The morning breeze swept through the city streets with a chill that made Asher shrink deeper into his coat, adjusting the collar to shield himself from the wind. The sound of footsteps pounding the asphalt blended with the murmurs of voices filling the air: street vendors calling out to passersby, children laughing and running towards school, and drivers honking in frustration at the traffic jams.
As he rounded the corner, Asher spotted James. His friend was leaning against the wall of a convenience store, his worn velvet coat and messy blond hair giving him a carefree look. He seemed at ease, as if the world were a slow melody, and he was always in sync with it. A wide, cheerful smile spread across his face as he saw Asher approaching.
"Hey, Asher!" James waved, his smile lighting up his face.
Judging by the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled blond hair, he hadn't slept well.
Asher smiled back, a light smile that didn't quite reach his eyes but still conveyed a sense of relief at seeing him. "Good morning, James. Always so energetic, huh?"
James laughed and shrugged. "Ah, you know how it is. Life doesn't wait, does it?"
Asher nodded, and the two walked together, their conversation flowing like a familiar melody. James talked about his latest sleepless night and the endless routine of assignments and tests, while Asher listened, though his mind lagged a step behind. Memories of the first dream kept resurfacing, forcing him to continually bury them to avoid a repeat of the vomiting episode in front of his sister. He decided to ponder it further when he was alone at home after school.
When they arrived at school, the place was already bustling with activity. Students from different groups chatted, laughed, and some hurried toward their classrooms. Asher waved at a few acquaintances, exchanging quick words with a couple of classmates. The sunlight, beginning to sneak through the breaks in the clouds, reflected off the school's windows and spread across the courtyard, illuminating faces and creating a contrast between the morning calm and the latent energy of the place.
The bell rang, a sound that resonated like an order amidst the murmur of students, and Asher walked toward his classroom. The hallway was filled with voices, laughter, and the sound of backpacks being dragged along the floor. He entered and headed to his usual seat near the window. The view of the clouds moving slowly, sparse and tranquil, was a relief. Asher leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath and trying to push away the whirlwind of images and feelings.
The teacher entered just as the last student settled down. She was a middle-aged woman with a stern expression and a voice that could be either gentle or merciless, depending on the situation. "Let's begin, class," she said, and the room fell silent, broken only by the creak of chairs and the rustling of backpacks.
"Today, we're going to talk about the Industrial Revolution," she continued, her tone becoming more didactic and engaging. "This period didn't just transform the economy; it changed people's lives in ways that still echo today. Did you know that many of the first workers were children? Factories were places where even the youngest had to find a way to survive."
Asher frowned, recalling her addressing this topic with the same words before. "Time catches up with everyone..." he thought sarcastically. Though he had some appreciation for history, that appreciation didn't extend to the teacher, whom he ranked as one of the dullest in the school.
"But now, consider this," she went on. "How do economic changes influence social behavior and morality? How do they shape power structures? What tensions drive future revolutions?" Her words buzzed in his ears like an annoying drone.
Suddenly, the classroom door opened, and the principal appeared, his smile a mix of challenge and welcome. He stepped in, followed by a small and delicate figure. The students straightened up, some turning their heads in curiosity. She was discreetly beautiful, with light brown hair tied in a low bun, with loose strands framing her face. Her deep green eyes scanned the room, briefly landing on Asher.
His heart skipped a beat. "Where have I seen her before?" His mind filled with images, but none seemed right, none made sense.
With a broad gesture, the principal introduced her to the class. "This is Clara Evans. She'll be joining us from today."
"Ah! Now I remember!" Upon hearing her name, Asher's mind cleared immediately. The memory of the dream came flooding back like an intrusive thought, mixing with the sight of Clara. Although she looked slightly different from his memory—her hair was tied back now rather than loose—she was undoubtedly the same Clara from the dream.
But the clarity quickly vanished into a gray haze, and he shook his head in denial.
"No. I remember seeing her at some point before this dream."
Where? He wondered.
The memory struck him like a sudden punch. He remembered something else, something slightly earlier than the dream of the couch. A vision of a vast green field, people in a line holding a rope, the sensation of warmth and movement.
Suddenly, the person directly ahead of him began to undress and turned toward him. It was a girl. A girl with light brown hair that fell in loose waves over her shoulders and green eyes.
He recalled initiating some kind of dance, both of them naked, before surrendering to an intensely intimate act, an experience that made heat rush to his head. And then, he remembered the image of the girl breathing heavily, both their bellies swelling absurdly with pulsing purple veins, followed by a mist of blood engulfing his entire vision.
He forced himself back to the present, feeling a wave of nausea washing over him. The air seemed thick, and he held his breath, gripping the edge of the desk as if it could anchor him.
"I need... to breathe..." he thought, his fingers digging into the desk in an involuntary reflex. He blinked a few times, trying to shake off the dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. The teacher's voice was a distant buzz, but he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and Clara was there, taking the seat beside him.
