Fiction! The moon was missing from our darkest night

The wind howled a mournful tune, whipping at the rickety windows of the lighthouse. Rain lashed against the glass, blurring the already obscured view of the churning sea. Inside, Amelia huddled by the sputtering fire, its meager warmth a poor defense against the relentless onslaught of the storm. But it wasn't the cold that gnawed at her. It was the absence.
The moon, usually a faithful companion, a silent witness to her solitary life as the lighthouse keeper, was nowhere to be seen. Tonight, the sky was a canvas of inky blackness, devoid of even a single, comforting star. It felt like a reflection of her own heart, shrouded in an even deeper darkness.

Exactly a year ago, on a night just as tempestuous, Liam, a shipwrecked sailor with eyes as blue as the summer sky, had stumbled into her life. He'd been battered and bruised, yet his smile, as warm as the fire that now sputtered, had chased away the chill of the night and the loneliness that had become her constant companion.

They'd spent the next few weeks in a whirlwind of shared stories, stolen glances, and a growing affection that defied the isolation of their surroundings. Liam, with his tales of faraway lands and boundless optimism, had been a beacon in her own personal storm. He promised to return, a promise etched in the moonlight on their last night together.
But the moon, ever fickle, had seemingly mirrored their fate. A month passed, then two, then a year, with no sign of Liam. Each night, Amelia scanned the horizon, her heart a fragile hope flickering in the gale of disappointment. Tonight, with the moon missing, it felt like that hope had finally died.

A sudden, jarring crash from outside startled her. Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed a lantern and ventured out onto the storm-battered balcony. There, clinging precariously to the railing, was a figure – a man, his clothes ragged, hair plastered to his forehead.
"Liam?" Amelia's voice was a hoarse whisper, swallowed almost entirely by the wind.
The figure lifted his head, his face a mask of pain and exhaustion. A single word, barely audible over the din of the storm, escaped his lips. "Amelia."

Relief washed over her, so intense it almost knocked her off her feet. She helped him inside, the lighthouse suddenly feeling less like a lonely prison and more like a haven.
As Liam, wrapped in a thick blanket, recounted his harrowing tale – a treacherous storm, a broken mast, days adrift in a life raft – Amelia listened, her heart overflowing with a mixture of joy and anger.

"Why didn't you come back sooner?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion.
"The currents," he rasped, his voice raspy. "They wouldn't let me reach you. I never stopped trying, Amelia, believe me. You were the only light that guided me through the darkness."
The mention of darkness brought a frown to Amelia's face. She glanced at the window where the storm still raged unabated. "Even the moon abandoned us tonight."
Liam's gaze followed hers. "The moon is a fickle friend, but there are other lights, Amelia. Ones that burn brighter, even in the darkest nights." He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and took hers. Her skin tingled at his touch, a spark igniting in the desolate landscape of her heart.
"Your love," he continued, his voice low and intense, "was that light for me. It kept me going when hope seemed lost."

A tear escaped Amelia's eye, tracing a warm path down her cheek. The storm outside seemed to rage with less fury now, mirroring the calming within her. She leaned in, her gaze locked with his, and whispered, "Then perhaps we don't need the moon."

Their lips met in a kiss, a silent promise spoken in the language of the heart. It wasn't a grand, passionate gesture, but one filled with a depth of emotion that transcended words. It was a kiss forged in the crucible of hardship, a testament to a love that had weathered the storm.

As they pulled apart, a sliver of light began to peek through the clouds. Slowly, tentatively, the moon emerged, casting a silvery glow on the turbulent sea. This time, however, its light wasn't the only source of illumination. The lighthouse, bathed in the moonlight, seemed to glow with an inner radiance, a reflection of the love that burned bright within its walls, a love that had found its way back, even on the darkest of nights.