reverie / hs

5

I blinked awake to a soft morning light filtering through familiar curtains, casting a gentle glow over my bedroom walls adorned with framed photographs of family memories. The cozy familiarity of my surroundings should have been comforting, yet an inexplicable sense of disappointment lingered in the recesses of my mind. The pale yellow walls, usually a source of cheerful warmth, felt somehow muted and lifeless, reflecting the unsettling hollowness I carried within.

Slowly sitting up, I rubbed my eyes and let out a quiet sigh. The dream—the vivid, inexplicably real dream—still clung to the edges of my consciousness. That world, bathed in soft blue hues, had felt so real, so welcoming. The warmth of the sun streaming through the window, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, the gentle touch of Harry's hand... Now, in the waking world, my room felt ordinary, mundane even, in stark contrast to the warmth and reassurance I had felt in that other world.

As I swung my legs over the side of the bed, memories of Harry and the dream flooded my thoughts. His green eyes, the way he smiled at me with such familiarity—it all felt so real, so tangible. He had seemed so happy to see me, so genuinely concerned for my well-being. And now, in the waking world, it slipped away like smoke between my fingers.

"Morning, Elena," a voice called from downstairs, interrupting my reverie. It was my mom, her cheerful tone breaking through the quiet of the morning. "Breakfast is almost ready!"

I forced a smile, pushing aside the remnants of the dream that clung stubbornly to my mind. "Okay, Mom," I replied, my voice tinged with a hint of distraction. " need to get back to reality. But reality is so boring compared to what I just experienced.

Heading to the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to shake off the remnants of the dream that continued to haunt me. But the dream shower, its warmth and the scent of soap, lingered in my mind. It felt like I was living through two lives, and I couldn't seem to find a way to connect them.

Back in my room, I dressed mechanically, my mind still drifting between two worlds—the ordinary reality of my waking life and the tantalizing dreamscape where Harry waited with open arms. The vibrant yellow walls of my bedroom, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to mock the vibrant blue hues of the dream, the soft yellow sunlight streaming through the window felt less comforting now that I had experienced the warmth of that other world.

Downstairs, the smell of pancakes and coffee filled the air, but my appetite was absent. I picked at my food, lost in thoughts that seemed to belong to someone else—a version of myself who lived a life far more extraordinary than the one I knew.

"Are you feeling okay, sweetie?" Mom asked, concern etching lines on her face as she placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Yeah, just a bit tired," I murmured, offering her a weak smile. I just want to go back to that dream, I thought, but I knew I couldn't tell her that.

She nodded understandingly, her eyes scanning my face with a mother's intuition that missed nothing. "Maybe you should rest today. You've seemed a bit off lately."

I nodded in agreement, grateful for her understanding even though the cause of my unease lay beyond her grasp. "Maybe I will," I replied softly, pushing my half-eaten breakfast away.

As the morning slipped into afternoon, I found myself drawn back to my room, seeking solace in the familiar surroundings that now felt like a mere facade. The dream lingered in my thoughts like an uninvited guest, leaving me yearning for a reality that existed only in the depths of sleep.

Sitting by the window, I gazed out at the world beyond, searching for answers that eluded me. Why did the dream feel more real than my waking life? And why did Harry's presence stir emotions I couldn't explain? I longed to return to that blue-toned world, to feel the warmth of Harry's hand in mine, to hear his soft voice.

Lost in contemplation, I let my mind wander back to that other world, where Harry waited with his comforting smile and unwavering affection. Closing my eyes, I tried to summon his image, but the details faded like wisps of smoke, leaving behind an ache that gnawed at my heart.

"He's not real," I whisper to myself, trying to dispel the lingering sense of longing. I knew it was impossible. But deep down, a part of me resisted, clinging to the memory of his touch and the warmth of his presence.

As evening approached, I curled up on my bed, exhaustion weighing heavy on my limbs. Sleep beckoned like a distant promise, offering a chance to escape the confusion that plagued my waking hours.

Lying there in the fading light, I wondered if I would ever dream again of Harry, of that other life where everything felt right. And as I drifted off to sleep, I hoped that my dreams would return me to that blue-hued haven, back to Harry's warm embrace.