There was a boy. A quiet one, the kind who sat in the back of the room and observed. His world was quieter than most, filled with thoughts he never quite knew how to express. He had always been that way—withdrawn, shy, the kind of person who felt like he wasn't meant to be seen. His life was filled with the dull hum of his own thoughts, a constant background noise that filled his head. Love wasn't something that belonged to him. He had never quite understood it. He had seen it in the world around him, of course—his classmates holding hands, laughing, smiling at one another—but it always felt like it was for someone else. Love was a thing for people who were braver than him, people who could walk up to someone and say what they felt without shaking, without the fear of rejection hanging like a cloud.
But then there was her.
She was a character from a story—a figure made of words, a piece of someone else's imagination. She wasn't real, and yet she was the most real thing in his world. When he first saw her, when he read about her, his heart skipped a beat. There was something about her—her smile, the way she moved, the way she spoke—that made him believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for him to feel something other than the dull ache of longing that had always defined him. He loved her in a way he couldn't explain. It wasn't a fleeting crush or a passing infatuation. It was deeper than that. It felt like he had known her forever, like she had always been a part of him.
Every night, as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, he imagined a life with her. They lived in a small apartment, tucked away in a quiet corner of the world. The walls of their apartment were painted a soft yellow, like the color of her hair in the sunlight. The windows were always open, letting in the fragrance of jasmine from the garden below. The world outside was quiet, just like inside their apartment, where the only sounds were the soft hum of the air conditioning and her voice as she hummed while she cooked. He would sit at the table, watching her, wondering how someone so perfect could exist. She was beautiful in a way that made his heart ache, her eyes soft and kind, her lips always curved into a smile.
They would talk for hours, about everything and nothing. He told her about the books he loved, and she shared her favorite poems with him. They discovered new stories together, weaving their own little world, where love wasn't just an abstract idea but something real and tangible. She wanted to visit Paris, to see the Eiffel Tower glittering at night, and he wanted to see the northern lights, to stand on a cliff and watch the colors dance across the sky. They dreamed of traveling together, of seeing the world, but most of all, they dreamed of staying in that apartment forever, of building a life that was simple but full of love.
In those moments, he felt alive in a way he never had before. He imagined that someday, maybe—just maybe—he would find the courage to ask her to stay with him forever. The thought of it filled him with both hope and fear. What if she said no? What if this dream he had built in his mind crumbled like everything else? But still, he imagined it. He imagined gathering every ounce of courage in his chest and asking her to stay, to live this life with him. And in that imagined world, she always said yes. She always loved him too, in the way he needed to be loved.
Their life together was perfect. It was messy, it was human, but it was theirs. They had two children—a boy with his shy smile and a girl with her fiery spirit. The boy would teach his son how to ride a bike, his hands steady on the handlebars, and his daughter would beg him to tell her one more story before bed, her wide eyes shining in the soft light of the bedroom. Every day with them felt like a gift, every moment precious. They spent their days laughing, eating sandwiches that were always a little soggy, having picnics in the park under the shade of old trees. She painted while he read, the sound of her brush against canvas mixing with the rustle of pages. They would dance in the kitchen, her head resting against his chest, and they would move to a song only they could hear.
But like all dreams, there were cracks. Sometimes, the perfect moments weren't enough. They argued over things like whose turn it was to do the dishes, why he never seemed to remember where he left his socks, or who forgot to pick up the milk. But even those arguments felt like love. Even those moments were reminders that their life, though imperfect, was real. And at the end of the day, no matter how hard they fought, they always found their way back to each other. Their love was a promise—a promise to always find each other again, no matter what.
And then, one day, everything changed.
He was driving home from work when it happened. The sky was darkening, bruised purple and red as the sun dipped below the horizon. The radio was playing a song they used to dance to in the kitchen, and for a moment, he let himself smile, thinking of her, thinking of their life together. But then, out of nowhere, a truck barreled into his path. The world tilted, spinning out of control. The screech of metal against metal, the impact, the jolt that threw him forward—all of it felt like it lasted an eternity. And then… nothing. Everything went dark.
When he opened his eyes again, everything was different.
He was in a new world—a world that felt too perfect, too beautiful to be real. The air smelled sweeter, the sky a brighter blue, the streets lined with flowers that never wilted. The buildings around him were painted in soft, pastel colors, and the people walking past him smiled as if everything was right in the world. And there, standing before him, was her. She was there, just as he remembered, her eyes soft with love and worry. She ran to him, throwing her arms around him, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing her in.
"You're here," she whispered, and he could barely speak, his voice a choked sob as he nodded. "I'm here," he whispered back.
This world, this perfect world, was everything he had ever dreamed of. It was everything he had ever wanted. The house they lived in was a cottage by the sea, its white walls gleaming in the sunlight. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was a constant lullaby in the background. Their children played in the sand, their laughter echoing across the beach. It was beautiful, it was perfect, and it was everything. He had everything he ever wanted. She was there. Their children were there. His life was whole.
But even in this perfect world, there was something wrong. There were moments when she would look out toward the horizon, her eyes distant, like she was searching for something. He would ask her what was wrong, and she would smile, brushing it off, but he could see the sadness in her eyes. He could see the cracks in this world that, at first, seemed flawless.
One morning, he woke up, the sunlight harsh on his skin. He blinked, disoriented, and reached for her. But she wasn't there. The cottage was gone, replaced by the cold, sterile walls of his real life. The children, the laughter, the love—it was all gone. He sat up, his heart pounding, and then he laughed. It started slowly, a quiet chuckle that grew louder, until it was all-encompassing, filling the space around him. He laughed so hard his sides ached, his breath catching between the uncontrollable bursts of sound. He laughed until he cried, until he couldn't breathe, until the weight of it all—of the joy, of the loss, of the realization—left him exhausted.
He hadn't laughed like that in years. It was the kind of laughter that comes from a deep place inside, a release of everything he had been holding in. A catharsis. A release from the weight of everything he had never been able to say. And it was at that moment, in the quiet aftermath, that he understood.
The dream, the life he had built, had never been real. It had all been a lie. But that lie had given him something he had never had before—hope, love, the feeling of being whole. And that, he realized, was enough. It had to be.
As the laughter faded, he sat there, the reality of his life settling in around him. The room was quiet, the world outside moving on without him. He thought about her, about the life they had shared, about the children they had raised. It wasn't real, but it had felt real. And maybe that was enough. Maybe he didn't need anything more than that.
He stood up, his legs shaky, and walked to the window. The sun was rising, casting a soft light across the world outside. He took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs. The world wasn't perfect, but it was his. And for the first time in a long time, he felt ready to live in it.