She rests her head on her arms, closes her eyes, and as soon as she drifts off to sleep, dreams of him. Again.
She’s been dreaming of him since she was a kid. Him talking, laughing, flinging notes to her table located beside his, jumping out of a moving train, crouching behind bushes in the dead of night, standing inside a small church. He feels familiar. Like she knows him. Like she should know him. But she doesn’t. She’s pretty sure she’s never even seen him before.
She’s taken to keeping a notebook handy beside her when she sleeps. A dream journal to capture her dreams. Not that she actually needs it. Because she can remember every little detail of her dreams where he makes an appearance. She can tell you the color of his eyes, the softness of his hair, the pitch and timbre of his voice, the feel of his thumb brushing against the back of her palm. He appears so vividly in her dreams that she questions whether he’s actually real.
(She wishes he
was is real.)
When she opens her eyes and wakes up from her dream, she immediately reaches for her notebook and pen at the end of the table and scribbles the details of her dream. Stepping through a mirror, getting hit in the head with a really heavy object, waking up alone in a dark room with no way to see outside. His hand holding hers tightly, his eyes blazing in the dark, his voice, broken, as he screams her name. Short and disjointed scenes that make no sense. Finished with recounting her dream, she puts her pen down and closes her notebook. “That was weird,” she mumbles. “Even weirder than usual.”
Glancing at her watch, she realizes that it’s time for her to head home. As she gathers her belongings, a groan from somewhere behind her stops her. Looking behind her, she notices someone stirring from their nap a few tables away. She was about to turn back around when she sees the person’s face. It’s him! Frozen in surprise, she watches as his eyes slowly open, dragging themselves away from slumber.
His eyes land on her face and she sees the emotions in them: confusion first then… recognition? He blinks. Rubs his eyes and looks back at her. Blinks again. Then he stands, walks up to her, and places his hands on her shoulders. Rather heavily that she couldn’t help flinching but he doesn’t seem to notice either. With her head tilted up to keep her gaze on him, still trying to make sense of what’s happening, his eyes opened wide as he gazes back at her, he whispers incredulously, “It’s you!”