Shifting Lights

They couldn’t stop looking at the sky that night. Ribbons of green and purple, pulsing above the city skyline.

“Auroras here?” Anna whispered, eyes wide.

Steven pulled her close, his hands resting low on her waist. “Never thought we’d see this here, of all places.”

The lights were dazzling, and it wasn’t just them who took notice. On all the balconies of their apartment complex, couples and families stood, heads tilted back, faces painted in the flashing colors. A shared silence, awed, uncertain.

Kuala Lumpur was normally lively with the sound of traffic and chatter, yet tonight it felt muted, as if the sky had pressed a finger to its lips. No sirens. No horns. Just the faint crackle of the air, static and strange.

Anna’s fingers brushed Steven’s. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he said. “But it feels… wrong.”

Her phone buzzed once, then died. She frowned and tried the power button. Nothing. “Battery was full.”

From a nearby balcony, a child’s voice piped up, excited and small: “Mum, why’s my phone not working?”

Steven glanced back into their apartment, at the old analog clock on the wall. It ticked… then stuttered. The second hand jolted backward, then forward again.

A single power line across the street sparked and popped. The streetlights flickered, then went dark.

The sky continued to dance.

The hum of the city, cars, air conditioners, televisions… vanished into a hollow stillness. Only the faint crackle of the auroras remained, a sound they weren’t sure they were meant to hear.

Steven’s arm tightened around Anna. “We should go inside.”

But she didn’t move. “Just a little longer,” she said softly. Her eyes, wide and glowing with the reflection of the sky, made him pause. How could he say no to that look?

A siren finally broke the silence, a single wail, distant and lonely. It was joined by another. And another.

The building trembled beneath their feet. Not an earthquake, but a pulse, a ripple through the ground. The glasses on their balcony table rattled and fell. A chorus of gasps rose from the balconies around them.

Then the sky shifted. The colors, once graceful ribbons, coiled violently, streaking like cracks across glass. Blue bled into crimson.

Anna grabbed his hand. “Steven… what’s happening?”

He pulled her back into the apartment and slid the door shut. The glass trembled as another wave pulsed through the air, rattling picture frames from the walls.

Her phone, forgotten on the table, flared to life one last time. A cracked emergency alert flickered:

“Global Geomagnetic Event. Seek shelter. Communications failing. Stay with your—”

The screen cut to black.

The apartment fell into a heavy, unnatural silence. The city’s usual hum was gone, swallowed up by something larger, more overwhelming. All that remained was the faint crackle of the air and the distant flicker of streetlights, their glow dimming slowly, like the last breath of a dying star.

Anna’s phone lay on the table, lifeless.

Steven turned back to her. “We need to stay inside, away from the windows. Close the curtains.” he said, but Anna’s gaze was still fixed on the window, her eyes wide in the glow of the fading auroras.

“I want to see it,” she murmured, her voice distant. Her fingers brushed the edge of his, but she didn’t turn to look at him. “Just a little longer.”

He wanted to argue, but something in her expression made him hesitate. He let her stay, let her linger in the strange, shifting light by the windows. 

They stood there, side by side, in quiet company. The world outside seemed to be stretching and bending in ways they couldn’t understand.

Then, the sirens returned, distant and panicked, echoing through the stillness. The apartment trembled once more, and everything in the room seemed to rattle in response.

Anna didn’t flinch. She didn’t even move.

Her hand, still in his, felt colder than it should.

When they finally retreated away from the windows, the air inside felt thick, heavy with something Steven couldn’t name. He pulled her toward the couch, watching as she sank into the cushions with an odd, glazed expression.

The power flickered, and then the lights went out completely.

“It’s alright,” Anna said, her voice soft. “It’s just… a little darkness.”

Steven sat beside her, holding her hand tightly. “We’ll be fine,” he said, though his voice sounded more uncertain than he wanted it to.

He could hear her breathing, slow and steady, at first, but then it shifted. It became shallow, labored. He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Anna? Are you alright?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked at him, eyes heavy and distant. “I’m just tired. Just a little tired.”

He nodded, though his chest tightened. “You’ve been up longer than me. Let’s just rest, okay?”

Her lips curled into a soft smile. “Okay.”

But she didn’t sleep.

The night passed slowly. He could feel the pressure in the air growing, the silence wrapping itself around him like a blanket. He stayed awake, watching Anna, her breathing shallow, slower than it should be. He wasn’t sure when he finally drifted off, but when he awoke, it was to a faint, almost imperceptible stillness.

Anna lay beside him, her hand limp in his. The colour had drained from her face, her skin unnaturally pale under the dim light.

Her breath, barely there, came in soft, fragile gasps.

“Anna?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

She didn’t answer.

Her eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment, glazed over, not focusing on him. “I’m here,” she whispered, but her voice was barely audible. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But her pulse, weak and fluttering, told him otherwise.

Barely an hour after that, her skin had gone cold. His hand still held hers, their fingers woven together, unmoving. The sky, soft with new light, shimmered faintly with the last breath of the aurora… beautiful, but distant now, like a dream slipping away.

The poles had shifted. The world was changing.

And Steven? He was still there. Holding her hand.

But she was gone.

His world had shattered, and he would never find his way back.