When the Dragon Ate the Moon — Act I

Awaking the Dragon

The moment the clock struck 6, Isla’s phone buzzed. The buzz was faint, drowned by the sound of pouring rain outside. She was still in her office, drowning in unread emails, while most of the staff had already gone home.

Ever since she’d heard the news of Lennox’s arrival earlier that day, she had found herself half expecting a message from him. He didn't know anyone else in the city—she was the closest thing to a friend he had. Even so, she wasn't completely sure he was going to contact her at all.

She glanced at the screen.

1 unread message

Fuck, Isla cursed silently. This could go either way: it might be a text from someone else, which would make her heart sink—or it was Lennox, in which case her nervous system would instantly spiral. Neither outcome was good for her.

She tried to ignore the text, turning her focus back to the abandoned emails, but the visible notification on her screen made her anxious. The longer she waited, the more it felt like walking towards the edge of a precipice. She was just delaying the inevitable fall for as long as she could.

This text is now both him and not him, she thought, much like the Schrödinger’s cat is both dead and alive. But which is worse: having a 50% chance it’s him, or knowing 100% that it's not?

She decided that disappointment was better than the agony of not knowing. So she took a deep breath and, in one swift motion, grabbed the phone off the table and unlocked it.

She saw the name on the screen and her heart skipped a beat.

It's him.

She tapped the message.

Hey, I'm in town. Meet up for dinner? x

In that instant, everything inside her ran riot. Memories and images and forgotten words rushing in at once like a fast forwarded movie scene, and she felt a familiar pang in her chest. He’d caused a goddamn hurricane with such minimal effort.

She paused and gave his invitation a good thought—but not because there was any possibility of her saying no to it. How could she? He’d been all she thought about ever since they met the year before. Their encounter was brief, but it tilted her reality off-axis. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced with anyone else. She hesitated, because she realized this particular invitation wasn't like any other. This one carried with it a magnitude of things to come.

Okay, I'm doing this. Keep it light, keep it chill, keep it casual. Light, chill, casual, she repeated these words to herself while typing the reply:

Hey, you! Sure, would love to! Where are you staying? I'll pick you up at 8?

Jesus. Excited much? she immediately thought after pressing Send.

After the chaotic aftermath of having met him last year, she promised herself one thing: never, ever show just how deeply he affected her—like hiding a bruise so no one could press on it. Their connection, she felt it on a spiritual level, but she often wondered if she was the only one.

Even if it was real, maybe all they could ever have were mere fireworks—tiny explosions that lit up the sky for a brief moment before darkness resumed. She had made her peace with it, though. After all, fireworks were still something, and something was better than nothing. She didn't want to ruin it by wanting more than what was possible.

—

Isla arrived at his hotel at exactly 8 p.m. Stepping into the lobby, she sent him a text to say she was downstairs—and waited. The next few minutes were excruciating, like those last seconds of holding your breath underwater, just before your chest feels like it’s about to explode. Anxiety was eating her alive.

Just as she was about to check her phone for what felt like the millionth time, she saw him. Lennox stepped out of the elevator and began walking toward the foyer. Tall and slender as ever, he moved with a quiet ease, his presence unmistakable even from across the room. His hair was tousled and textured, swept back from his forehead in soft waves, a perfect balance between undone and controlled, like everything about him had been carefully unplanned. One of the staff greeted him, and he politely smiled in return.

She almost couldn’t believe the sight. All of this is surreal, she thought. Meeting him had been one of those rare collisions that only happen once in a lifetime, so naturally, she never expected to see him again. And yet, here he was—in the flesh. That familiar force who had once wreaked havoc in her life.

His smile grew when he saw her, quickened his steps, and wrapped her in a hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek when he reached her. Funnily enough, his presence made all her anxiety vanish into thin air. In that moment, there was only him—and everything else ceased to matter.

—

Throughout dinner, Isla watched him closely as he told her stories—about his travels, his friends, his apartment. While he talked, she mentally traced the shape of his face, burning it into her memory. Those eyes, she thought, they always look so sad. Like he was carrying a burden of a memory he couldn’t put down.

Over the past year of exchanged texts, Lennox had always come across as composed—steady, unbothered. But here and now, with him sitting across from her, she could feel it: the loneliness beneath the surface.

To anyone passing by, it would’ve looked like nothing more than two old friends catching up. They ate, shared a few beers, and talked for hours, about nothing and everything.

