Chapter Text
The first time it happens, Elia thinks it’s just one of those vivid dreams that linger too long after waking—like a song you can’t quite shake.
She falls asleep on a humid Thursday afternoon, her laptop still open beside her, a half-written email blinking accusingly on the screen. The ceiling fan hums overhead, steady and dull, and the last thing she remembers is the heaviness behind her eyes, the kind that promises deep, dreamless rest.
Instead, she wakes up somewhere else.
It’s colder there. Not uncomfortably so—just enough to make her aware of her skin. She’s sitting on a bench, her hands clasped together in her lap. The wood beneath her is worn smooth, like it’s been touched by a thousand other people before her.
There’s a lake.
That’s the first thing she notices. Still and glassy, stretching out under a pale sky that feels… unfinished. Like a painting someone forgot to add detail to. The air smells faintly of rain.
“You’re early.”
The voice startles her.
She turns, and there he is.
He looks ordinary at first glance. Dark hair, slightly too long. A face that isn’t striking but becomes harder to look away from the longer you stare. He’s leaning against the back of the bench like he’s always been there, like he belongs.
“Do I know you?” Elia asks.
It’s the obvious question, but even as she says it, something in her chest tightens. Not fear—something stranger. Recognition without memory.
He smiles, but it’s not mocking. It’s… relieved.
“Not yet,” he says.
That answer should unsettle her more than it does. Instead, she finds herself studying him, trying to place him in the catalog of her life. A classmate, maybe. A stranger from a café. Someone she passed on the street and forgot.
But no—this feels different. Too personal.
“Where are we?” she asks instead.
He glances out at the lake. “That’s harder to explain.”
She exhales, a small, nervous laugh escaping her. “Okay, well, try.”
He pushes himself upright and moves to sit beside her. There’s a careful distance between them, like he’s afraid to get too close.
“You fell asleep,” he says.
“I know that part.”
“And now you’re here.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s the only one that makes sense right now.”
She frowns, irritation flickering at the edges of her curiosity. “So this is a dream.”
He tilts his head, considering. “If it helps you to think of it that way.”
“It does help,” she says quickly. “Because otherwise—what? I’ve been transported to a weird lake dimension to talk to a guy who says things like that?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “When you put it like that, it does sound ridiculous.”
“It is ridiculous.”
There’s a pause. The kind that stretches just long enough to feel intentional.
Then he says, softer this time, “You won’t think it is later.”
Something about the way he says it makes her chest tighten again.
“Later?” she repeats.
He nods. “You’ll come back.”
She shakes her head immediately. “No, I won’t. This is a one-time thing. My brain’s just… processing stuff.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
He doesn’t argue. He just looks at her with that same quiet, unsettling familiarity.
And for a moment—just a moment—Elia wonders why the idea of not coming back feels like a loss.
The lake ripples, though there’s no wind.
“Before you wake up,” he says, “can I tell you something?”
She hesitates, then shrugs. “Sure. It’s my dream, right?”
He studies her like he’s memorizing something.
“We’re going to have a life,” he says.
She laughs, because what else is she supposed to do?
But the sound feels thin, like it doesn’t quite belong here.
“Yeah,” she says lightly. “Okay.”
He doesn’t laugh with her.
And somewhere far away, beyond the lake, beyond the pale unfinished sky, something begins to pull her back toward waking.
His last words follow her into the dark.
“You just don’t remember it yet.”