Chapter 5 — Ava Thinks I’m Losing It
1416 Words
Zoe’s Diary
I didn’t plan to tell Ava. Honestly, I thought I could just keep it to myself — let it fade, or at least shrink into something manageable. But apparently, sleep deprivation turns me into a confessional mess, because the second she walked into our dorm this morning with her smoothie and her sunshine energy, it just came spilling out.
She was wearing that cropped hoodie that says No Bad Days, which felt almost like a dare. My brain was still half tangled in the night — the almost-scent of rain, the feel of warmth against my hand, the strange electricity that lingers when I close my eyes.
“Morning, zombie girl,” she said, kicking off her sneakers. “You look like you fought sleep and lost.”
“I think I did,” I said, voice rough.
She arched an eyebrow. “Nightmares?”
“Not exactly.”
That’s when I hesitated — the kind of pause where your whole brain is screaming don’t say it, but your mouth opens anyway. “You know how sometimes a dream feels too real? Like, physically real?”
“Uh-oh,” Ava said, immediately dramatic. “Are we talking about dream boyfriends again? Because if this is another subconscious romance between you and some guy with a jawline sculpted by angels, I might need to call a professional.”
I laughed — too fast, too defensive. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Uh-huh. So what did he do this time?”
Her tone was teasing, light. I should’ve matched it. But the truth was sitting heavy in my chest, pulsing there. “It’s not like the usual ones,” I said quietly. “This one—he felt real, Ava. Like I could actually… touch him. Like he was here.”
She froze mid-sip of her smoothie, straw still between her lips. Then she blinked twice. “Wait, are you saying you felt him? Like, physically?”
I nodded.
Ava choked out a laugh, almost spilling her drink. “Zoe, that’s...... okay, that’s wild. You sure you weren’t just—uh—dreaming very vividly?”
“Yeah,” I said, staring down at my hands. “That’s what I thought too.”
“But?” she prompted.
“But it hasn’t worn off.”
Her grin faltered. “What do you mean?”
“I mean my body feels like it still remembers. Like, I can still smell him sometimes. And it’s not like anything I’ve smelled before. It’s… real.”
She gave me that look — the one she uses when she’s trying not to freak me out. A careful smile, all soft edges and concern hidden under humor. “Okay,” she said slowly, sitting beside me. “So you’re having sensory flashbacks from a dream. That’s not that weird. People have those all the time.”
“Not like this.”
“Define ‘like this.’”
I hesitated. The words came out before I could stop them: “Like he’s still around.”
Ava groaned and flipped backward on my bed. “Zoe, my love, please don’t tell me you’re catching feelings for your subconsciousness.”
I laughed again, though my throat was tight. “I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds like finals week came early.”
“It’s not stress.”
“Everything is stress. You’ve been overworked, under-slept, and over-caffeinated. Your brain’s making its own entertainment.”
She said it so confidently that for a moment, I almost believed her. But as she talked, I could still feel it — that strange hum under my skin, like static electricity waiting to arc.
She rolled onto her side, propping her chin on her palm. “Okay, tell me everything,” she said, mock-serious. “What does Dream Guy look like? Blonde? Dark hair? Brooding vampire energy or gym-rat golden retriever?”
I smiled faintly. “Neither. He’s just… human. But there’s something about his eyes. Like he’s looking through me, not at me. And his voice—”
“Let me guess, deep and sexy?”
“It’s calm,” I said. “Grounded. Like when someone hums under their breath without realizing it.”
Ava made a face. “Girl, you’re describing a meditation app.”
I threw a pillow at her.
She laughed, catching it midair. “Okay, okay, sorry! But seriously, Zoe, maybe this guy represents something. Like, symbolically. You’re going through all this change—graduating soon, thinking about the future—maybe your brain made him up as, I don’t know, comfort? ”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but the thing is… she wasn’t entirely wrong. Comfort. The word landed somewhere soft inside me.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said.
Ava sat up again, squinting at me. “You’re not eating properly, are you? That’s why this is happening. Low blood sugar dreams.”
I laughed again, but my voice cracked this time. “It’s not blood sugar, Ava.”
She frowned, studying me like I was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. “You really believe he’s real?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But it feels like something’s… overlapping. Like part of me stayed behind with him. Or part of him followed me back.”
“Okay,” she said, standing abruptly. “I’m officially cutting you off from late-night caffeine and paranormal podcasts.”
“I don’t listen to—”
“You do. Remember the one about sleep paralysis demons? This is how it starts.”
I groaned. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, but I’m right.” She nudged me. “Come on. Shower. We’re hitting the gym. You need endorphins, not existential crises.”
I let her drag me along, partly because I didn’t have the energy to argue.
The gym smelled like disinfectant and ambition. Music thudded through the walls — pop remixes of songs that all sounded the same. Ava looked alive in that space, hair tied up, eyes bright. She was always in motion, kinetic. I envied that about her — how her body always seemed to belong exactly where it was.
Meanwhile, I felt like my skin didn’t fit right anymore.
I tried to follow her lead — the treadmill, the weights, even the little jokes she threw at the guys across the room — but every sound felt distant, muffled. At one point, I swore I saw a figure near the mirrors — tall, dark shirt, turned half away. My heart jolted before logic caught up: reflection, stranger, coincidence.
Still, I caught myself staring.
“See something you like?” Ava teased, breathless between reps.
“Thought I recognized someone,” I said.
“Maybe your dream boyfriend’s got a gym membership,” she laughed.
I didn’t answer.
Because for half a heartbeat, when the stranger looked up, his eyes caught the light just right — and they were the exact shade I’d been trying to describe in my diary: storm gray, with a flicker of warmth underneath.
He looked away before I could tell if I’d imagined it.
Back in the dorm later, Ava sprawled on her bed, scrolling through her phone. “You’re quiet,” she said.
“Just tired,” I murmured.
She didn’t press, which I appreciated. But I could tell she was watching me from the corner of her eye — the way a friend does when she’s not sure if you need comfort or space.
I opened my notebook again, the one I keep hidden under my pillow. The pages smelled faintly like coffee and pencil lead. My hand shook as I wrote:
I saw someone today who could’ve been him. Or maybe I wanted it to be him so badly that I made it up. Either way, it scared me.
I paused.
Then added: Ava thinks I’m losing it. Maybe I am. But what if this is what finding something feels like first—like falling apart before it makes sense?
The clock ticked softly. Ava’s breathing evened out as she drifted to sleep. I sat there, half-lit by my desk lamp, staring at the words until they blurred.
Outside, rain began again — soft, hesitant, like someone tapping the window just to remind me they’re there.
I whispered, almost involuntarily: “I know you’re not real.”
But the air shifted, a cool breath moving across the back of my neck.
And I couldn’t help it — I smiled.
- Writer
