The boy in my dream

I was running again.

I didn't know where I was going.

The ground beneath my feet was wet, and every step I took made a soft splashing sound.

I could hear someone behind me.

"Lena!"

I didn't turn around.

I don't know why.

Maybe I was afraid of who was calling my name.

Maybe some part of me already knew.

I kept running.

The rain was falling heavily now, soaking through my clothes. My chest hurt, and I could barely breathe.

Then I saw the house.

The same old house.

The same broken window.

The same red door.

I had seen it before.

Every night.

I just didn't know why.

I reached for the door.

"Lena, wait!"

This time I stopped.

I slowly turned around.

And there he was.

The boy.

The boy I had been seeing in my dreams for the past three weeks.

He was standing several feet away from me, completely soaked by the rain.

Dark hair.

Pale face.

And those eyes...

His eyes always looked at me like he was afraid of losing me.

But I had never seen him before.

Not in my life.

Not anywhere.

At least, that's what I thought.

He took a step toward me.

"Please," he said.

His voice sounded broken.

"Don't go inside."

I stared at him.

"Who are you?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he looked behind me.

His expression suddenly changed.

Fear.

"Lena..."

"What?"

He looked directly into my eyes.

"If you go inside, you'll die."

My heart started beating faster.

"What are you talking about?"

He reached for me.

But before his fingers could touch mine—

I heard a gunshot.

Bang!

I woke up screaming.

I sat up so quickly that I nearly fell out of my bed.

My room was dark.

My breathing was heavy.

For several seconds, I couldn't move.

Then I looked at the clock.

3:17 a.m.

Again.

I slowly wiped the sweat from my face.

It was the same time.

Every single time I had that dream.

3:17.

I looked down at my hands.

They were shaking.

I hated these dreams.

I hated that boy.

And most of all...

I hated the feeling that somehow, somewhere—

I had already lived that night.

I got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom.

I splashed cold water onto my face and looked at myself in the mirror.

"You're fine," I whispered.

"It's just a dream."

I repeated it again.

"It's just a dream."

Then I noticed something.

There was a small red mark on my wrist.

Five fingerprints.

Exactly where the boy had grabbed me in the dream.

I stopped breathing.

I touched the mark.

It hurt.

And for the first time, I wondered...

What if it wasn't a dream?

I didn't sleep again.

I tried.

I really did.

I turned onto my side and pulled the blanket over my head, hoping that the darkness would somehow make me tired.

It didn't.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the same thing.

The house.

The rain pouring down around me.

The red door.

And him.

That boy.

I couldn't see his face properly, but I could always see his eyes.

They were the strangest part of the dream.

He looked at me like he knew me.

Like he had been searching for me.

And every time I tried to ask him who he was, I heard the gunshot.

Bang.

Then I woke up.

By the time the first light of morning came through my curtains, I was exhausted.

I finally sat up and looked at the clock.

6:14 a.m.

School.

I groaned and let myself fall back onto the pillow.

For a moment, I considered pretending to be sick.

Then I remembered the test I had that morning.

There was no way I could miss it.

I forced myself out of bed.

While I was changing, I noticed something on my wrist.

I stopped.

The mark was still there.

Five red marks stretched across my skin.

They looked exactly like the fingers of a hand.

I touched them.

A sharp pain went through my wrist.

I pulled my hand away.

"Okay..."

I stared at it.

How had I gotten this?

I tried to remember.

Nothing.

I hadn't fallen.

Nobody had grabbed me.

I had gone to bed normally.

Then why did it look like someone had held my wrist?

My eyes went to the mirror.

For a second, I remembered the dream.

The boy reaching for me.

His hand closing around my wrist.

I immediately looked away.

"No."

I wasn't going to start believing that my dreams were real.

That was ridiculous.

I pulled my sleeve down and finished getting dressed.

When I went downstairs, my mother was already awake.

The kitchen smelled like butter, toast, and the food she had been preparing for work later.

She was standing at the counter, packing some things into a container.

She looked up when I entered.

