My Own Moon

My Own Moon

The sun was slipping down, painting the sky in golds and pinks, but Mira barely noticed. She stood still, holding a string between her fingers — at the end of it floated a soft, cloud-shaped balloon, glowing faintly against the falling light.

Everyone else waited for the stars, for the real moon to rise, like always. But Mira shook her head.

“Ok, I’ll put up my own moon,” she said, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

The cloud-balloon shimmered, gathering bits of sunset color as it drifted higher. A homemade one. Imperfect, but hers.

She kept a tight grip on the string as she walked, feeling it bob and pull like a living thing. It lit her path in a way no ordinary moon ever had.

Above her, the first real stars blinked awake. But Mira didn’t look up. She already had her own sky.