Moon, Zoe, and One Conversation

It was the same old sight for the regulars at that bar, Moon was famous (rather infamous) for creating a mess every weekend. It was almost monotonous how she would enter the bar at sharp nine, flaunting a brand new dress from an expensive label each time, and occupy the centremost table of the bar, alone. Her first order was always a plate of chicken wings with a glass of whisky sour. Despite a sexy dress and flawlessly done makeup and hair, and a pair of heels easily worth half a lakh, there was an undisguised pain on her face, so tangible that one could simply feel it by a semi-touch of her skin. 

Like many people, Moon, too, found relief in dim lights, loud music and a dozen strangers by her side. The feeling of being “unseen” was a temporary relief from the world where she was rejected, rejected so mercilessly. Yet, after drowning herself in a pool of alcohol, Moon became an attention magnet. 

Some men and almost all women hated Moon for grabbing all the attention, she was even called names — bitch, slut, psychotic and outlandish surely made their place in the list. To be not found out by her parents, Moon never drove her own car to these so-called secret hidings, and hence, men happily volunteered to help her with a ride. Moon never remembered what happened after that, without a surprise. 

Talking about that particular night, everything was mundane as if someone was playing the same clip of the movie from every weekend, except for one uncanny thing. Moon was not offered a ride by any greedy man this time. Yes, a complete stranger, dressed in a white dress, nude heels and a beautiful gold necklace, a gorgeous woman named Zoe pressed the brakes on her car looking at Moon almost losing her grip on the floor, lost alone in a bustling crowd of judgmental people.