My eyes snapped open. Chest rising and falling like I'd sprinted a mile. Breath? A mess. But not fear. Not even close. It was… heavier. Thicker. Like my lungs were filled with static. That orange streetlamp glow—you know the one, the kind that makes everything look like a cheap horror flick—was bleeding through the curtains. Shadows clawed at the walls. I dragged a hand down my face. What even was that dream?
Past. Yeah, the dream was about my past. But not the usual scrambled nonsense. This? Felt real. Too real. The cracked sidewalk under my feet. The city's heartbeat—honks, laughter, the screech of a distant train. And then… her. Like I'd tripped into some alternate dimension. Close enough to taste, but a million miles away.
Her name? No clue. But her face—god, her face. Straight hair, deep brown like roasted coffee. A smile that could've powered the whole damn city. And this… energy. Like she was the sun and everything else just orbited around her. Sounds crazy, right? But the second I saw her, it hit me. This… thing. Like I'd been waiting my whole life for a stranger.
How? How could someone I'd never met feel like… home? She had this glow. Not literal, but… you know when someone walks into a room and the air changes? That.
But here's the kicker: The dream didn't end. It… lingered. Like a song stuck in your head. And now? This itch in my chest. Like the world tilted half a degree when I wasn't looking.
I sucked in a breath-deep, shaky, like my lungs forgot how to work. Get a grip, I told myself. It's just a freaking dream. But that nagging thought wouldn't quit: What if it wasn't?
I pushed myself up, slow-mo, like my bones were made of lead. My sheets felt the same-scratchy, familiar. But the room... off. Not wrong, just... not right. Like when someone rearranges your stuff but puts it back almost the same. I scanned the room: desk buried under chaos, backpack dead in the corner, shadows from the streetlamp stretching across the ceiling like creepy fingers. Everything normal. So why did my skin prickle?
I shook my head hard, like I could physically toss the weirdness out. You're just tired, I lied to myself. But the dream? No way. It clung like cheap cologne, sharp and impossible to ignore.
My hand shot out for my phone. Unlocked. Date: same as yesterday. Duh. What did you think? Time travel? I almost laughed, but the laugh died in my throat. The dream... it wasn't fading. It buzzed in my skull, loud and stubborn.
I flopped back down, staring at the ceiling cracks I'd memorized months ago. By morning, I promised myself, this'll be a funny story. "Hey, guess who hallucinated a girl from another dimension?" Yeah. Maybe.
I squeezed my eyes shut, weirdly hoping the dream would drag me under again.
But deep down, an idea started to crawl into my brain. What if I dreamed again? Same place? Same girl?
And the kicker -what if I tried to... y'know, change something?
That night, sleep came in fits and starts. No repeat of the crazy-vivid dream, but every time I blinked, flashes of that dream kept barging in. The street. Warm wind slapping my face. That girl's smile. And this weird... shift, like something in my life had been nudged sideways while I wasn't looking.
But wait-what exactly was the dream?
It wasn't some random mess of weird images. I remembered it too clearly. I'd been there. In the past. Saw myself younger-13, maybe 14-walking through my old neighborhood. Backpack hanging off one shoulder, earbuds in (though the music sounded muffled, like it was underwater). The afternoon sun painted everything gold, and a cool breeze carried the smell of... bread? Yeah, like the bakery two blocks over. Just a normal day.
Until I saw her.
She was on a park bench, legs swinging like a kid on a sugar high. A book lay open in her lap, but she wasn't reading. Wind messed with her hair, tossing it sideways, and when she looked up—bam. Our eyes locked.
Time froze. Or maybe I forgot to breathe. Then—her smile. Slow. Quiet. Like dawn breaking.
Didn't know her. Had no clue who she was. No memory of her from back then—not from school, not from the neighborhood, nowhere. But this… this warmth hit me. Weird, heavy nostalgia, like I'd swallowed a sunbeam.
Like I should know her. Like her face was scribbled in the margins of my brain somewhere, in a chapter I'd skipped.
— What're you doing all alone — She tilted her head, voice playful, like she'd caught me stealing cookies.
I blanked. Dumb question, but my tongue turned to cement. Felt like I was twelve again, trying to talk to my crush without tripping over my shoes.
— Just… walking — I mumbled, hands shoved deep in my pockets
She laughed—soft, like wind chimes—and snapped her book shut. — Sit. I hate talking to air..
I sat.
We talked about nothing. School. Dumb future dreams ("I wanna own a llama farm"—her, dead serious). How Mondays should be illegal. How the corner store were basically cracked. Easy. No rush. Like the world had hit pause just for us.
But something itched under my skin. Her laugh, the way she twirled her hair… familiar. Like I'd seen it in a movie I couldn't remember.
At some point, I pulled a black pen from my pocket. Flipped it between my fingers—click, click, click. Nervous habit. She grabbed it, eyes glittering like she'd just found a secret, and scribbled something on my palm.
Don't remember what it said. Just remember grinning like an idiot.
Then— I blinked and—poof. Everything went fuzzy.
I woke up with that same weird ache in my chest. Like the dream had claws.
But it wasn't until I saw the pen on my desk that my brain short-circuited.
Exactly the same Pen like in my dream.
I stared at it, cold creeping up my spine. How?
Wasn't magic. Could've been a coincidence. Just one of those details your brain digs up from the basement of your mind, right? Makes dreams feel legit after the fact.
But still… Couldn't shake the feeling. Like the air was thicker. Like the room had tilted half a degree when I wasn't looking.
I stood up. Walked to the desk. Grabbed the pen. Twirled it slowly—same rhythm as in the dream. The déjà vu hit so hard my teeth hurt.
Told myself it was dumb. That my brain was gaslighting me. That a freaking pen proved nothing. Let out a sigh that sounded too loud and dropped it.
Decided to crash. Had class at o'clock, and showing up with a head full of conspiracy theories wasn't on the agenda. Flopped back onto the bed. Squeezed my eyes shut. Forced myself to breathe.
But right before sleep dragged me under, a thought flickered:
If it wasn't just a dream…
Then what the hell was it?