This is Just a Dream

Chapter 5

The fluorescent lights of the university library hummed with a monotonous, soul-sucking frequency that seemed to vibrate directly into Eden’s skull. It was finals week, and the air in the room was thick with the scent of stale coffee, anxiety, and the desperate, frantic energy of three hundred students trying to cram a semester’s worth of knowledge into their fried synapses.

Eden stared at her textbook—Child Development: From Infancy to School Age—but the words were dancing across the page, refusing to settle into any coherent meaning. She rubbed her eyes, feeling the grit of exhaustion under her lids. It had been months since Adam had deployed, months of stolen phone calls, letters that arrived weeks late, and a persistent, low-grade ache in her chest that never fully dissipated.

She looked down at her hand. The silver promise ring, which had once felt like a talisman of hope, now felt like a heavy burden. It was a constant reminder of the life they were supposed to be building, a life that felt increasingly like a daydream as the demands of the real world—the relentless, crushing demands—piled up.

Focus, Eden, she told herself, the mantra becoming as rhythmic as her breathing. He’s doing the impossible for you. The least you can do is pass your Child Development final.

She forced herself back to the text, highlighting key concepts about cognitive development, her hand moving with a mechanical, detached precision. She wasn't just a student; she was a girl living a double life. In the halls of the university, she was just another face in the crowd, worried about grades and social lives. In the quiet of her dorm, she was a woman waiting for a soldier, a guardian of a promise, a keeper of a future that felt like a fragile, distant shore.

The next morning, the exhaustion of the study sessions was replaced by a different kind of intensity. It was the first day of her observation hours at the local Pre-K center—the realization of a dream she had held since she was a child.

Stepping into the classroom felt like walking into a sun-drenched, technicolor alternate reality. The room was a chaotic symphony of primary colors, sticky fingerprints, and the high-pitched, infectious energy of twenty four-year-olds.

As she entered, a little girl with pigtails and a bright yellow dress immediately ran up to her, holding out a crumpled, neon-green piece of construction paper.

"Look! I made a frog!" the girl exclaimed, her eyes wide with unbridled excitement.

Eden knelt, her heart softening in a way she hadn't felt in weeks. She took the paper, her fingers brushing against the child’s small, sticky ones. "Oh, wow! That is the most beautiful frog I have ever seen. Did you use glitter for the eyes?"

"Yes! And for his legs, too!"

The day proceeded in a whirlwind of finger-painting, storybook reading, and the gentle, patient redirection of budding temper tantrums. For the first time since Adam had left, the crushing weight of her reality lifted. Surrounded by the pure, uninhibited joy of the children, Eden felt a piece of her soul return. She found that her sweetness wasn't just a trait—it was a talent. She had a knack for calming the storms, for soothing the hurt knees, and for making the shyest child feel seen and heard.

Watching the children play, Eden felt a flicker of the future they had talked about. A house with a porch, a classroom of her own, a life built on patience and kindness. It was a vision that had been dimmed by the gray reality of her distance from Adam, but here, in the bright, messy heart of the classroom, it felt possible again.

She found herself laughing—a genuine, light-hearted sound that surprised her. For a few hours, she wasn't the grieving, waiting girlfriend. She was the one who saw the potential in every little soul.

When the center closed, she walked out into the cool evening air, feeling a profound sense of accomplishment. She had survived the exams, and she had discovered a piece of herself that remained untouched by the uncertainty of her life.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket—a sharp, sudden intrusion. Her breath hitched. It was a notification she had been waiting for all week. She pulled the phone out with shaking hands, the screen glowing in the dusk, and dialed the number.

It rang once, twice, three times, and then, the voice—the voice that could cut through any darkness.

"Eden?"

"Adam," she sobbed, she released the breathe she was holding in her lungs.

"I only have two minutes, Edie. We’re moving out in ten," Adam said, his voice clipped, hurried, and underscored by the distant, rhythmic hum of engines.

