This is Just a Dream

Chapter 6

he terminal at the regional airport was a blur of manufactured light and industrial carpeting, but to Eden, it looked like the gates of heaven. She stood near the arrival doors, her heart hammering against her ribs with a violence that made her feel lightheaded. Every time the heavy glass doors slid open, her breath hitched, only to be released in a shaky sigh when it wasn’t him.

And then, he walked through.

He was wearing his dress greens, his shoulders broader, his posture holding a rigidity that hadn't been there. His hair was cut short, his face leaner, and there was a shadow in his eyes—a flicker of something hardened—that made the air catch in her throat. He was a soldier.

"Adam!"

The name left her lips before she could stop it. Her feet took off before her mind could catch up, she was running to him, to her forever.He heard her through the sea of people, his gaze snapping to hers, and in that split second, the soldier vanished. His face broke into the lopsided, effortless grin that she had traced in her mind every single night of his absence.

He didn't care about the crowd. He dropped his duffel bag, the heavy thud barely audible over the roar in her ears, and he reached her in three long strides. When he grabbed her, lifting her off her feet as he had on graduation day, it felt like the world finally tilted back onto its axis.

"Baby," he breathed against her neck, his voice deeper, raspy with emotion. "God, you look..."

He didn't finish. He just pressed his forehead against hers, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped her face. Eden clung to his uniform, the wool coarse against her fingers, her tears blurring the world until he was the only thing in focus. The airport, the people, the noise—it all faded into the background, leaving only the reality of him.

“This feel like a dream, you look so beautiful baby” he said.

"You're here," she sobbed, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "You're actually here."

"I'm here baby," he promised, his arms tightening around her as if he could weld them together and never have to let go. "I'm right here."

She could feel the warmth of his skin through his uniform. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek.

The drive home was a surreal haze. Adam insisted on driving, his hand constantly finding hers on the center console, gripping it with a desperation that mirrored her own, bringing it up to kiss her fingers and her knuckles. As they pulled into the driveway of her small apartment, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and gold.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, the thin veneer of their composure shattered. Adam turned to her, his back hitting the door as he pulled her into him. Their kiss was frantic, hungry, a collision of months of silence and longing. It was fueled by the terrifying knowledge of what was coming, an urgency that made every touch feel like a memory being etched into their skin.

He picked her up by the back of her thighs, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

They collapsed onto the sofa, the space between them filled with the frantic rustle of fabric and the sound of ragged breathing. Every touch was an exploration, a frantic inventory of the other’s body—a way to reassure themselves that they were still whole, still real, still together.

He didn't touch her like a high school lover, he didn't kiss her the same as before. He loved her like a man, he worshipped her, he cherished her. He swallowed her moans and breathed new life into her.

He was harder, he was more certain and less fumbling. He took his time, his strokes harder and more precise. He knew her body like a map and he was conquering every destination over and over again. He was ingraining himself into her.

“This is all I've been dreaming of,” he said in a gruff tone as he moved in and out of her cupping her cheek in his hand, his forehead to hers as their bodies collided in a carnivorous need. It was a hunger, a ravenous beast that needed to be satiated.

Hours later, the room was bathed in the soft, ambient glow of the streetlamp outside. They lay tangled in the blankets, the silence heavy and profound. Adam was tracing the line of her collarbone with his thumb, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

His voice barely a whisper. "It feels like six years has passed."

"I know," Eden murmured, shifting closer, resting her head on his chest so she could hear the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart. "But you're back."

"For two days," he corrected, a flash of bitterness crossing his features. "Two days of leave before I head out. Before the real work begins."

She sat up, her heart aching. "We shouldn't talk about that. Not now."

"We have to, Eden," Adam said, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "We have to talk about us. About the future."

He reached over to the bedside table and picked up the small, velvet box he had brought with him. He opened it, revealing the simple engagement ring they had talked about in their letters. It was modest, elegant, and perfect. It was real.

"I didn't want to wait until I got back," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to know that when I’m out there, across the world, you’re officially mine. I want you to know that there is a home waiting for me, and that home is you."

Eden’s breath hitched, a sob catching in her throat. She held out her hand, watching as he slid the ring onto her finger right next to the promise ring that she never takes off.

"Yes," she whispered. "A thousand times yes."

He kissed her then, a kiss that felt like a vow. But even then, amidst the joy and the relief, the fear was there, a cold, intrusive guest at their table. They spent the rest of the night talking about the wedding—not a date, because that was impossible, but the details. A small ceremony in the spring, the flowers she wanted, the way they would move into their own place.

