A Lunchbox for the Moon

Asha had put on her blue star-patterned pyjamas, but she was not quite ready to go inside. Above the terrace, a crescent moon hung like a silver smile. The pots cast long shadows, and warm light from the open doorway made a square on the floor.

Chiku sat at its edge, his one brown ear pointing towards her.

‘Everyone has had supper,’ Asha said. Then she looked up. ‘Almost everyone.’

She fetched her round red lunchbox and set it on the low table. Chiku hopped closer. A lunchbox at this hour was worth investigating, even for a rabbit who had already eaten.

Asha opened the tin. Chiku sniffed its empty middle, then looked at her with the hopeful patience of someone expecting a carrot.

‘What do you think moons eat?’ she asked.

Chiku offered no answer. His nose offered another sniff.

Asha imagined an enormous plate of rice, but the moon seemed too far away to carry a plate to. Perhaps a little pretend supper would do. She could leave it in the moonlight and see what happened.

‘This is a game,’ she told Chiku. ‘Not rabbit food.’

He sat back on his haunches. The arrangement was becoming less promising, but Asha looked very busy.

Beside a garden pot, Asha found one fallen leaf, three short twigs, and a smooth pebble. She brushed them clean with her fingers and carried them to the table.

The leaf could be a pancake. The three twigs could be noodles. The pebble made a very convincing potato, provided nobody tried to bite it.

Chiku watched from a safe distance, chewing nothing at all.

Asha laid each thing beside the open tin before choosing its place. A moon might not use a fork, she decided. There was no need to fetch one. She had all the ingredients for her make-believe supper.

She folded the leaf gently into the tin, laid the three twig noodles beside it, and nestled the pebble potato at the edge. Everything fitted without a lid.

Then Asha moved the lunchbox into a clear patch of moonlight on the table. She turned it a little so the moon could see all three courses.

‘Supper is ready,’ she announced softly.

Chiku looked up at the silver crescent. The silver crescent did not look down, or nod, or come any closer. Asha tucked her hands beneath her chin. Perhaps a journey from the sky took longer than a walk from the kitchen.

Asha counted five slow breaths. Then she counted the stars she could see beside the roof. The moon stayed above the terrace, exactly where a moon should be.

She nudged the tin a little farther into the light. Still nothing.

Chiku lowered his ears and settled beside the table. He had stopped expecting a carrot. Asha had not quite stopped expecting a visitor.

‘Maybe it didn’t hear,’ she said. She started to call again, then glanced at the dark windows nearby. It was getting late. Nobody needed a louder invitation. She let her hands rest quietly on the edge of the table.

Asha sat down beside Chiku. From here the moon seemed smaller, framed between two leaves of the tallest plant. The lunchbox was still on the table, untouched.

‘Maybe it isn’t hungry,’ she said at last. ‘Maybe moons don’t come to supper at all.’

Chiku leaned against her leg. His fur felt warm through her pyjamas. He did not seem disappointed by the change of plan.

Asha drew her knees up and rested her chin on them. She could stop waiting for the moon to do something. It was already there, shining over the pots, the railing, and the two of them.

A moth crossed the warm square of light from the doorway. Its wings flashed pale, then dark, then pale again. Asha followed it with her eyes. Chiku raised one ear.

The moth rested on the wall for a moment, far from the make-believe supper. Then it lifted and vanished into the dark beyond the pot.

‘Someone did visit,’ Asha whispered.

She had almost missed it while watching the sky so hard. Now she noticed a leaf’s shadow moving on the floor and a small cool breeze against her ankles. The terrace had not been empty while she waited. She had simply been looking very far away.

Asha and Chiku stayed for a little while longer. They did not count breaths or move the lunchbox. Chiku tucked his paws under himself. Asha rested one hand beside him, close enough for his whiskers to brush her fingers.

Above the railing, the moon’s silver edge remained clear. It did not have to smile back or thank her for the supper.

‘We can just sit,’ Asha said.

For once, she had nothing to arrange and nobody to call. The warm doorway waited behind them. When a yawn made her eyes water, she knew it was time to leave their quiet place for the night.

Before going inside, Asha unpacked the pretend supper. The leaf and the three twigs went back to the garden pot where she had found them. She kept the smooth pebble in her palm.

The empty tin needed a wipe before real food went in it again. Asha cleaned it, dried it, and fitted its round red lid. Then she carried it indoors.

Chiku followed slowly, stopping once to look over his shoulder. The moon was still above the terrace.

‘It can stay out longer than we can,’ Asha told him. She put the pebble on her windowsill, where a narrow stripe of moonlight could find it.

The lunchbox stood beside Asha’s bed, ready for another day. Chiku was already curled on his cushion, with his brown ear folded over the white one.

Asha pulled up her blanket. Through the window she could see the pebble, a little piece of the sky, and the same silver crescent. She thought about the supper that nobody had eaten and the visitor she had nearly missed.

Tomorrow the tin would hold ordinary food. Tonight it had given her a reason to sit outside with a friend.

‘Goodnight, moon,’ she whispered. Then she turned towards Chiku’s soft sleeping shape and closed her eyes. The end.