reverie / hs

20

The days since my dream with Harry had blurred into a monotonous rhythm of classes, textbooks, and the relentless hum of the city. Yet, the memory of his touch, the warmth of his presence, lingered in the corners of my mind like a cherished secret, a hidden treasure that I desperately wanted to hold onto. Each morning, I woke with a faint hope that maybe, just maybe, I'd slip back into that dream world where he waited for me, a haven of warmth and unconditional love.

One evening, after a long day of classes and endless pages of Shakespeare, I craved the familiar comfort of my dad's voice. The phone felt cool and smooth against my ear as I dialed his number, the ringing echoing in the silence of my apartment.

"Hey, sweetheart," his voice, warm and familiar, greeted me after a few rings. "How's my favorite girl doing?"

A smile tugged at my lips, bringing a momentary warmth to my face. "Hey, Dad," I replied, the sound of his voice a soothing balm to my soul. "I'm doing okay. How's your trip going?"

"It's busy, but good," he answered, his voice slightly muffled as if he was in a crowded room. "How about you? How are your classes?"

As we talked about my studies, my plans for the semester, and the mundane details of our lives, something felt off. In the background, I heard snippets of conversation and laughter, indistinct yet unmistakably feminine. It was as if someone else was there with him, someone I hadn't expected to hear.

"Dad," I interrupted, curiosity getting the better of me, "Is someone else there with you?"

There was a brief pause on the line, followed by a rustling noise that sounded like someone pushing a chair back from a table. "Uh, yeah," he replied hesitantly. "I'm at a work dinner, and there are colleagues here."

I frowned, trying to discern the truth behind his words. The knot in my stomach tightened as I listened to the muffled sounds in the background, trying to make sense of the dissonance in his voice. "It sounded like a woman's voice," I pressed gently.

"Yeah, one of my colleagues," he replied quickly, his tone strained, as if he was trying to hurry the conversation along. "Listen, sweetheart, I'll call you back later, okay? Things are getting a bit hectic here."

"Sure, Dad," I said, though unease lingered in my voice. The warmth I'd felt at the beginning of the call had vanished, replaced by a cold, gnawing suspicion. "Take care of yourself."

"Love you," he said hastily, before ending the call.

I stared at my phone, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. Was there more to his trip than he was letting on? The laughter I'd heard in the background, the way his voice had faltered when I mentioned the woman, it all felt uncomfortably off-kilter.

The room around me suddenly felt colder, the shadows lengthening with the setting sun, casting long, menacing shapes across my apartment. The soft hum of the refrigerator seemed to echo the growing unease within me.

Outside, the city settled into its nightly rhythm, the cacophony of traffic and sirens softened by the late hour. I curled up on my bed, pulling the blanket closer around me as if seeking refuge from the turmoil within. Sleep felt elusive, my thoughts swirling in a tempest of emotions and unanswered questions.

The warmth of Harry's embrace, the reassuring strength in his gaze, felt like a distant memory, a faded dream. I longed for the simplicity of the dream world, the comfort of his presence. But as the night wore on, reality asserted its weight, grounding me in the harsh truths that refused to be ignored.