Ayla Reed didn't wake up.
She escaped her sleep.
Her eyes snapped open as if something had dragged her back into reality too fast, too violently. Her chest rose sharply, breath uneven, fingers gripping her bedsheet like she was holding onto something that had just slipped away.
Tears were already sliding down her temples into her hair.
She didn't remember when she started crying.
That was the worst part.
Slowly, she sat up, her body heavy, her head throbbing like she hadn't rested at all. The early morning light filtered through her thin curtains, casting soft gold across her room—but it felt cold. Empty.
Like something was missing.
Like someone was missing.
Ayla pressed her palm against her chest, right over her heart.
It hurt.
Not physically.
But deeply… like grief that didn't belong to her.
"…Again," she whispered, her voice fragile.
Another dream.
Another night of that same feeling.
She forced herself to think. To remember. But the dream was already fading, slipping through her mind like water through her fingers.
All she could recall were fragments—
A hand.
Warm.
Holding hers tightly.
A voice.
Soft. Familiar.
"I'll find you again."
Her fingers curled slightly.
"…Who are you?" she murmured to the empty room.
No answer.
There was never an answer.
Ayla had been having these dreams for months now.
At first, they were just strange.
Now… they were starting to feel real.
Too real.
It wasn't just images anymore—it was emotions.
Love.
Longing.
Loss.
And something else…
A promise.
She hated that part the most.
Because promises meant someone was still waiting.
And she didn't even know who she was supposed to be.
By the time she got to school, the world had returned to normal.
Loud. Bright. Alive.
Students filled the hallways, laughter bouncing off lockers, conversations overlapping into a chaotic hum. Someone shouted across the corridor. A group of girls giggled over something on a phone. Teachers walked past with tired expressions.
Everything was normal.
Except her.
Ayla walked through it all quietly, her bag hanging loosely off her shoulder, her gaze lowered. She slipped her headphones on—not to listen to music, but to avoid being approached.
It was easier that way.
If she stayed invisible…
She wouldn't have to explain why she always looked like she had just lost something.
She adjusted her grip on her books as she turned a corner—
And slammed straight into someone.
"Ah—!"