"Good morning."

"Morning."

She studied my face.

"You look exhausted."

"I didn't sleep well."

Her expression softened.

"Was it another nightmare?"

I nodded.

She put down what she was holding.

"You've been having them quite often lately."

"I know."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

She didn't look convinced.

My mother had always been like that.

She could tell when something was wrong with me even when I said nothing.

Since my father died when I was six, it had been just the two of us.

She had raised me alone while working as a chef, and somehow she had always managed to make our little home feel safe.

That was why I hated worrying her.

Especially over something I couldn't even explain.

She walked over to me.

"Come here."

I sighed but moved closer.

She placed her hand against my forehead.

"No fever."

"I'm not sick."

"I know. I'm checking anyway."

I smiled.

Then her eyes moved to my wrist.

My sleeve had slipped slightly.

She gently pulled it back.

Her smile disappeared.

"Lena..."

I looked down.

The mark was showing again.

Her fingers carefully touched the skin around it.

"Where did this come from?"

"I don't know."

She looked at me.

"You don't know?"

"I woke up with it."

She examined it more closely.

"Does it hurt?"

"Only when I touch it."

"Did you hit your hand against anything yesterday?"

"No."

"Did someone hurt you?"

The question caught me off guard.

"No."

She looked genuinely concerned now.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She looked at the mark for another few seconds before letting go.

"Maybe you scratched yourself in your sleep."

"That's what I thought."

"But these look like fingerprints."

I didn't answer.

Because that was exactly what I had been thinking.

My mother sighed.

"Just keep an eye on it. If it gets worse, I'll take you to the doctor."

"Okay."

She pulled my sleeve down again.

Then she looked at the clock.

"You'll be late."

I immediately looked at the time.

"Oh my God."

I rushed back upstairs.

I could hear my mother laughing behind me.

"Hurry! I'll drive you."

I changed my shoes, checked that I had everything I needed for the day, and hurried back downstairs.

A few minutes later, we were in the car.

I sat quietly by the window.

The streets were already busy with students and people heading to work.

My mother turned on the radio, but I barely listened.

I couldn't stop thinking about the mark.

Or the dream.

Or the house.

I pulled my sleeve back slightly and looked at my wrist.

The marks were still there.

I closed my eyes.

For just a second, I saw the boy again.

Standing in the rain.

Looking directly at me.

Then something happened that had never happened in my dreams before.

I heard his voice clearly.

Not the words he'd said before.

Something new.

Something that made my stomach twist.

"You promised you wouldn't tell anyone."

My eyes flew open.

I stared out the window.

My heart was pounding.

"Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"Have I ever lived somewhere else?"

She glanced at me.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just..."

I hesitated.

"Do you remember any old houses we used to live in?"

She thought for a moment.

"No. Why?"

"Nothing."

She smiled and returned her eyes to the road.

But I couldn't smile.

Because I suddenly remembered something.

Something that had never appeared in my dreams before.

A little girl.

Standing beside that red door.

She was holding the boy's hand.

And the little girl looked exactly like me.

I looked down at my wrist.

The mark suddenly hurt.

Much more than before.

And for the first time, I became afraid of something I had never considered.

What if the reason I couldn't remember that house... was because someone had made sure I forgot?

The university gates came into view as my mother drove slowly through the morning traffic.

I looked out the window.

Students were everywhere.

Some were hurrying toward their lectures, some were sitting on the grass with their friends, and others were standing around the entrance, already dressed like they had spent an hour deciding what to wear.

I smiled faintly.

After four years, I should have been used to this place.

But today felt different.

Maybe it was because this was my final year.

Or maybe it was because I hadn't slept properly in weeks.

My mother pulled into the parking area and stopped the car.

For a few seconds, neither of us said anything.

She looked at me.

"You have everything?"

I checked the bag beside me.

"My sketchbook, laptop, charger, wallet..."

"And your project?"

I immediately looked at her.

"Mom."

She laughed.

"I'm just asking."

"It's in here."

I tapped my folder.

"Good."