They were building a cathedral of dreams in the middle of a war zone. They talked as if they had all the time in the world, carefully ignoring the calendar that sat on the counter, the days marked off in red ink like a slow-moving execution.

The next forty-eight hours were a blur of intense, soul-baring intimacy. They ate meals together, went for long walks where they didn't speak, just held hands, and sat in the quiet of her apartment, trying to memorize the way the other moved, the way they laughed, the way they looked in the morning light.

It was a frantic, beautiful, and devastatingly temporary existence. They knew the clock was ticking, and they refused to waste a single second.

When the morning of his departure arrived, the world felt gray, muffled, and wrong. Adam stood in the center of her apartment, his uniform crisp, his bag packed. The transformation was complete. The boy who had arrived two days ago had been subsumed by the soldier who was leaving.

Eden stood by the door, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles white. She was trying to be strong—she had promised herself she wouldn't cry—but the tears were already tracking down her cheeks, silent and relentless.

Adam walked over to her, his expression controlled, but his eyes were betraying him. He pulled her into a final, crushing hug, his face buried in her neck, his hand tangled in her hair.

"Write to me," he whispered. "Every day. Don't stop."

"I won't," she promised, her voice cracking. "I’ll write you a novel if I have to."

"I'm coming back to you, baby. Do you hear me? I’m coming back."

He pulled away, his hands lingering on her face, his thumb tracing her bottom lip before he finally let go. He picked up his bag, and without looking back—because he knew if he looked back, he would lose the resolve he had spent months building—he walked out the door.

Eden followed him to the airport. She knew she shouldn't, that it would only make the ending more excruciating, but she couldn't let him leave without one last sight of him.

The security gate was a wall she couldn't cross. They stood there, in the middle of the bustling terminal, a scene that was being played out a dozen times around them—the silent, tearful goodbyes of soldiers and their loved ones.

"Go," Adam said, his voice rough. "Don't watch the gate."

"I have to," she replied.

He cupped her cheek one last time, a brief, fleeting contact that burned. He leaned down and kissed her, in front of everyone to see, he kissed her like no one was watching. Then he turned away, he couldn't let her see the tears that had formed in his eyes, he knew that would make it harder for her. He knew that she would remember those tears. He walked through the security line, his shoulders squared, his gait steady and purposeful. He didn't look back. He had to be a soldier now.

Eden moved to the observation deck, a glass-walled space that overlooked the tarmac. It was cold, the air thin and sterile, smelling of jet fuel and ozone. She stood by the glass, her forehead resting against the cool surface, watching the planes move across the airfield like giants on a stage.

She saw the transport plane, a massive, gray silhouette against the dawn sky. She saw the ground crew moving, the baggage carts, the fueling trucks—a frantic, mechanical dance that signaled the end of her world.

She watched as he walked across the tarmac, a small, solitary figure in his uniform. He looked like the boy she had fallen in love with, and he looked like a man who she was willing to wait an eternity for just to be able to feel his heartbeat against her cheek once more. He turned his head as if to look back at her but then turned around and moved forward into formation. She smiled with tears covering her cheeks and dripping from her chin. He had become so strong and she was so proud of him.

She pressed her hand to the glass. "I love you," she whispered, the words lost in the vast, indifferent space. Hoping that he could hear her.

The plane began to taxi, its engines roaring to life, a low, guttural vibration that shook the very floor she stood on. Eden watched as it gained speed, its wheels lifting off the runway and climbing into the sky. She followed it with her eyes until it was nothing more than a silver speck, a fading glint of light against the vast, blue expanse.

Then, it was gone.

The sky was empty. The world was quiet. The silence of the morning descended, profound and absolute.

Her entire world had just flown away in the span of seconds.

Eden turned away from the window, the cold of the glass still imprinted on her forehead. She walked out of the terminal, the bustling crowd a blur of faces she didn't see. She reached her car, the keys trembling in her hand as she unlocked the door.

She sat in the driver's seat, the engine silent, the air in the car heavy and stagnant. She looked down at her hand, the ring sparkling in the morning sun.

The ache was back. The panic in her chest was back in full force.

She started the car, the engine turning over with a steady, reliable rhythm. She had to go back to school. She had to go back to her classes. She had to go back to the kids who needed her. She had to keep living, she had to keep breathing, and she had to keep waiting.

And as she drove back into the city, the silence of her life beginning to close in around her, Eden Henderson made a silent, internal vow. She would survive the wait. She would honor the ring. She would keep the promise.

She would be waiting, no matter how long it took, no matter how much it hurt, and no matter how dark the world became. She was in love with a soldier, and there was a profound sense of pride in having that feeling ebbed into your heart.