Chapter: Dreaming of You

The morning broke cold.
All I wanted was to stay in bed, wrapped in the warmth of your arms.
But you weren't there.

Opening my eyes took more effort than usual, as if the weight of the world had settled on my eyelids. I remembered your words then—those that still echo in my mind like a soft whisper urging me to keep going.
I got up. Made the bed. Brushed my teeth. Took a shower. Had breakfast.
The urge to cry was overwhelming, like a knot in my throat that refused to loosen. But I imagined you there, speaking to me in that calm voice of yours, telling me you were still with me... and the knot unraveled.

I went to my first class and tried to focus, though my mind kept slipping back to you, again and again.
The paper in front of me ended up filled with meaningless scribbles.
At some point, the professor called me out.
He asked if I was okay.
I hadn't noticed, but a few tears had escaped.
I excused myself with a yawn, and he, perhaps out of mercy, didn't ask further.

On my way home, a familiar scent made me lift my head.
The smell of freshly ground coffee and those cookies you loved so much floated in the air, filling the block.
For a moment, I pictured you—just like so many times before—sitting with your tea, the one you always drank while reading your favorite book.
I knew that whenever a line reminded you of me, you'd mark it with a little tab, just so you could show it to me later, smiling that smile that melted my soul.

When I got to the apartment, I set the keys down on the table.
I thought about how lovely it would be to find you there, waiting for me, asking how my day went while we cooked together.
But you weren't there.

I walked straight to the bathroom and stepped into the shower.
The sound of water hitting the floor took me back to that day the rain caught us near your place.
We ran for cover under a makeshift canopy.
It was a perfect day.
We ate our favorite food, laughed like never before, you kissed me like time didn't exist, and you said you loved me.
In the middle of the storm, you did the most hopelessly romantic thing—you kissed me, soaked in the rain.
And even though we ended up sick for days, I'd never felt so alive.

The tears came back, but this time I didn't stop them.
I broke down right there, under the water, the memories pouring as hard as the rain from that day.
The sobs brought me to my knees, and I ended up sitting under the stream, undone, the cold dragging me back to reality.
I don't know how long I stayed there.
All I know is that when the water turned ice-cold, I realized I had to get out—or my body would end up as empty as my soul.

I put on comfortable pajamas and lay down.
My appetite had disappeared long ago.
I try to eat at least twice a day, for you.
Because you used to remind me, so gently—either with a plate set in front of me or with stubborn little messages.
But now, you're no longer here.

Hours later, I forced myself to prepare something light.
I sat down to eat in front of the TV, played some random movie, and when it was over, I left the plate in the dishwasher.
Then I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
I didn't recognize the person staring back.
My reflection showed dark circles under my eyes and a sorrow spilling out from my gaze.
I was tired. Tired of everything.

I turned off the lights. Checked the door.
Laid down in the dark with a single hope:
to dream of you.
Because only there, in that world that doesn't hurt, I can see you, feel you close.
I wish I wouldn't wake up this time.
I wish, at last, I could stay with you forever.