She smiled and reached over to fix a strand of my hair.

"You've grown so much."

I laughed softly.

"You're making it sound like I'm leaving forever."

"I know."

Her smile faded slightly.

"That's why I'm saying it."

I looked at her.

There were moments when I forgot that my mother had raised me alone.

She had been doing everything for me since my father died when I was six.

Working long hours as a chef.

Coming home exhausted.

Still making sure I had food.

Still asking about my classes.

Still showing up whenever I needed her.

She had never complained.

Not once.

I reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Mom."

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

She looked at me.

"For what?"

"For everything."

Her eyes became slightly watery.

"Oh, sweetheart."

She smiled and squeezed my hand back.

"I'm your mother. You don't have to thank me for loving you."

I smiled.

Then she leaned toward me and kissed my forehead.

"I love you, Lena."

"I love you too."

She held my hand for another second before letting go.

"Now go."

I opened the car door.

"Call me when you finish your classes."

"I will."

"And don't forget to eat."

"I won't."

"And—"

"Mom."

She laughed.

"Okay, okay. Go."

I stepped out of the car.

Before closing the door, I looked at her one more time.

She smiled at me.

I smiled back.

Then I closed the door.

I stood there until her car disappeared into the traffic.

For some reason, I had a strange feeling in my chest.

Like I should have stayed.

I pushed the thought away.

It was just another school day.

Nothing was going to happen.

At least...

That's what I thought.

I turned toward the university entrance.

"Lena!"

I knew that voice.

I turned just in time to see Maya running toward me.

She nearly crashed into me.

"Finally!"

I laughed.

"Good morning to you too."

She grabbed my shoulders and looked at me.

"Why do you look like you've been fighting demons all night?"

I froze for half a second.

She didn't notice.

"I didn't sleep well."

"Again?"

I nodded.

Maya sighed.

"Those dreams are getting ridiculous."

"I know."

"Have you tried sleeping with the lights on?"

"Maya, I'm not five."

"Then stop acting like you are."

I laughed.

That was Maya.

She could turn almost anything into a joke.

A familiar voice came from behind her.

"Leave her alone."

Daniel walked toward us, holding a coffee in each hand.

Maya immediately reached for one.

"You remembered."

"I always remember."

He handed the other one to me.

"Black. No sugar."

I smiled.

"You really do know me."

"I've had four years of practice."

Maya looked between us.

"Four years and he still doesn't know how to buy me food."

Daniel shrugged.

"You didn't ask."

"I shouldn't have to ask."

"You absolutely should."

I laughed.

The three of us started walking toward the main building.

Maya and Daniel had been my closest friends since first year.

They were completely different from each other.

Maya was loud, stubborn, and impossible to ignore.

Daniel was calmer, sarcastic, and usually the first person to notice when something was wrong.

Then there were the other students.

As we entered the building, I saw Ethan Cole leaning against the staircase with his friends.

Everyone knew Ethan.

He was one of those people who somehow managed to be popular without trying.

Tall.

Confident.

Always surrounded by people.

Maya lowered her voice.

"Don't look."

I glanced at her.

"Why?"

"Because you're going to make it obvious."

"Make what obvious?"

She gave me a look.

I laughed.

"I wasn't looking at him."

Daniel shook his head.

"You definitely were."

"Both of you are annoying."

We walked past them.

Ethan glanced in our direction.

Our eyes met for barely a second.

He smiled.

I immediately looked away.

Maya grabbed my arm.

"I saw that."

"Shut up."

She laughed.

Further down the hall, Sophie and her friends were taking pictures near the windows.

Sophie was one of the most popular girls in our department.

She always looked perfect.

Her clothes were perfectly arranged, her hair always looked freshly done, and somehow she never seemed to have a bad day.

Beside her was Nina, one of the smartest students in our year.

Nina was already holding three books and arguing with another student about a project deadline.

I smiled.

Some people never changed.

We reached our classroom.

Our lecturer, Mrs. Evelyn Carter, was already at the front of the room, arranging some papers on her desk.

