CHAPTER ONE
ASHLEY
The first time it happened, he was just a silhouette against a watercolor sky, a nameless face in a crowd of blurred memories.
I woke up with a lingering sense of warmth in my chest, dismissing it as a fluke of a tired mind. But then came the tenth time, and the hundredth;
The dreams grew sharper, the colors more vivid, and the stranger's voice though he never said my name became the only melody I cared to hear.
By the thousandth time, he wasn't a stranger anymore; he was the gravity that held my world together while I slept, leaving my waking life feeling like a pale, colorless imitation of the truth.
Then, the snap happened. One second I was reaching for him, my fingertips almost brushing the fabric of his sleeve, and the next, I was staring at the popcorn texture of my bedroom ceiling.
The silence of my room felt like a physical blow, a sudden vacuum that sucked all the color and music out of the world, leaving me gasping for a breath of air that didn't smell like his rain-soaked jacket.
I dragged myself out of bed, my movements feeling sluggish and heavy, as if I were still partially submerged in that other world. Every stitch of my clothing felt like a costume, a disguise to hide the fact that my mind was still wandering those watercolor skies. I brushed my teeth in a daze, staring at my reflection in the mirror and wondering if the longing in my eyes was visible to anyone else.
Downstairs, the smell of burnt toast and strong coffee filled the kitchen, a sharp contrast to the ethereal scent of rain from my dreams.
My mom was already bustling around, a whirlwind of checklists and reminders. I managed a small, distant smile and a quiet "Morning, Mom," before grabbing my bag. Her voice drifted after me as I headed for the door something about a dentist appointment next week but it sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a deep well.
The school hallways were a chaotic blur of slamming lockers and shouting teenagers, a noise that felt like static compared to the silence of my dreams. I spotted Lily by our usual spot near the library, her bright energy acting like a beacon in the grey morning. As soon as I reached her, the weight of the thousandth dream felt like it was spilling out of me, and I couldn't keep it in for another second.
"Lily, you're not going to believe this," I whispered, leaning in close so the passing crowd wouldn't overhear. "He was there again. But it was different this time it felt more real, like I could actually touch him. It's like I'm living two different lives, and the one where I'm actually awake is the boring one."
Lily stopped chewing her gum and looked at me with a mixture of pity and genuine fascination.
She didn't roll her eyes or tell me I was crazy, which is why she was my best friend. "The Dream Guy again?" she asked, her voice lowering. "Ashley, at this point, you're not just dreaming; you're basically manifesting a long-distance relationship with a ghost. Do you think you've actually seen him in real life? Like, maybe in a crowd somewhere?"
I shook my head, a frustrated sigh escaping me. "That's the thing, Lily. I've never seen him. Not in a yearbook, not in the halls, not even in a passing car. But in the dreams, he feels more familiar than my own bedroom."
I leaned my head against the cold metal of the locker, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion. It was draining to be so deeply in love with a ghost, to spend every night yearning for someone who might not even exist outside of my subconscious.
The rest of the day was a grueling exercise in monotony. I spent my classes staring blankly at the chalkboard, the teacher's voice drifting into the background like white noise, while my mind wandered back to the watercolor skies and the ghost who lived there. Even lunch with Lily felt distant; the laughter and gossip of the cafeteria felt like a movie playing on mute, a superficial layer of noise over the profound silence of my longing.
When the final bell finally screamed, I didn't feel the usual relief. I just felt empty. I walked home in a daze, the familiar streets of my neighborhood feeling strangely foreign, as if I were already halfway out the door of my own life.
I stepped through the front door, the smell of home hitting me with a familiarity that usually felt comforting, but today it just felt heavy. My mom was standing in the kitchen, her arms crossed and a look of tentative hesitation on her face that immediately made my stomach drop. She didn't start with the usual "how was your day," which was the first sign that something was wrong.
"Ashley, honey, come sit down," she said, her voice soft but carrying a weight of certainty. I sank into the wooden chair.
"Your father and I have been talking, and the opportunity in the city is just too good to pass up," she continued, avoiding my eyes for a split second. "We're moving, Ashley. In two days, we'll be leaving this town behind."
The words hit me like a physical shock. I didn't even think about the new house or the different school; all I could think about was the sudden, violent disruption of my routine. This town, as boring and grey as it was, was the only place where I felt the connection to my dreams was stable. The idea of ripping myself away from the only world I knew even the dream world felt like an amputation
"Two days?" I practically shouted, the sound of my own voice echoing strangely in the kitchen. "Mom, that's not a move, that's an evacuation! How are we supposed to pack everything, say goodbye to everyone, and just... leave in forty-eight hours?"