"That's okay," Eden said, closing her eyes and leaning against the wall of the school. "I just... I just needed to hear you."

"How were the exams? Did you survive the gauntlet?"

"I passed them. All of them," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "And I started my observation at the center today. Adam, they’re amazing. There’s this little girl, Maya, who drew me a frog. She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen."

She heard a faint, soft laugh on the other end—a sound that felt like a warm breeze in the middle of a winter storm. Her heart fluttered at hearing that sound. She needed that like she needed her next intake of air.

"I’m so proud of you, Edie. I knew you would do it. You were born to be a teacher."

"I missed you today, i miss you everyday," she whispered. "The classroom... it made me realize how much I want that life. With you."

"I know," Adam replied, his voice softening. "That’s what I’m holding onto. Every day, I think about that house. I think about you, teaching, and me coming home to you. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane in this place."

"Are you safe? Please, Adam, tell me you’re safe."

"I’m as safe as I can be," he promised. "We’re doing our jobs. We’re watching each other’s backs. I’m doing exactly what I need to do to get back to you."

"Ten seconds, Garth!" someone shouted in the background, a harsh, clipped command that seemed to vibrate through the phone.

"I have to go, Eden," Adam said, his voice urgent. "I love you. Never forget that. No matter how long it takes, no matter where I am, I am coming home to you."

"I love you too, Adam. More than anything. Stay safe. Please, stay safe."

"I will. I promise." he vowed, “I love you so much” he said in a gruff tone as if saying it again would etch his words into stone, a forever promise.

The line went dead, a sudden, jarring silence that returned her to the reality of the sidewalk, the evening breeze, and the empty space beside her. She stood there for a long moment, the phone held to her ear, the echo of his voice still reverberating in her mind.

Two minutes. That was all it took. Two minutes of his voice, and the exhaustion, the worry, and the crushing loneliness felt manageable. It was a thread—a thin, fraying, but unbreakable thread that tied her to him across the vast, chaotic distance.

She began to walk toward her dorm with tears streaming down her for face, the city around her alive with the sounds of the evening. People laughed in the distance, cars honked, and the world continued its indifferent, rhythmic dance. But Eden felt a sense of grounding she hadn't possessed before. She had her work, she had her studies, and she had her promise.

She reached her room, the small space a sanctuary of her own making. She sat at her desk, pulling out her notebook, the one where she recorded the fragments of her life. She opened it to a fresh page and began to write.

He called today, she wrote, the pen moving with a steady, confident rhythm. He sounded tired, but he sounded like Adam. He sounded like the man I’m going to marry.

She paused, looking out the window at the lights of the city.

Today was hard, but it was also good. The kids—they reminded me that life is full of beautiful, small things. They reminded me that even when the world feels broken, there is always room to create, to learn, to grow. And that’s what I’m going to do.

She closed the notebook and placed it in the small, wooden box. The box was no longer empty. It was filled with the letters, the notes, and the fragments of their love—a treasure chest of hope that she was guarding with her life.

She lay in bed, the silence of the dorm room no longer a vacuum. It was a space of anticipation, a blank canvas where she could envision their future. She felt the ring on her finger, the small stone cool and steady.

The distance was still there. The fear was still a constant, shadow-like companion. The war was still an indifferent force that could, at any moment, tear their world apart.

And as the city lights flickered against the windowpane, she closed her eyes and let the warmth of their conversation wash over her, a small, stubborn flame against the encroaching dark. She was Eden, and she was waiting for a soldier. And for tonight, that was the only story that mattered.

The next few months would be a test of endurance—a series of long, lonely days and even longer, quieter nights. He had his endurances and she had her, but at the end, they would have each other.

She drifted off to sleep, the memory of Maya’s frog and the sound of Adam’s voice interwoven in the fabric of her dreams. She was a teacher. She was a partner. She was a keeper of the promise.

She was absolutely, unequivocally ready for whatever came next.