He, Who Waits in Dreams

It’s strange, isn’t it?

How I’ve always laughed at the idea of marriage. At needing someone. At sharing a life.

I swore I didn’t want any of it. And yet, in dreams, he comes to me.

That same man with the blurred face. He stands just out of reach, too distant to touch, too vivid to forget.

They say it’s longing. That maybe, deep down, I want someone to love.

But how could that be true when the thought of settling down feels like a chain tightening around my soul? I treasure my solitude. I breathe freedom like air. The idea of depending on someone frightens me.

Because what if they walk away?

What if they take everything with them, including the pieces of me I gave?

Still, in the quiet hours when the world is asleep, something inside me aches.

I try to silence it, but it whispers.

It asks the questions I pretend not to hear.

What if you’re real?

What if you’re out there, dreaming of me too?

“Will you turn off the lights? I’m trying to sleep here!”

I rolled my eyes at my sister, who was lying on the bed next to mine.

This is probably one of the reasons I don’t want to get married. Even now, while I’m still single, I’m not given enough space of my own.

I have to share everything, my room, my time, my silence. Maybe that’s why I keep looking forward to the idea of living alone. Not because I hate people, but because I crave the peace that only solitude can give.

“I can’t sleep.”

No... I don’t want to sleep.

I’m afraid of seeing him again.

I don’t want to get my hopes up.

I know he’s not real.

“Well, that’s your problem. Just turn off the lights. I still have to wake up early for my entrance exam tomorrow.”

“Fine,” I replied quietly.

She was right. I didn’t want her to get low scores because of me.

So I reached for the switch, letting the room sink into darkness.

The room fell silent, swallowed by shadows.

Only the soft hum of the wind and my sister’s steady breathing filled the space. I lay there with my eyes wide open, staring into the void above. My heart beat faster than it should have, as if it knew what was coming.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to get myself into a blank sleep.

No thoughts. No dreams. No him.

But sleep doesn’t ask for permission.

It crept in slowly, like a tide washing over the shore. My limbs grew heavy, my thoughts hazy. Then it happened.

The shift.

The moment where the world beneath me slipped away, and I landed somewhere else.

Somewhere not here.

I looked around and saw vast green grass, swaying gently with the wind. In the middle of the field stood a small, weathered hut and just in front of it, a man stood with his hands tucked inside his pockets, staring at the structure as if it held all the answers.

There he was again.

I don’t think he saw me at first. I tried to turn away, to hide among the tall grass, but my feet betrayed me. They moved on their own, carrying me toward him.

He must have sensed my presence, because he slowly turned his head in my direction.

His hair was tousled by the breeze, slightly disheveled in a way that looked effortless. I could see the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his neck, and his pale, light-touched skin.

I knew it! He had to be a creation of my imagination.

He looked exactly like the kind of man I’d fall for, if only I could make out his face. If only the dream would let me see it. Then I’d be sure.

I wanted to slap myself for even thinking that.

And maybe, just maybe, he could hear that thought, because the corner of his lips curved into a knowing grin, and he opened his arms toward me.

I don’t know why, but my body wouldn’t listen.

No matter what my mind screamed, I kept walking closer. My hands inched toward his like they had a will of their own.

I tried to stop myself. I really did. But just as I hesitated, he stepped forward and pulled me gently into his arms.

I woke up panting, my chest rising and falling like I had just run a marathon.

In a daze, I reached up and pulled at my hair just to make sure I was really awake.

I regretted it instantly.

It hurt.

“What’s wrong with you?” my sister asked, glancing at me from across the room.

She was buttoning her white long-sleeved blouse, frowning as she struggled to fold the sleeves up to her elbows. After a few failed attempts, she walked toward me and pointed at her sleeve with her lips, clearly expecting me to help without saying a word.

“Are you gonna be okay with the exams today?” I asked, trying to sound like the responsible older sister.

“We’ll find out when the results come out,” she replied with a shrug.

“Aren’t you worried?”

“Nope. Because if I fail, I’ll just have to live with you for the rest of my life.”

I threw a pillow at her. It landed squarely on her head, sending her already messy hair into full chaos. Strands flew in every direction, sticking out like she’d just been electrocuted.

She paused, blinking at me.

I grinned.

“Well,” she said, pulling the strands of her hair off her face with exaggerated slowness, “looks like someone woke up over dramatic today.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Says the one planning to freeload off me forever.”

She shrugged again. “It’s called a lifelong sisterly bond. You wouldn’t understand.”

