a short story by Svea Bauer

‘I will realize that I am dreaming. I will. I know it,’ I say, looking myself in the eye. The mirror works normally, as does the watch on my wrist. No strange reflection, no cryptic waves to be seen. Since my move, checking the environment around me for abnormalities has become routine. As much a routine as brushing my teeth. I squeeze the red and blue paste onto my brush. Through the window’s film, the streetlights shine in rainbow. At noon, when the sun hits just right, the bathroom fills with an array of captivating colours that dance around on the cold, white tiles.

But now, it is neither noon nor is the sun shining. It’s the middle of the night and it’s raining. In the week I’ve lived here, not a day has gone by without rain. I open the window, and the smell of earthy wet streets enters my nose. Not a soul is to be seen. The rain keeps drizzling down. The melodic sound of rain hitting the roof has become one of my favourite things in this flat, besides the rainbow film of the bathroom window. It is not hard to pick favourites if you don’t own a collection of things.

I am not a minimalist, though. Most of the boxes from my old flat are still unopened, taped closed, waiting for me to open them up and unpack them. I should be as excited as a child on Christmas morning to finally open them up, but I lack the excitement and energy of the child on Christmas morning I maybe once was, years ago. No, the only thing I am looking forward to, is finally closing my eyes and leaving this day behind me. Not to get rid of the dark circles which grace my tired blue eyes, but to finally lucid dream again.

A lucid dream is no ordinary dream. To have a lucid dream is to have power. At least in your mind. It is like standing at the edge of two worlds, the one you know and the one you alone can mould with your will. The only limit is your imagination – no gravity, no laws of nature, just endless possibilities. But you need to be aware that you’re dreaming. Sounds easier than it actually is. It has been a long time since I have put that much effort into something, training myself to check clocks and mirrors, since they don’t work normal in dreams. I even started a dream journal to document each night.

I finish my bedtime routine by flushing my mouth, putting my hair up and checking the mirror one last time. I’m not dreaming.

The streetlights outside are bright enough to light my way down the corridor to my bedroom. A pile of boxes in the middle of the room almost acts like a monument, reminding me once again of the circumstances. The streetlights hitting them form almost an even bigger pile of shadow boxes along the wall. The same moment I close the curtain, the shadow monument vanishes.

I will realise I am dreaming.

I keep telling myself as I get down on my mattress and tuck myself in between my many pillows. The weight of my blanket almost feels like it wants to push me on the ground, my eyelids get even heavier than the blanket and my thoughts start to silence themselves.

I will realise I am dreaming.

My eyes wander from the boxes to my clock. Cryptic numbers, how am I supposed to read this?

I’m dreaming!

Nothing stands in my way of spending at least some great hours in my dreams, even if it’s just me. The door of the bedroom swings open and I float, light-footed, through my flat, which now looks an awful lot like my Pinterest board, but better. Opening my apartment door during my dreams is almost like pressing a start button in a video game or hitting shuffle on Spotify. What happens then is nothing like ever before.

As soon as I step through the door, the world behind me dissolves, leaving nothing but a warm, comforting void to envelop me. It is strange, yes, but in a way, it feels like home. And then, there she is. Just the two of us, drifting between the stars, suspended in the silence of the cosmos. My heart quickens with every inch I move closer to her, as if pulled by some invisible thread. She doesn’t look at me. Instead, her gaze is lost in the darkness, but her face – serene, radiant – is lit with a quiet joy that takes my breath away.

What happens next unfolds beyond the limits of time. Hours, days, centuries, they all blur into one infinite moment. This isn’t like any dream I’ve ever had before. There is a depth to it, a weight, as if the universe has paused just for us.

Our consciousnesses melt into one. I finally feel understood, as though all the loneliness I have ever known is washed away by the presence of this girl. Time flies like the gentle passing of a breeze. All that seems to exist is our connection and understanding for each other.

A loud, world-shattering sound tears the two of us apart, despite me trying to desperately hold on to her hand. I cannot lose her! Panic surges through me. I didn’t even ask for her name.

In the next blink of an eye, I am sitting upright again in bed, sweaty, heart pounding, breath uneven. The night has shaken something loose inside me, leaving me more confused than ever, unsure what to make of this mess, unable to untangle it.

Throughout the day my thoughts drift back to her, to that encounter. I need to clear my mind. Feeling like I am still walking in a dream, I step outside, weaving through crowds of strangers who would never understand, even if they cared. Despite the late hour, I am exhausted. Coffee will help.

With my head still foggy, I wait in line. Then a voice pulls me back to reality.

‘What can I get for you?’

It hits me. I stare embarrassingly long at the barista. Her voice. Her face. Can it be? No, it can’t. She hands the receipt to the customer before me, still with her eyes on the register.

‘Hi! What can I …’ She stops. Her eyes widen, she silently gasps. Does she also recognize me? Seconds pass that feel like hours.

‘Sorry! I didn’t mean to be rude, what can I get for you?’

You can see her struggling to regain composure.

‘A cappuccino, please.’ I smile, trying to keep calm and play it cool as my heart pounds in my chest.

She smiles back, handing me the cup with the same hands I just held, mere hours ago.

‘Here you go.’

‘Thanks.’

I take the cup and walk out, feeling the weight of that one brief moment. Outside, I sit on a bench, staring at the coffee, trying to piece it all together. As I lift the cup to drink, something catches my eye.

Her number, scrawled on the side.

I smile. My heart leaps.