if the dream come true

chapter five

The team leader piled up a stack of documents for me and told me to hand them over to Song before clapping his hands and leaving.

The office door was slightly ajar, and as I was about to knock, I could hear a faint conversation inside.

"This dream is indeed strange. Why don't you see a doctor about it?" A female voice said, not too loud nor too soft, sounding vaguely familiar to me.

"Hmm, I had planned to, but couldn't find the right time."

I didn't listen closely and sat on the nearby sofa to wait. But after almost half an hour, the people inside still hadn't come out. I approached the door again, intending to knock.

"By the way, this dream has caused you quite some trouble, hasn't it? You don't seem to be in good shape these few days."

The words "dream" and "trouble" made my half-raised hand withdraw. My feet felt like they were stuck in mud, unable to move.

Then I heard Song's extremely cold voice from inside:

"Yes, it's very annoying."

My arm shook violently, and the documents I was holding slipped to the floor.

I hurriedly squatted down to pick up the scattered papers, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

I felt like I'd been struck by a bolt from the blue.

I just realized that this dream had always been a source of trouble for him.

Until now, I had never considered the possibility that my dream could be a source of trouble for Song.

But now, it seems that the dream we share has become nothing more than a burden to him.

The thought of this left my heart feeling weighed down by a heavy stone, making it difficult to breathe.

The door creaked open suddenly, and Xia Wei stood there, looking down on me with a superior expression.

"Your company's employees don't seem very composed," she remarked to Song.

I pressed my lips together, feeling a sudden and inexplicable urge to cry.

I quickly continued gathering the scattered documents, placed them on Song's desk, and said, "Director Song, here are the documents you need. I'll be leaving now."

"Cheng Wei," Song called out, stopping me in my tracks. He walked over to me and stared at me with a dark look in his eyes for a long moment, his voice deep and heavy, "Don't leave just yet. I have something to say to you."

"Cheng Wei? Are you Cheng Wei?"

Only then did I notice a man sitting on the adjacent sofa. He stood up excitedly.

"Do you remember me? I'm Jiang Kuo. In college, every time we had a final exam in Marxist Philosophy, you would ask me to pass the study points to Song."

He then turned to Song and said, "You don't know this, but every time before the Marxist Philosophy exam, this girl would come to deliver the study points to you. She even asked me not to tell you. Just look at the fate between you two..."

Suddenly, Song turned his head to look at me, his voice muffled, as if coming from deep within his throat, "Is it true?"

"Of course, it's true. I remember it very clearly. You had quite a few admirers back then, but this girl was different."

"Hey, why the serious faces? It's been years..."

Jiang Kuo spoke nonchalantly, but I couldn't bring myself to smile. My hands and feet instantly turned cold, and I bit my lip hard to hold back my tears.

It felt like my long-hidden crush, which had finally seen the dawn after so many years, was now exposed like a long-buried secret.

It was like an aged wine that I had carefully nurtured, enjoying the process, and had hidden away under a big tree. Regardless of the outcome, I guarded it cautiously every day.

But when it was unexpectedly unearthed before it was mature, it was shown to everyone, only for the wine to taste sour rather than sweet.

Especially with the person involved standing right beside me.

A bitter taste lingered in my mouth.

With Song's gaze fixed on me, I finally managed to force out some words from my throat:

"It's been a long time, Director Song. You don't need to feel troubled. I stopped… liking you a long time ago."

Before the tears could spill over, I hurriedly left the office.

I had originally thought that Song might at least have some feelings for me. After all, we had spent so much time together in the dream. But now it seems that it was mostly just my wishful thinking.

After realizing that my dream was causing trouble for Song, I decided to put an end to it.

After work, I didn't wait for Song. Instead, I sent him a message on WeChat and went straight to the psychologist I had consulted before.

I had developed severe psychological issues a long time ago and frequently had dreams.

I always dreamed about everything related to my original family. Even though I had left my original family many years ago, the feeling of oppression and guilt often overwhelmed me, making it hard to breathe. I wanted to escape from it, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't.

My psychologist said it was due to the shadow my original family cast over me. I had been too suppressed and lacked love since childhood. Deep down, I longed for love and to be loved and lacked a sense of security.

Even though my psychologist provided psychological counseling, it was to no avail.

Until a few months ago, I dreamed about Song, and I finally broke free from the nightmares of the past.

In the dream with Song, I experienced the life I longed for—I could love bravely and be unhesitatingly cherished. The dream was so beautiful that I dared not shatter it easily.

But now, I had to shatter this dream with my own hands.

The doctor said that the current dream was likely because I believed Song was the right person, which is why I dreamed about him.

The doctor performed hypnosis on me.

In my daze, I seemed to dream of that spring day when a young man stood on the podium.

The sun was soft and warm, and the young man was refined and scholarly. His eyes held the brilliance of the spring sun, his gaze gentle yet determined.

That year, Song, as an outstanding graduate, returned to our school to give a speech.

After his speech, many girls rushed over to get his autograph and a message. I, on impulse, joined the crowd. At that time, I still had some lingering redness on my face and wore a mask.

Someone bumped into me, causing my glasses to fall to the ground and get stepped on.

I felt a bit embarrassed.

Song approached and helped me up. In the instant our eyes met, he smiled lightly, his almond eyes curving slightly, and he said to me, "Junior, you have beautiful eyes."

Then he took a card from the table, wrote something on it, and handed it to me. He said:

"I wish you a bright future and great prospects!"

Those words had a magical power, motivating me through my entire senior year of high school. Whenever I felt lost and uncertain, seeing those strong, neat characters made me want to keep pushing forward.

In countless sleepless nights where I tossed and turned, I had one constant thought: I wanted to see Song again.

I once secretly placed a photo of him, taken by someone else and posted on a forum, inside my physics notebook. Whenever I was beaten down by physics problems to the point of feeling completely defeated, or when I felt that life was not worth it, I would glance at his picture. Just one look at his bright smile from that day, along with the words "I wish you a bright future and great prospects," would inspire me to keep going.