Then, as she turned toward the mirror to fix her hair, she gasped.

“Oh my gosh! Look at my hair! I look like a scarecrow who got struck by lightning.”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed.

She grabbed a hairbrush and started attacking the tangles like she was trying to exorcise a demon.

“Seriously, I can’t go to my exam like this! What if the examiner is cute? What if my future husband sees me and immediately un-sees me?”

“Pretty sure your future husband will appreciate your... natural disaster aesthetic.”

She scowled at me through the mirror, holding the brush like a weapon.

“Say that again and I’ll brush your soul out of your body.”

"Well, I just hope your future husband will see you soon so that I won't have a freeloader in the future." I said while fixing my bed.

I looked at myself in the mirror and sighed.

My long black hair was somehow worse than my sister’s. It looked like a bird had tried to nest in it and then gave up. I ran my fingers through it, half-heartedly trying to fix the mess. Too lazy to find my hairbrush, I just kept tugging at the worst knots, hoping for a miracle.

“Breakfast is ready!” my sister called out from the kitchen. “I made scrambled eggs and toasted some bread.”

Ah, the classic “sibling chef special.”

I grabbed a hair tie and gave up, twisting my wild hair into a high bun that probably looked like a defeated onion.

As I walked to the kitchen, she added, “We need to go grocery shopping later. And don’t forget we have to pick up Eli from Mom’s. He wants to stay here for their long weekend”

Right.

Eli.

Our little brother.

I almost forgot about him. He’s staying at his dad’s house, Uncle David. Technically, he’s not really my uncle, but that’s what I’ve always called him.

Elle and I share the same father. We both lost him at a young age, and Mom... well, she didn’t take it well. For a long time, she was just a shadow of herself.

Then she met David. He was kind, patient, and somehow managed to pull her out of the darkness. They got married and had Eli not long after.

Now, Mom lives with them.

After I graduated college, I chose to stay behind in our father’s old house. Someone had to take care of it. Keep it alive.

Elle moved in with me eventually. She said she just couldn’t deal with Uncle David’s daughter, who, unfortunately, was her age and had the personality of a wet sponge dipped in glitter and drama.

“I’ll have to go now and ace that exam!” Elle shouted, already halfway out the door.

“How can you ace something you didn’t even prepare for?” I shouted back.

She turned, walking backward with a grin. “It’s called raw talent!”

I chuckled as I watched my sister wave frantically at a passing taxi like it owed her money. When one finally pulled over, she climbed in without looking back.

I turned away from the window and sat at the table, staring at the plate she left behind.

Scrambled eggs. Again.

I took a bite.

How have I survived eating scrambled eggs almost every day?

At this point, I think my stomach has a Stockholm syndrome relationship with eggs.

I tried to brush off the dream, but it lingered, stronger than before.

So I made coffee.

The bitter scent always helped clear my head. As I waited for it to brew, I grabbed my old notebook from the shelf, along with a pen that barely worked anymore.

I flipped it open.

My handwriting greeted me, uneven, rushed, emotional. These were the entries I wrote after dreaming of him. Every time he appeared.

The dreams didn’t happen every night. Not even often. But they always found me when I was at my lowest.

The first time I dreamed of him… was the night my father died.

I had cried for hours, blaming myself, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. Guilt consumed me until sleep finally took me under like a wave.

In the dream, I was already older. A grown woman. My hair danced in the wind as I stood in a field. There was a small hut, and the man stood there, looking at it.

He was smiling.

It was just a fleeting dream, no words, no touch but it felt real. Too real. The kind of real that left an ache in your chest even after waking.

The feeling was familiar, like déjà vu but heavier.

So I wrote it down. Right here, in this notebook.

After that, I kept wishing to see him again. But he didn’t come.

Not for a long time.

Years passed. I graduated high school. I remember partying with my friends until dawn before we all left for different colleges. I drank too much. Blacked out.

And in that drunken haze… he appeared again.

This time, he looked right at me. I could tell he was smiling. I smiled back, even though I still couldn’t see his whole face. It didn’t matter.

The warmth in my chest when I woke up was overwhelming.

Until Elle jumped on top of me, trying to wake me up.

I almost pulled her hair. But instead, I reached for this notebook, desperate to write it down before the details slipped away.

I waited again after that.

Night after night, I hoped for him.

But he never came.

Then, the news.

Mom was getting remarried.

Five years after Dad’s death.

I was devastated. Furious. Broken all over again.

