Dreamed You, Found You

Ch18: The Ache

The rain had stopped by morning, but the sky stayed grey.

Sari sat at the kitchen table with her laptop open, the screen glowing in the dim light. Nenek had gone to the market. The house was quiet except for the drip of water from the roof and the distant call of a rooster.

She had been searching for an hour.

*Recurring dreams. Same person every night. What does it mean?*

The search results were useless. Spiritual websites. Forum posts from strangers. Articles about lucid dreaming and sleep paralysis and the chemistry of memory.

Nothing about a grey city. Nothing about a man whose face she couldn't see. Nothing about a voice that said *stay* and then disappeared.

She tried again.

*Dreaming about someone you've never met.*

More of the same. Psychology blogs explaining that strangers in dreams represent unknown aspects of the self. Forums where people described crushes on dream figures and were told to "touch grass."

Sari closed the laptop and pressed her palms against her eyes.

*There has to be something.*

She opened the laptop again. This time, she typed: *Can two people share a dream?*

The first result was an academic paper. The title was dense, full of words she didn't understand. But the author's name caught her eye.

*Dr. Chen, Department of Psychology, New York University.*

She clicked.

The abstract was cautious—*preliminary research*, *anecdotal evidence*, *further study required*—but something in the language felt different. Serious. Professional. Not the usual dismissal of dream sharing as fantasy.

She scrolled to the bottom of the page. Contact information. An email address.

She stared at it for a long time.

*What would I even say?*

She closed the laptop again. Opened it. Closed it.

Her fingers moved before her brain caught up.

*Dear Dr. Chen,*

She stopped. Deleted it. Started again.

*Hello,*

No. Too casual.

*To Dr. Chen,*

Better.

*I found your paper about shared dreaming. I don't know if this is the right place to write, but I've been having strange dreams. The same man, every night. I don't know who he is. I've never seen him before. But the dreams feel real—more real than dreams should.*

*I don't know if I'm going crazy. I don't know if something is actually happening.*

*I saw that you're a psychologist. I was hoping you might have some insight.*

*Thank you for your time,*

*Sari Dewi*

*Central Java, Indonesia*

She read it twice. Three times. Then she added a line at the top, remembering the brief inquiry she had sent weeks ago.

*I sent a short question a while back. I don't know if you remember.*

She hovered over the send button.

*This is insane*, she thought. *He's going to think I'm crazy.*

She sent it anyway.

---

The reply came faster than she expected.

*Ms. Dewi,*

*Thank you for reaching out. I would be happy to speak with you about your dreams. Would you be available for a video consultation this week? I find that some experiences are better discussed face-to-face—even if only through a screen.*

*Best regards,*

*Dr. Chen*

Sari read the email three times.

*Video consultation.*

She had never done anything like this before. Therapy. Counseling. Whatever this was. But something about Dr. Chen's response felt different from the generic replies she had expected. He hadn't dismissed her. He hadn't told her to stop worrying about dreams.

He had said *I would be happy to speak with you.*

She typed back: *Yes. I'm available. Whenever works for you.*

---

The video call connected on Thursday afternoon.

Sari sat in her bedroom, the laptop propped on her desk, the window open to let in the afternoon breeze. She had worn her best blouse—simple, batik, the kind she wore to parent-teacher conferences.

Dr. Chen appeared on the screen. He was older than she had imagined, with grey-streaked hair and calm eyes. His office looked warm, full of books and soft light.

"Ms. Dewi," he said. "Thank you for agreeing to this."

"Thank you for seeing me."

He smiled. "I read your email. You said you've been having strange dreams. Can you tell me about them?"

Sari took a breath.

"There's a city," she said. "Grey. Tall buildings. It's cold—colder than anywhere I've ever been. And there's a man."

"A man."

"I can't see his face. There's always light behind him, blocking it. But he's there. Every night. Standing. Waiting."

"You said in your email that the dreams feel real."

"More than real." Sari paused, searching for the words. "When I wake up, I remember everything. The temperature of the air. The way the light falls on the buildings. The silence. It's not like remembering a dream. It's like remembering a place I actually visited."

Dr. Chen nodded. He was writing something—she could see his pen moving, but not what he was writing.

"Have you spoken to him?" he asked.

"Once. He said one word. 'Stay.'"

"And before that?"

"Nothing. Just—presence. I could feel him looking at me. I could feel that he was there. But no words."

Dr. Chen set down his pen.

"Ms. Dewi, have you ever had dreams like this before? Vivid, recurring, emotionally intense?"

"No. Never."

"And you have no idea who this man might be? No one you've met in waking life who resembles him?"

Sari shook her head. "I've never seen anyone like him. I don't even know if he's real."

She hadn't meant to say that last part. It slipped out, raw and unguarded.

Dr. Chen was quiet for a moment.

"Why do you think he might be real?"

Sari looked down at her hands. Her fingers were twisted together in her lap, knuckles white.

"Because of how I feel when I'm with him," she said. "Even in the dream. Even without seeing his face. I feel—seen. Like he's looking at me and actually seeing me. Not the teacher. Not the woman who went to America and came back. Just me."

She looked up at the screen.

"If he's just a dream, how can he see me?"

Dr. Chen didn't answer immediately. He picked up his pen again, wrote something, then set it down.

"Ms. Dewi, I'd like you to keep recording your dreams. Write down everything you remember—colors, sounds, feelings. And if you learn anything new about the man—his name, his voice, his face—write that down too."

"You think this means something?"

"I think," Dr. Chen said carefully, "that your dreams are worth paying attention to."

---

After the call ended, Sari sat at her desk for a long time.

The afternoon sun slanted through the window, warm on her face. Outside, children were playing in the street, their laughter rising and falling like birds.

She opened her notebook to a fresh page and wrote:

*First consultation with Dr. Chen. He didn't tell me I was crazy.*

*He said my dreams are worth paying attention to.*

She underlined the last sentence.

Then she closed the notebook and went outside to find Nenek.

---

In his office, Dr. Chen closed his laptop.

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

The cat slept in its corner. The books on the shelves were quiet. The afternoon light was soft and golden.

He opened his notebook and read the notes he had taken during the call.

*Sari Dewi. Central Java. Dreams of grey city, unidentified man. Emotional intensity high. Reports feeling "seen." Dreams feel like memories of real places.*

He turned back several pages.

*Adrian Volkov. Chicago. Dreams of grey city, unidentified woman. Emotional intensity high. Reports feeling "warmth." Dreams feel like being somewhere real.*

He set down the notebook.

*Too similar*, he thought. *The city. The presence. The feeling of reality.*

He had no explanation.

But he knew, with a certainty he couldn't justify, that these two people were dreaming of each other.

He just didn't know how to tell them.