Panic surged through me, a cold contrast to the heavy numbness of a few moments ago. I looked around the kitchen, suddenly seeing every crack in the wallpaper and every chipped tile as something I was about to lose, and the urgency of the timeline felt like a countdown clock ticking toward a disaster.
My mom sighed, her expression softening as she reached across the table to squeeze my hand. "I know it's sudden, sweetheart. Your father's company fast-tracked the relocation. Most of the heavy lifting is already coordinated; we just need to get your room packed and handle the final walk-throughs. Please, try to be understanding."
I pulled my hand away, the suddenness of it all making my head spin. Two days. In forty-eight hours, everything I knew would be in the back of a moving truck, and I'd be thrust into a new city with a new school and a complete stranger's neighborhood. The thought was suffocating, but beneath the panic, a tiny, traitorous part of me wondered if a new place meant new dreams or if the ghost of the boy would follow me there.
I didn't answer her. Instead, I turned and bolted up the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I slammed my bedroom door shut and leaned against it, staring at the posters on my walls and the stacks of books on my nightstand. Everything felt fragile now, as if the mere mention of moving had turned my entire life into glass that was already beginning to crack.
I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest and closing my eyes tight. For a moment, I tried to force myself back into the dream, searching for the scent of rain and the warmth of his presence. I needed to know if he was a part of this town, or if he was something deeper, something that belonged to me regardless of where I woke up.
I stayed there for a long time, the cold floor pressing against my thighs, listening to the muffled sounds of my parents discussing logistics downstairs. The silence of the room felt heavy, almost oppressive, and I found myself staring at the clock. Every tick of the second hand felt like a grain of sand slipping through my fingers, bringing me closer to a departure I wasn't ready for.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed against the hardwood floor, vibrating with a persistence that broke my trance. It was a text from Lily: "I'm coming over. Don't you dare lock the door." She didn't even need the details; she could tell by the way I'd gone silent that my world was currently crashing down.
I didn't even have the energy to let her come over. Instead, I spent the next few hours staring at my phone, typing and deleting messages to Lily, until I finally just sent the truth: "We're moving. In two days." The conversation that followed was a blur of shocked emojis and frantic questions, but it all felt distant, like it was happening to someone else.
The next forty-eight hours disappeared in a whirlwind of packing tape and cardboard boxes. My room, which had been my sanctuary, was slowly stripped bare, leaving behind pale rectangles on the walls where my posters used to be. Every box I sealed felt like I was burying a piece of my life, and the urgency of the move left me feeling breathless and hollow.
Now, I'm sitting in the passenger seat, my forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window. The scenery is blurring into a smudge of greens and greys as we leave the town behind, and the silence in the car is heavy, broken only by the hum of the tires on the asphalt.
I look down at my hands, still feeling the ghost of a touch from a dream that happened a thousand times, and I wonder if the boy is still there, waiting in a place I can no longer return to. The distance between us is growing with every mile, and for the first time, the waking world feels completely empty.
My dad glances at me through the rearview mirror, probably trying to gauge if I'm about to have a meltdown or if I've finally accepted the inevitable. He says something about the new city having "better opportunities" and a "vibrant art scene," but his voice just sounds like background noise to me. I don't want a vibrant art scene; I want the watercolor skies that only exist when my eyes are closed.
I pull out my phone to check for messages from Lily, but the screen is blindingly bright against the dim interior of the car. I wonder if she's still standing by the lockers, wondering where I went, or if she's already starting to forget the girl who was obsessed with a ghost. I close my eyes for a second, hoping for a glimpse of him, but for the first time in years, the dream is silent.
The rhythmic hum of the tires and the steady vibration of the car seat act like a lullaby, pulling me down into a heavy, unwanted slumber. My head lolls to the side, resting against the window, as the world outside dissolves into a blur of grey and green. For a few minutes, there is only the sound of my own breathing and the distant murmur of my parents' voices, until the darkness finally claims me.
But the moment I slip away, the familiar warmth returns. I'm not in the car anymore; I'm standing in that familiar, shimmering landscape, and for the first time in a long time, the silence is broken. He is there, standing just a few feet away, looking at me with an expression that feels like a homecoming.
