.”

NABI: “Maybe I don’t want to be understood.”

YOHAN: “Maybe you don’t have to be.”

She looked back at me.

NABI: “Then why are you trying?”

I didn’t answer immediately.

Because I didn’t know.

That was the problem.

I had known her for less than a day.

And already, I wanted to know things I had no right to ask.

A few minutes later, we walked away from the party.

The beach was almost empty.

The waves swallowed the music behind us.

Nabi took off her shoes and walked barefoot through the sand.

I watched her.

NABI: “Stop staring.”

YOHAN: “I’m not.”

NABI: “You are.”

YOHAN: “I’m observing.”

NABI: “That’s creepier.”

I laughed.

YOHAN: “Occupational hazard.”

She threw a little sand at me.

YOHAN: “Violence already?”

NABI: “You deserve it.”

We walked for a while.

Then she said—

NABI: “My parents wanted me to become a doctor.”

YOHAN: “Did you?”

NABI: “Want to?”

She nodded.

Then shook her head.

Then laughed quietly.

NABI: “I don’t know.”

I studied her.

YOHAN: “That’s a very complicated answer.”

NABI: “My whole life is complicated.”

YOHAN: “You don’t look complicated.”

She smiled sadly.

NABI: “That’s because you don’t know me.”

She walked toward the ocean.

I followed.

YOHAN: “Then tell me.”

She stopped.

Turned.

And for a second, something in her expression scared me.

NABI: “What do you want to know?”

YOHAN: “Everything.”

She laughed once.

But there was no humour in it.

NABI: “You don’t mean that.”

YOHAN: “Try me.”

NABI: “Why?”

YOHAN: “Because you look like someone who’s been carrying something alone for too long.”

Her smile disappeared.

NABI: “You don’t know anything about me.”

YOHAN: “You’re right.”

I stepped closer.

YOHAN: “But I know what loneliness looks like.”

She stared at me.

NABI: “Do you?”

YOHAN: “Yeah.”

NABI: “You don’t seem lonely.”

YOHAN: “That’s the trick.”

She looked at the water.

NABI: “Everyone thinks I’m lucky.”

YOHAN: “Are you?”

She took a breath.

NABI: “I don’t know.”

YOHAN: “Then what are you doing here?”

She was silent for so long that I thought she wouldn’t answer.

Finally—

NABI: “Running.”

YOHAN: “From what?”

She looked at me.

Her eyes were shining again.

NABI: “Everything.”

YOHAN: “That’s not an answer.”

NABI: “It’s the only one I have.”

I softened my voice.

YOHAN: “Nabi.”

She swallowed.

NABI: “I thought I had time.”

I didn’t understand.

Not yet.

YOHAN: “Time for what?”

She looked at the ocean.

The moonlight trembled across the water.

NABI: “Everything.”

I waited.

She didn’t continue.

And for the first time in my life, I didn’t make a joke to fill the silence.

Because something told me—

whatever Nabi had run from...

It was coming for her.

And somehow, I already knew I’d be standing there when it arrived.