Her hand moved slightly, a faint tremble that sent a ripple through the stillness of the night. I couldn't take my eyes off her as her shoulders shifted, the quiet rhythm of her breathing steady and deliberate. Slowly, she tilted her head, her gaze lowering from the stars above as if finally acknowledging the world around her.
And then, she turned toward me.
For a fleeting moment, I froze, unsure of what to do. The soft light from the lamp outlined her figure, but her face remained a mystery, blurred like the edges of a dream. She wasn't familiar to me; she was a stranger. Yet, inexplicably, I felt a weight in her presence, as though some invisible thread bound me to her.
She stood, her movements slow and graceful, as though she were part of the very night itself. The silence was charged, no longer just peaceful but laden with something unsaid, something I couldn't grasp. Each step she took toward me felt drawn out, heavy with significance I couldn't put into words.
She stopped just a few steps away, close enough that the lamp's faint glow framed her silhouette. Her hand lifted slightly as if she might reach out to me, but then, she spoke.
I couldn't make out the words. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, yet it seemed to resonate in the very air around me. The stars seemed to hum with the sound, carrying it away before I could fully grasp it.
"What…?" I tried to respond, but my voice was caught in my throat.
She didn't repeat herself. Instead, she turned back toward the bench, her movements fluid and deliberate, like she belonged to this quiet, surreal world more than I ever could.
I wanted to stop her, to call her back, but the dream had a will of its own. My feet wouldn't move, my voice wouldn't come, and I could only watch as she sat back down, her gaze lifting once again to the stars.
The glow of the lamp dimmed, and the stars above grew faint, retreating as though they, too, were slipping away. The edges of the dream blurred, the scene unraveling like threads pulled from fabric.
And then, I woke up.
I was in my room, familiar and quiet. The faint glow of morning seeped through the curtains, and everything felt painfully ordinary—except for the ache in my chest.
I sat up slowly, the weight of the dream pressing down on me. I tried to hold onto it, to recall her words, but they were gone, lost to the void between dreams and waking. Her face, her voice, everything about her was slipping further from my grasp, leaving behind only a deep, inexplicable sorrow.
Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them. I didn't even know her, and yet, it felt like I had lost someone irreplaceable. The weight in my chest was unbearable, as though some part of me had been left behind in that quiet night beneath the stars.
I buried my face in my hands, unable to shake the thought that I would never see her again. She was a stranger, a fleeting presence in a dream, but she had left an imprint on me that I couldn't ignore.
I looked out the window at the pale morning sky, empty and dull compared to the stars of the dream. And I wondered—who was she, and why did it feel like I had known her forever, even though I never truly did?