She dreamt of him often. They were dreams that made her believe she was awake, dreams that skewed her perceptions of reality. She knew in her head that he didn’t exist – but the dreams told her otherwise. Pretty soon, the constant confusion wore on her. The dreams unnerved her to her core.
One night, they didn’t come. The next morning, freed from a dream-woven preoccupation, she went about her business feeling slightly giddy. The day itself felt alive, joyous. Humming, she looked up from her work to see a man walk into the shop.
Her heart stopped; time itself stopped, like a lost echo.
He looked half-ashamed, half-mischievous. “I was looking for you,” he said. He reached for her hand, and at his touch all her dreams resurfaced like visions.
She pulled her hand away. “Who – what are you?” Magic is only in books, she told herself. Should only be in books.
“Forgive me,” he smiled at her – and how could she not with a face like that? “I’ve been very anxious to see you.”