Of Dreams And Obsessions

Glimpse of Normality

Morning light filtered through the thin curtains, casting pale gold across my bedroom floor. I stared at the ceiling, the echo of last night's events replaying in the corners of her mind.

I haven't told anyone about my sleepwalking-there wasn't anyone to tell, really. It wasn't like anyone would understand. How could they? I barely understood it myself.

The store felt like a dream now, distant and blurry around the edges, but the rawness of the fear still lingered. I could still feel the cold press of the linoleum under my feet, the woollen fabric of the sweater I had gripped in my hands. I had made it back home somehow, stumbling through the empty streets with no clue how far I had wandered.

I hadn't looked at the time when I finally got home. I didn't want to know.

My phone buzzed on the bedside table, the screen lighting up with a notification that broke the quiet of my small apartment. The mundane world was calling me back-work, bills, the life I had carefully constructed for myself.. The one I was beginning to lose control of.

Stop thinking about it. Just move on.

With a sigh, I sat up, my head swimming slightly from the lack of sleep. I could feel the tension knotting at the back of my neck. Sleepwalking wasn't new for me, not really. It had happened before. Little things-finding myself in the kitchen at night with no memory of getting there, or waking up in the hallway, clutching my phone like I'd been about to make a call.

But this? Waking up in a store, surrounded by strangers' clothes in the dead of night?

This was something else.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, letting the chill of the floor bring me back to the present. I couldn't afford to spiral into panic, not today. Not when there was so much to do. Work would be calling me soon, and I had emails to check, clients to respond to. A routine, even a dull one, was exactly what I needed to shake off the night's lingering haze.

In the kitchen, the smell of coffee brewing filled the small space, and for a brief moment, the scent brought me comfort. This was real. This was safe.

The sun was climbing higher in the sky, painting the world in soft golds and yellows. Daylight always made me feel more in control, as though the brightness itself could keep the shadows at bay.

But even as I sat at the kitchen table, cup in hand, the sensation of disorientation gnawed at the back of my mind. It was like a bad dream I couldn't shake off. I reached for my phone, scrolling mindlessly through the notifications-emails, a few missed texts from a co-worker, and...

My fingers froze over the screen.

There.

A text message, sent late last night-around the time I had wandered through that strange boutique. My heart skipped a beat as I read the unfamiliar number.

"Are you awake?"

I stared at the message. No name, no context. Just those words. I hadn't noticed it before; I hadn't checked my phone since I stumbled home. But who would have sent this? Who could possibly know I'd been walking around at that hour, half-asleep?

An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. Maybe it was just spam. Maybe it was a wrong number. I told myself that even as my thumb hovered over the delete button. I blinked once just before I was about to press the delete button, when my eyes opened up again, it was gone.

I blinked again, then again, before dropping the phone down on the counter. My heart was racing; the message had been there, I was sure of it, I could still recall a few numbers of the unknown number, it was there.

Or had I dreamt-hallucinated- that too? No.

I am awake now, I am.

But, how could it have disappeared? Messages don't just disappear, you can always find a trace. Whether it was a notification of the message being deleted or at the very least the number still noted at recent messages.

But, it was all gone. Not a single trace...

I took a shuddering breath, feeling the walls of my throat closing up on me. It's fine, I try to convince myself, I am fine. I picked up my mug and tried to focus on my coffee. But the questions wouldn't just leave me alone. I took a long breath, stood up, and shook it off. Work. That's what I needed.

---

The office felt like an entirely different world-bright, sterile, and buzzing with the low hum of computers. The clatter of keyboards and the murmur of conversations created a comforting white noise that drowned out my thoughts.

I sat at my desk, eyes fixed on the screen, trying to focus on the mountain of emails awaiting my attention. Yet my mind kept wandering, drawn back to last night. To the store. To the text.

As I clicked through the messages from clients, my coworker Rachel leaned against the edge of my desk, sipping her coffee and throwing me a sideways glance. "You look like death, Soph."

I forced a smile. "Rough night."

"Let me guess-work,.nightmare or insomnia?"

I considered the truth for a moment, my fingers hesitating over the keyboard. Rachel was kind, always quick to offer a listening ear, but how could I explain waking up in a store with no memory of how I got there? I didn't need concerned looks or the inevitable suggestion that I 'talk to someone' about it. And most importantly, I have no doubt I would be labelled as crazy.

"Yeah, insomnia," I lied, swallowing the unease. "You know how it is."

Rachel gave me a sympathetic smile. "Maybe you should take a day off. You look like you need it."

"I'll be fine," I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I wasn't sure I believed them.

---

By the time I stepped out of the office that evening, the sky had already darkened into a soft indigo. The city streets bustled with the usual after-work crowds, people pushing past one another, rushing to catch trains, to grab food, to get home. I pulled my coat tighter against the evening chill as I made my way down the sidewalk, my thoughts still tugged in too many directions.

I passed the storefronts, each one lit with bright, welcoming displays of mannequins, shoes, and clothes, all carefully curated to catch the eye. The windows reflected my face back at me-a pale, tired figure walking alone through the evening crowd.

Then, I stopped.

There. Across the street. A familiar storefront. The store.

My breath caught in my throat. The same mannequins, the same display, even the same flickering light over the door. It was the boutique from last night. Only this time, it was closed, its lights dim, its door firmly shut.

I stared at it, feeling my pulse stuttering before quickening. This was it. I was sure of it.

Am I sleepwalking again? I couldn't be, I just got out of work, I was awake the whole time.

I try thinking back; did I fall asleep on my desk and sleepwalk here? Did I even sleepwalk here or is this just a dream? But, I just couldn't recall ever falling asleep, no, I am awake.

But how had I ended up here again? I was walking home, how had I not noticed myself going in a different direction? Was I so lost in thought? Could that just be it?

I had never noticed this store before last night. Now, it felt like it was following me.

I turned away quickly, my heart pounding in my chest. I needed to go home. To forget. But as I hurried down the street, a strange feeling prickled at the back of my neck. The sense that someone was watching me, just out of sight.

I didn't dare look back.