Moonlight Rider 🦇

Billie the Bat – A Springtime Love Story

Billie waited until the sun slipped fully behind the trees—when the air turned cool and heavy with pine, and shadows stretched long across the forest floor. Most creatures were finishing their day. Billie was just beginning his.

He said it was just a ride. Nothing more. A loop through the woods to stretch his wings and clear his head. But the basket said otherwise.

It was empty now, but not for long. Lined with linen. Fastened just so. He’d picked it out last week after nearly giving up on this whole idea—this ridiculous flutter in his chest, this ache behind his ribs whenever he thought about her. He didn’t even know her name. Just that she liked moonlight, moved like a breeze, and once smiled at him like she meant it.

He’d seen her near the old stone well. At twilight, of course. That’s how he knew she was different—another dusk-dweller, soft-spoken, hard to read. Since then, his thoughts had been full of possible sentences, carefully practiced nods, half-imagined replies. So tonight, instead of words, he would bring flowers. Yellow, pink, and deep red. No message, just color. Emotion tucked into petals.

He pedaled through the forest slowly, more gliding than riding. A few early blooms peeked from the underbrush, delicate and sleepy. He picked them gently, one at a time, tucking them into the basket in thoughtful layers. Bright yellow for joy. Petal-pink for warmth. And deep red—for something he wasn’t ready to name.

The ride was long, but Billie didn’t mind. He liked the hush of it all—the way the trees whispered, the air carried the scent of moss and earth, the moon rose like it was keeping his secret.

When he reached the clearing, the full moon had lifted fully into the sky, bathing the world in soft silver light. And there—by the edge of the tree line, where the shadows met the grass—she was.

Just as he remembered. Maybe more.

She looked up, and for a second he froze. Basket full. Wings tight. Every carefully rehearsed sentence disappeared into the night. But she smiled—quiet and real—and nodded for him to come closer.

He didn’t speak. Just held out the flowers.

She looked at them for a long time, then reached out and touched the deep red bloom in the center.

“These are beautiful,” she said, voice just above a whisper.

He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

“I wasn’t either,” she said, smiling again. “But I’m glad I came.”

They stood there a moment longer, not in a rush. Billie finally sat beside her in the grass, not too close, just enough. The moon glowed above, the basket sat between them, and for once, his thoughts were quiet.

It wasn’t a declaration. It didn’t need to be.

It was the beginning of something soft. And for Billie, that was everything.