(Part One)
The notification buzzed through the quiet of my dark room. I picked up my phone, and my heart skipped a beat.
"You ready? I'm outside."
It was Mahan.
I took a deep breath, dropped the phone on the desk, and walked to the mirror. There was a tremble under my skin, a rush I couldn't name. I quickly fixed my hair with my fingers, threw on a simple scarf, and headed to the door.
Mom was watching a series in the living room. She looked at me, eyebrows raised.
— "Where are you going?"
— "Just stepping out. I need some air."
— "Be back soon."
— "Promise."
The moment I stepped out, the cool night air wrapped around me like a secret. Down the street, I saw him—Mahan—leaning on his motorbike, phone in hand. The headlight cast a soft glow on his face, and when he looked up at me, that smile—the one I'd imagined a thousand times—spread across his lips.
— "Ready?"
— "I think… yeah."
— "Don't be scared. Tonight's just for us."
Climbing on behind him felt like shedding all the loneliness and noise I'd been carrying for months. I wrapped my arms around his waist, leaning against his back. The engine roared to life, and the city fell away behind us, street by street.
— "Mahan?"
— "Yeah?"
— "Where are we going?"
— "Somewhere only we know."
— "If you're planning to push me into a ravine where no one can find me—"
He laughed, that low, familiar sound that always made my stomach flip.
— "If I lose you, I lose myself. So no. Just trust me."
We rode in silence for a while, through empty streets and under lazy streetlights. There was something so strangely perfect about it—his warmth, the rhythm of the motor, the way the wind tugged at my scarf. I'd never felt safer.
Then he turned onto a quiet road, trees lining both sides like shadows guarding a secret. The motor slowed and eventually stopped at the edge of a small hill. Down below, the city lights twinkled like a shattered galaxy.
He cut the engine and looked back at me.
— "We're here."
I got off the bike, slightly confused. I'd never been out this far at night—especially not with a boy. But there was no fear. Not with him.
He took off his jacket and laid it on the dry grass.
— "Sit. This is the safest place in the world… when you're here."
I sat down beside him, gazing at the glowing city below. Everything felt… paused. Like this moment had slipped out of time just for the two of us.
— "You know what's strange?" I said.
— "What?"
— "When I'm with you, I feel like I'm someone else. Or maybe I'm finally just… me. The real me."
Mahan turned to me, his face half-lit by the faint light.
— "I feel the same. You're like that one fixed point I can look at when everything around me is spinning."
I stared at him. That look in his eyes… like he meant every word.
The wind played with my hair. He gently brushed a strand away.
— "Your hair… it's like your feelings. Wild, alive, and honest."
I smiled.
— "Mahan, be honest. Being here with me… does it mean you're going to stay?"
He looked serious, like really serious.
— "If you'd asked me that any other night, I might've hesitated. But not now. Not with this sky, this silence, and you. I'll stay. I promise."
I swear, my heart could've exploded right then and I wouldn't have cared.
He looked up at the stars. Then after a pause, he said:
— "Wanna do something no one else's done?"
⸻
Chapter Two: The Night That Couldn't Be Repeated
(Part Two – The Climb)
We walked toward the rocky slope. It wasn't too steep, but in the dark, every step felt like a little adventure. Mahan held my hand tightly, guiding me over loose stones and dry grass.
— "Almost there," he whispered.
— "Better be worth it," I teased.
He looked back and grinned.
— "Trust me. It's gonna feel like standing on the edge of the universe."
And he wasn't wrong.
When we finally reached the top, the city below looked unreal. Like a dream frozen in lights. The air was thinner up there, colder—but being close to him made it feel warmer than my room ever had.
We sat on the flat part of the rock. I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them. Mahan just laid back with his hands behind his head, looking up at the stars.
Silence. But the kind of silence that says everything.
— "You know," he said after a minute, "there's something weird about night skies."
— "Like what?"
— "Like… they remind you how small you are. But being here with you? It makes me feel bigger than I've ever felt. Like I matter."
I turned toward him slowly.
— "You do matter. More than you think."
He didn't answer right away. Just stared at the stars like they were telling him secrets. Then he sat up and looked at me.
— "Can I tell you something I've never told anyone?"
— "Yeah. Always."
He took a breath.
— "When I was ten, my dad left one night. Said he was going out. Never came back. I waited by the door till morning. I still remember how cold the floor felt. I don't know why, but since then… I've never trusted promises. I stopped believing people meant what they said."
That ache in his voice… it hurt to hear.
— "But tonight," he continued, "when I told you I'd stay… I meant it. You made me believe in staying again."
My chest felt tight. I didn't know if it was sadness or something deeper—something like love, but new, raw, unfinished.
I reached out and touched his hand.
— "I don't know what this is, Mahan… but I know it's real. And maybe that's enough."
He looked at me like he wanted to memorize my face. Like in case the world ended, this moment would be the thing he took with him.
Then he smiled.
— "We're not like other people, you know."
— "I know."
We sat there for what felt like hours, letting the wind talk for us. The stars didn't judge. The night didn't rush us.
Then, suddenly, Mahan stood up again.
— "I have one last surprise."
— "What now? A spaceship?"
— "Nope. But close."
He took his phone out of his pocket and connected it to a tiny Bluetooth speaker I hadn't even noticed he brought. He played a song—soft, slow, dreamy. One of those songs you don't even need lyrics for.
He held out his hand.
— "Dance with me."
I stared at him like he was insane.
— "Up here? You're crazy."
— "Maybe. But trust me—it's the good kind."
So I stood. Took his hand.
We danced under the stars, our shadows flickering in the moonlight, no rhythm but the one we made ourselves. It wasn't perfect—but it was ours. And in that clumsy, awkward, totally magical dance, I realized something.
I didn't want this night to end.
But every night has to.
When we finally climbed back down, when the city felt real again and the road home showed its face… I looked at him and asked:
— "Will this night mean something to you tomorrow?"
He stopped walking. Looked straight at me.
— "It already means everything."