I ran away during a thunderstorm, barefoot, sobbing. I don’t even remember where I was going. All I remember is collapsing on the road. When I woke up, I had a fever, and I was back in the house. Mom was at my bedside, eyes red with worry.

I drifted in and out of sleep.

And in one of those dreams I saw him again.

I was sitting on a tree trunk, watching a group of people my age playing and laughing by a river.

He stood across from me. Then he walked toward me.

And the moment I saw him, I felt… sad.

This wasn’t the happy dream I had wanted.

I remember thinking: I wish I could marry this man. I wish I could have a life with him, like the one Mom and Dad had before everything fell apart.

But even beautiful dreams don’t always lead to happy endings.

The sadness in my chest grew so heavy that I closed my eyes and tried to force myself awake.

When I finally opened them, Elle was shouting for Mom.

I had survived another storm inside and out.

I cried so hard that day. But I accepted it. Maybe Mom deserved happiness too. Maybe I needed to stop holding on so tightly to the past.

After that third dream, he never came again.

Not until last night.

The morning had now settled into that usual rhythm.

Cramped space. Family duty. And a hint of emotional exhaustion after tending to my little garden out back.

The plants looked happier than I felt.

After washing up, I pulled on a long, flowing white skirt and a sleeveless floral top that always made me feel like I belonged in an old postcard. Light, soft, and perfect for the late morning sun.

I tied my hair back into a neater bun this time and grabbed my bag.

I planned to stay at the café near the university, the one with the windows full of potted succulents and mismatched chairs. Elle would be taking her exam there today, and I thought I’d wait for her.

Afterward, we’d pick up Eli from Uncle David’s, then stop by the grocery store.

A little sibling outing.

Something ordinary.

Maybe ordinary was what I needed.

I stood by the roadside, waiting for a taxi with my bag slung over one shoulder and my laptop tucked safely inside. I planned to spend a few hours at the café, not just to wait for Elle, but to prepare lessons for my class next week. With the long semestral break giving me some breathing room, it felt like the perfect time to get ahead. I don't like to cram.

The taxi pulled up, and I climbed in, settling into the worn seat with a quiet sigh. The drive was short, barely ten minutes, before we reached the familiar gates.

I stepped out and looked up at the university I once called home.

Now it was Elle’s turn.

Well… if she aces that exam.

Knowing her, that was a big if.

We’ve always been opposites. I was the quiet one, the planner, the observer. She was the spark, wild, loud, chaotic in a way that made people love her instantly. And annoy me just as quickly.

Still, I hoped she’d make it. Even if she drove me crazy half the time.

I heaved a sigh, then turned my back on the school and looked across the street at the café just in front of the university. It hadn’t changed much since I was a student. The soft pastel walls, the small chalkboard sign by the door, the vines curling up the windows, everything felt familiar.

I opened the door, and the soft ring of a bell greeted me.

The scent hit me immediately. Freshly brewed coffee mixed with the delicate fragrance of flowers. They still sold small bouquets here, and the blooms sat in metal buckets near the counter, adding life and color to the cozy space.

As I stepped inside, I noticed someone I knew.

She looked up from the espresso machine, her face lighting up with surprise. A second later, she hurried toward me and wrapped me in a big, unexpected hug.

“Ellara!” she yelled so loudly it nearly hurt my ears.

I winced but laughed, hugging her back tightly.

“It’s been a while, Isla,” I said, smiling. “How’s the business doing?”

She pulled away just enough to look at me, then rolled her eyes dramatically.

“This is the first time we’ve seen each other since high school, and that’s what you ask? Really? You’re hopeless,” she huffed. “Be a decent friend for once, will you?”

I laughed at her. “Come on, I’m always updated about your life. You know I basically lived here during college. Your mom and I talked about you all the time.”

Isla groaned and threw her hands up. “Ugh, Mom is so nosy. She should be focusing on running the café, not turning me into the daily gossip special.”

Just as I was about to reply with something snarky, the bell above the door chimed again.

I turned my head, more out of habit than curiosity.

A man walked in.

He didn’t look our way, just moved toward the counter with quiet, unhurried steps.

I couldn’t see his face, only his back, but something about him made me pause. The way he stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slouched, like he’d been walking a long time. His height, his build... it felt oddly familiar.

I stared for a second longer than I meant to.

“Huh,” I murmured to myself.

“What?” Isla asked.

“Nothing. Thought I recognized someone, but… never mind.”

I turned back to her, but the thought lingered.

It wasn’t a big deal, really. Probably just a coincidence.

But still.

Weird.