She was one of the lecturers in our design department, and she was known for being strict about deadlines.

The moment she looked up, Maya whispered,

"We're not late."

Daniel checked his watch.

"We have three minutes."

Maya smiled.

"Exactly. Not late."

I shook my head and followed them inside.

The classroom was already almost full.

Some students were talking among themselves while others were preparing their materials for the morning lecture.

I took my usual seat between Maya and Daniel.

Mrs. Carter looked around the room.

"Good morning, everyone."

The talking slowly stopped.

"Good morning, ma'am."

She smiled.

"Welcome back. Since this is your final year, I expect all of you to take your work seriously. We're getting very close to the end of the semester, and your final designs will be an important part of your assessment."

A few students groaned.

Maya leaned toward me.

"She's already threatening us."

I tried not to laugh.

Mrs. Carter continued with the lecture.

I opened my notebook and began writing.

For the first twenty minutes, everything felt normal.

Almost too normal.

I slowly started forgetting about the nightmare.

The boy.

The strange mark on my wrist.

The house.

I was beginning to convince myself that I had simply been exhausted and my mind had created something strange while I slept.

Then Mrs. Carter asked us to take out our previous sketches.

I opened my folder.

My drawings were exactly where I had left them.

I smiled slightly.

Everything was fine.

I turned to the next page.

That's when a loose sheet of paper slipped out.

It fell beside my chair.

I bent down to pick it up.

At first, I didn't pay attention to what was on it.

Then I saw the drawing.

I froze.

The classroom noise seemed to disappear.

My eyes moved slowly across the page.

An old house.

A broken window.

Tall trees surrounding it.

And a red door.

My heart began beating faster.

I stared at it.

No.

It couldn't be.

I looked at the drawing again.

It was the same house.

The exact same house from my dream.

I turned the paper over.

Nothing.

I checked the other side again.

Blank.

I looked at the drawing more carefully.

The lines weren't mine.

I knew every mark in my own sketches.

This wasn't one of them.

I hadn't drawn this.

I was sure of it.

"Lena?"

Maya's voice made me look up.

She was watching me.

"What?"

"You've been staring at that paper for like a minute."

I quickly folded it.

"It's nothing."

She frowned.

"Then why are you acting like you've just seen a ghost?"

Daniel looked over too.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

I slipped the paper inside my folder.

Maya leaned closer.

"Let me see."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it's nothing."

She stared at me for a moment.

Then she sighed.

"Fine."

I turned back toward the front of the classroom.

Mrs. Carter was still talking.

But I couldn't concentrate anymore.

My eyes kept drifting toward my folder.

I wanted to forget about the drawing.

I tried.

I couldn't.

Eventually, I slowly opened the folder again.

I pulled the paper out beneath the desk.

I looked at the house one more time.

And suddenly, something happened.

The classroom disappeared.

For a split second, I was standing in the rain.

My heart was pounding.

Water was running down my face.

The same house stood in front of me.

The same red door.

And that boy was standing beside me.

I couldn't see his face.

But I could hear his voice.

"Lena, don't go inside."

I blinked.

The classroom came rushing back.

I nearly dropped the paper.

I stared at it, breathing heavily.

It wasn't just similar to the house in my dream.

It was the house.

The same house.

The same door.

The same broken window.

I looked down at my wrist.

The hidden mark was suddenly aching.

I pressed my sleeve against it.

Then I noticed something I hadn't seen before.

There was a tiny line of writing beneath the drawing.

I leaned closer.

Four words.

"You were there that night."

I stopped breathing.

I read it again.

And again.

My hands slowly began to shake.

Because I knew one thing for certain.

I had never told anyone about my dreams.

So who had drawn this house?

And how did they know I'd been there?

I looked around the classroom.

Everyone was listening to the lecturer.

Everyone except me.

For the first time, I wasn't afraid of the boy in my dreams.

I was afraid of the possibility that my dreams weren't dreams at all.

They were memories.

And somehow...

Someone else knew about them.