The Light of Luna
Selene's POV
It had been exactly a year since Luna's wedding—since we'd danced under strings of marigold lights and cheered as she and Aarav sealed their forever in the blush of Indian tradition. Time had moved like river water—soft, steady, with ripples of love threading through every season.
And now, a message had arrived.
A baby girl. Luna had given birth to a beautiful, healthy daughter.
The moment Antonio read it aloud to me, joy bloomed in our little Paris apartment like spring. Within days, we had booked our flight. India once again called to us—not with fanfare this time, but with the warmth of new beginnings.
When we stepped off the plane in Delhi, a soft wave of nostalgia hit me. But it was different now—richer, deeper. Antonio's fingers curled around mine as we walked through the airport, our hearts in sync with the news waiting just beyond those doors.
In the hospital room, Luna sat on the bed, her face glowing despite the tired lines beneath her eyes. Her husband, Aarav, beamed with pride beside her. And in her arms, wrapped in a soft cream blanket, was the tiniest human I'd ever seen—red-cheeked, sleepy-eyed, and utterly perfect.
"She's here," Luna whispered, her voice fragile with awe. "Our daughter."
"What's her name?" Antonio asked gently.
Luna looked at us and smiled. "Anaya. It means 'care' or 'compassion' in Sanskrit. She arrived like a blessing."
I stepped closer, my hand pressed to my heart. "She's beautiful, Luna. She has your nose… and Aarav's lips."
Antonio leaned in, his voice low and warm. "And a glow that already tells us she'll rule hearts."
Luna chuckled softly, her eyes misty. "You're both the first ones I wanted to see. This moment… I wanted you here for it."
We sat with them for hours, laughing, sharing stories, holding Anaya in turns while the sun set behind the hospital windows. It wasn't just a visit—it was a promise. A new chapter in the story we'd been writing since that very first crush, that very first heartbreak.
Later that evening, Antonio and I stood on the hospital terrace, the city buzzing quietly below us.
"She's going to grow up with so much love," I said, still holding onto the feel of Anaya's tiny hand curling around my finger.
Antonio wrapped his arm around my waist. "She already has more than most."
I looked up at him, our eyes reflecting the same thought. That maybe, one day, we'd be holding our own little miracle, too.
But for now—this moment, this joy, this new life—was enough.