Ch20: The Return
1110 Words
The grey city was waiting.
Adrian stood at the center of the empty street, the buildings rising around him like silent sentinels. The air was cold, but not as cold as before. Something had shifted. The grey seemed thinner, the edges of the city less sharp, as if the dream was softening around him.
She was there.
Not across the street. Not walking ahead of him. She was standing still, only a few meters away, her face turned toward him.
He could see her.
Not clearly—never clearly—but more than before. The blur that had always covered her features had thinned. He could see the shape of her face now. The curve of her jaw. The soft line of her cheek. The dark fall of her hair against her shoulders. Her eyes—deep brown, warm, watching him the way you watch something precious that might disappear.
She was wearing a simple shirt, collar unbuttoned, and her hands hung at her sides, fingers slightly curled.
He took a step toward her. The distance didn't stretch. It stayed the same, small and close and almost touchable.
Another step.
She didn't move away.
He stopped when he was close enough to reach out and touch her. He didn't raise his hand. He just stood there, looking at her, seeing her, really seeing her for the first time.
She was warm.
He had always known that. In the grey cold of the city, she was warmth. But now, standing so close, he could feel it radiating from her like heat from a fire. Not the sharp heat of anger or the dry heat of a summer day—a soft heat. The kind that came from living. From caring. From being fully, completely alive.
She smiled.
He could see her mouth now. Small, curved upward at the corners, her lips slightly parted. Not a wide smile—a quiet one. The kind of smile that said *I'm glad you're here* without needing words.
His chest tightened.
"Don't leave again," he said.
His voice came out low, rough, the words scraping against his throat. He hadn't planned to say it. He hadn't planned to say anything. But the words were there, rising from somewhere deep, somewhere he didn't know existed.
She tilted her head, as if she hadn't quite heard him.
He tried again.
"Don't go."
Softer this time. Almost a whisper.
Her smile widened. Just a little.
She nodded.
The dream held for a long moment—longer than usual, as if the grey city itself was reluctant to let them go. He could see her eyes now, deep brown, flecked with gold in the strange light. He could see the small scar on her chin, barely visible, and the way her hair curled at her temples, damp with something that might have been sweat or rain.
He wanted to ask her name. He wanted to tell her his. He wanted to reach out and touch her face, just to know if she was real.
But the dream was already fading.
The edges began to blur. The colors bled into one another. Her face, so clear a moment ago, began to dissolve into light.
He reached for her.
His hand closed on empty air.
She was gone.
The grey city was gone.
He was alone in the dark.
---
Adrian woke with his hand outstretched, fingers curled around nothing.
The bedroom was dark. The city lights filtered through the blinds, casting thin lines across the ceiling. His heart was beating too fast, his breath too shallow.
He lowered his hand slowly, pressing his palm against the mattress.
*Don't leave again.*
He had said it. Out loud. In the dream. To her.
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold. He didn't notice. He walked to the window and looked out at the sleeping city. The lake was black. The sky was black. The buildings rose in silhouette, familiar and empty.
*She was real.*
Not a lamp in fog. Not a feeling. A person. With a face and eyes and a smile that made his chest ache.
He had seen her. Not clearly—not the way you see someone in daylight—but enough. Enough to know that she existed somewhere, in some world, in some dream that belonged to both of them.
He picked up his phone.
The screen glowed in the darkness. His thumb hovered over Dr. Chen's contact.
*I saw her face. She smiled at me. I told her not to leave.*
He stared at the words he hadn't typed.
What would Dr. Chen say? *She's a symbol. A reflection. A compensation for what you lack.*
Adrian didn't believe that anymore.
He couldn't.
He set the phone down on the nightstand. He didn't call. He didn't text. He just stood at the window, watching the sky lighten from black to grey to pale morning blue, and he thought about her face.
*Don't leave again.*
He had spent thirty years not asking anyone for anything. Not begging. Not pleading. Not letting anyone see that he needed them.
And then, in a dream, he had asked a woman he didn't know to stay.
He didn't know what that made him.
But he knew he would say it again.
---
The next morning, Marcus found him in the office at 6:30, already at his desk, already working.
"You're in early," Marcus said.
"I couldn't sleep."
Marcus set a cup of coffee on the desk and didn't ask follow-up questions. He had learned, over eight years, when to push and when to stay silent.
Adrian picked up the coffee. He didn't drink it. He just held it, letting the warmth seep into his palms.
"Marcus," he said.
"Yes?"
"Have you ever dreamed about someone you've never met?"
Marcus paused. "I don't usually remember my dreams."
"Neither did I. Until recently."
Marcus waited.
Adrian looked down at the coffee. The surface was dark, unbroken, reflecting nothing.
"In the dream," he said slowly, "I told her not to leave."
"Her?"
"A woman. I don't know her name. I don't know where she's from. But she's there, every night. And last night, I saw her face."
Marcus said nothing.
Adrian set down the coffee. "Forget I said anything."
"Too late," Marcus said. But he didn't push. He just nodded, turned, and walked out of the office, closing the door quietly behind him.
Adrian sat alone in the silence.
He didn't call Dr. Chen.
He didn't know how to explain that he had stopped caring whether she was real.
He just wanted her to come back.
- Writer