"Hi, your name is Asher, right?" she said, her voice soft and warm.
Asher looked at her, his mind still buzzing, and after a moment of deep breathing to ease the pressure, he finally managed to smile—a reflex more than a genuine expression. "Yes, that's my name. Nice to meet you, Clara. I hope we have a great year together."
The word "together" felt drawn out, as if his mind were questioning what it meant.
Clara smiled and nodded warmly. "Definitely!"
The history lesson dragged on like a slow river, its waters laden with facts and dates blending with the murmur of a normal morning at Springfield High. Asher tried to keep his attention on the teacher's voice, but his thoughts kept wandering, carried away as if by an invisible breeze. Clara Evans. Her name echoed in his mind, challenging him to find meaning in the image that had surfaced moments before. He was so lost in his thoughts, acting almost automatically, that he didn't notice the teacher watching him with curiosity.
"Mr. Asher, any questions about what we've just discussed?" the teacher's voice cut through the room, and Asher, startled, turned with wide eyes and a dry throat.
"Uh, no. I'm... fine, teacher. Just... thinking."
She nodded, apparently satisfied, and continued her lecture. Time passed, the history lesson ended, and Mr. Winslow entered to teach his math class.
---
The recess bell rang, a deep sound that reverberated off the classroom walls, drowning out the rustle of turned pages and the distant echo of the teacher's words. Students rose in a chaotic ballet of scraping chairs, laughter, and hurried footsteps as the room slowly emptied. Asher, however, remained seated, his fingers drumming softly on the desk's surface, as if playing an invisible rhythm only he could hear.
His mind was still caught in a whirlwind of thoughts, tangled with fragments of that bizarre dream. A voice snapped him abruptly out of his introspection.
"Hey, Asher, right?"
He looked up to find Clara standing beside his desk. Her smile was relaxed, and her green eyes gleamed with an almost unsettling curiosity, as though she could see beyond what he allowed others to perceive. The ease with which she addressed him was disarming, considering they had just met.
"Yeah... that's right," Asher replied, his voice slightly hesitant. "You remembered."
"Of course." Clara tilted her head slightly, her smile deepening. "You were the first to welcome me. I thought I'd take the chance to chat. You seem to know how things work around here," she said, her light tone failing to hide a genuine curiosity. Her green eyes, as intense as before, sought his.
Her casual tone didn't mask the sincerity in her gaze. They locked onto his, as if searching for answers to questions she hadn't voiced aloud.
For a moment, Asher didn't know what to say. Her presence still unsettled him in ways he couldn't define. Yet, he couldn't simply brush her off without a clear reason.
"I... sure. If you need help, just let me know," he finally said, trying to sound casual.
Clara's smile widened further, as though satisfied with his response. "Great. Maybe you could show me the library after class? Or we could just talk a bit now, if you prefer."
Asher felt the weight of an impulse, something urging him to keep his distance—perhaps a fear stemming from memories of that strange dream—but at the same time, there was a pull, a need for connection he couldn't ignore. There was an invisible weight in his decision, a duality he couldn't overlook. She felt so real and yet surreal at the same time—like a misplaced piece that somehow fit perfectly into his life.
"She appeared in both dreams... It's too much of a coincidence to ignore," Asher thought. "Could there be a connection?"
He didn't believe in coincidences, much less anything supernatural. But the details from his dreams and the events of that day were disturbingly similar, with Clara always showing up. A genuine curiosity to know her began to grow within him.
"After class, is that okay? I need to handle something now," he said, his voice carrying some hesitation.
"Perfect." Clara gave a slight nod, her smile as warm as the late afternoon sun streaming through the window. "See you then."
Before the conversation could go any further, Asher stood up and walked toward the door, his heart pounding harder than he cared to admit. He needed a moment to organize his thoughts and take a deep breath. As he stepped into the hallway, he couldn't help but notice that Mr. Winslow had already left during his conversation with Clara, leaving him slightly disappointed that it hadn't happened exactly as in the dream.
In the hallway, he spotted James leaning against the wall near the cafeteria entrance, wearing the expression of someone who had been waiting for a while. As soon as he saw him, James waved enthusiastically.
"Finally, dude! You took forever today. So, how was class?"
Asher shook his head with a faint smile. "As boring as ever."
In truth, the class had been anything but ordinary. The fact that it had played out exactly as in the dream made everything feel like a weird repetition.
"Did you see the new girl? Clara, right? I heard she moved here from New York because her dad got a job around here," James remarked, his eyes gleaming with the excitement typical of someone who lives for fresh gossip.
"Yeah, I met her. She's... different," Asher replied, keeping his words vague.
"Different? Is that a good thing or a weird thing?" James tilted his head, curious.
"A bit of both, maybe." Asher averted his gaze, trying to mask the unease growing in his chest. "But forget about it. Let's grab something to eat."
James shrugged, accepting the change of subject. "You're the boss."