Except for Isla, there was nothing casual about it. It was a temporal anomaly dressed as fate. A crack in time where the universe let something slip through—quiet and subtle on the surface, but carries an undercurrent strong enough to sweep you away.

They only realized how late it had gotten when the staff turned the dimmer up and the lights flared bright, snapping the moment back into real time.

—

It was almost two in the morning when they pulled up to his hotel.

Isla was about to thank him when he turned to her, smiled, and said, “Thank you for dinner. I’m glad I got to see you again.” She only let out a smile when he leaned in, kissed her cheek, and stepped out of the car.

He ducked down to catch her gaze one last time. “See you at the festival!” he said, and gently closed the door. Waving from afar, he then climbed the steps toward the lobby. Through the car window, Isla watched his figure grow smaller until it disappeared behind the glass doors.

There was a certain heaviness in her chest, and in the air—and she wondered how something so good could’ve ruined her so badly.

The thought lingered, heavy and unshakable, as she turned to face the road and pulled away—as if distance might dull the ache.

—

The sun had just set by the time Isla checked in to the resort on the day of the festival.

She’d barely slept the night before, and figured she’d crash for a few hours before heading to the venue. She entered the room, set down her luggage, and dropped herself onto the soft, cold bed. Staring up at the wooden ceiling, she closed her eyes—and scenes from last year began to replay in her mind, slow and uninvited.

It was Lennox’s first time playing a gig in her city. She worked for the promoter who had invited him and his band, and the night before the show, his liaison—who was also Isla’s friend—wanted to bring her over to their dinner table to introduce her.

At first, she wasn’t sure she should go as she didn’t want to interrupt. But her friend convinced her—or rather, insisted—especially after learning she was a fan of the band.

So, minutes later, half-dragged by his charming friend, the liaison, she made her way to the table. Trying to mask her nerves, she forced a big smile, shook his hand, and told him her name. “She’s a big fan of yours!” her friend said gleefully. Her face flushed red.

Trying to ease the awkwardness, Lennox quickly joked, “Oh, thanks, but I’m actually pretty boring in real life.” Isla smiled, and replied, “I doubt it.”

Without a whisper or warning, with that simple interaction, a tide was about to set off.

—

That night, Isla left right after and didn’t see Lennox again until the next day at the press conference. It didn’t start too early, but was followed immediately by a string of exclusive interviews with a handful of media. By the time it was all over—nearly two and a half hours later—she was pretty sure he was exhausted.

Isla walked over to his table with a bottle of water and took the seat beside him.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a big gulp straight from the bottle.

“No worries,” she replied, watching his expression for a beat, then added, “You must be tired. The others already went back to the hotel after the press con ended. Do you want the driver to take you back…” She hesitated, but pressed on, “or are you going to let me take you to lunch?”

She held his gaze for a second. Before he could answer, she continued, “Consider it an apology for letting the press thing drag on so long.” Her lips curled into a half-guilty, half-grinning smile, cushioning the mischief she’d slipped into her tone.

Considering her offer, Lennox glanced at his watch—it was already 1 p.m. He looked mildly surprised, as if only just realizing how late it had gotten, and that he wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t pointed it out.

He thought for a moment, then a small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“Great.” Isla pulled out her phone to call her friend, the liaison, to let him know she was taking Lennox to lunch, then rang the driver to request a pickup at the lobby.

On the way to the restaurant, they talked about the city and its nightmarish traffic, but also how alive and real everything felt. They spent the next two hours eating and talking at the local high-end restaurant she liked.

Being with him felt like the most natural thing in the world. She could feel herself slowly being pulled in by his gravity—but that was probably because he was so charming, anyone would be drawn the same way. She could feel a charge in the air between them too—but that was probably just her imagination.

But then, there was the hand holding.

They sat in the backseat of the car on the way back to his hotel. Isla was looking out the window when the car hit a bump, and her arm brushed against his. Then, without a word, Lennox took her hand and wrapped his fingers gently around hers. When it happened, a strange feeling swept over her, like a memory from a life that never existed.

Isla didn’t flinch. She only met his gaze, saying nothing—an unspoken understanding passing between them.

They stayed like that, palms pressed, fingers laced—a gesture so innocent, yet it felt like the most intimate thing in the world. The weight of the moment hung thick between them, suspended in a silence that said more than words ever could.

Later, with the image of them holding hands in the car replaying in her mind like a looped scene, Isla drifted off to sleep.

---

Act II: The Full Moon — coming soon.