Every night, before she slept, Gudiya talked to the moon.
Not out loud. Just in her head. She would climb onto her bed, pull the blanket up to her chin, and look out of the small window above her pillow. If the moon was there — round and bright and steady — she felt safe enough to close her eyes.
One night the moon wasn't there.
Gudiya pressed her nose against the glass. Nothing. Just dark sky and a few distant stars that didn't count.
She went to her mother. "Amma, where is the moon?"
Her mother was folding clothes. "Behind the clouds," she said. "It will come back."
"But what if it doesn't?"
Her mother smiled. "It always does."
Gudiya went back to bed. But she couldn't sleep.
She decided to wait.
She waited a long time. Long enough for Amma to finish the clothes. Long enough for the house to go quiet. Long enough for one cloud to drift past, and then another.
And then — slowly — a glow appeared at the edge of the sky.
Then a curve.
Then the whole moon, round and bright and steady, exactly where it always was.
Gudiya let out a long breath.
"You came back," she whispered.
The moon didn't say anything. It never did. But it stayed there, steady and still, all the way until morning.
That was enough.
Sleep tight, little one.
