Losing Faith

𝟎

𝐎 𝐂 𝐓 𝐎 𝐁 𝐄 𝐑.

—

"What did you dream about last night?"

His voice was almost drowned out by the noise of the city — a city that stretched out in front of them as if in the palm of their hand.

Somewhere far below, people were scurrying back and forth, splashing through puddles that reflected the grey dome of low-hanging clouds. Somewhere far away, almost at the horizon, cars were driving along the highway, creating a haze of exhaust gases and the noise of wheels. Somewhere far below, everything was different, but on that roof, where they sat with their eyes fixed in front of them... it was like another world.

Two wizards among muggles, two lost souls among those who had somewhere to go, two hermits sitting on the edge of a precipice, among those who seemed carefree from a bird's-eye view — there was nothing but melancholy and despondency in their world for two.

"Seriously?" She scoffed as she watched a tiny plane break through a huge cloud. "How old were we when we last did this? Eight?" She raised the paper cup of hot chocolate to her lips, but did not take a sip. Her hand sank almost weakly back down beside her, on the concrete covered with his robe.

They had been sitting there for a good twenty minutes, but to her surprise, she was not a bit cold, sitting in the cool October air, which still had the freshness of the recently stopped rain.

It was the first time she had taken him there, to one of her favorite places, places that belonged to her and someone else, someone who was not around right now. She tried to drown out the heaviness in her heart with the sight, with the thoughts of the bad things she had ever been through, she wished that the noise of the city and the sound of her shoes tapping on the concrete wall could drown out the pain, could ignite at least a small spark inside her, but it was useless.

She was used to being on that roof in the sun, she was used to having someone else sitting next to her, she was used to feeling light and happy being there, and she was used to drinking raspberry lemonade instead of hot chocolate. Everything was wrong, and she was wrong — all the good things in life had to end at some point.

"So what if we were eight? We can't share our dreams with each other anymore?" He asked, giving her a little nudge in the side.

She knew that he was trying with all his might to pull her out of the "pit" into which she had fallen a few months ago; she knew that it was unbearable for him to look at her in this state; she also knew that he was the only person who cared about her, the only one she could trust.
She smiled faintly at the sky — she had not lost everything yet, she had not lost everyone yet.

"You know that I rarely dream about something. I slept like a dead last night." She wasn't lying about that. She wasn't someone who went to other worlds the second her eyes closed; she was someone who slept in complete darkness and silence. Always in the darkness and silence.

"Okay, then I'll tell you what I dreamed." He said patiently, finishing his chocolate. His cup landed behind him with a soft thud. "I dreamed that I was sitting in my room, alone, doing something, I don't remember what, and suddenly..." He turned to her for the first time, waiting for their eyes to meet.

"And suddenly your owl, Pablo, hit the window. Time after time, again and again, as if he was desperately trying to break in. There was a letter in his beak, and something glittered green on his neck, like your hair clip. But I was surprised only by the fact that there was no water outside the window. As if it wasn't our dungeon." He turned away again, clearing his throat. That dream seemed strange to him, as if it foreshadowed something bitter and sad; he remembered that he woke up with a feeling of heavy anxiety pressing on his chest.