I sat in a café, the warmth of the afternoon sun wrapping around me like a familiar embrace—like him. It had been a long, yet only half a day, but exhaustion clung to me, heavier than it should. I had woken up early, though not by choice. Sleep had eluded me the entire night. I kept shifting in bed, moving from one position to another, trapped between wakefulness and restless dreams.

When I am half-awake, I often have visions—not quite dreams, yet not entirely unreal either. They always carry fragments of reality, twisted and reshaped into something strange yet familiar. Last night was no different. My mind was restless, playing scenes of work and people over and over again, making me more fatigued than before. One vision stood out—one that left an imprint long after I opened my eyes.

I saw myself struggling to wake up, running late for the office, tangled in a loop of anxiety. Then, the dream shifted. A girl appeared—someone I was certain I had never met before, yet she seemed uncannily familiar. She had fiery red curls cascading down her shoulders, wearing a short black dress with long boots. She was breathtakingly beautiful. And in that fleeting moment, I questioned myself—If this is a dream, why don’t I look like her?

Before I could make sense of it, she approached me, her eyes filled with urgency. Run. Leave this place now. If you don’t, they will take you away.

I didn’t need to ask who they were. Somehow, I understood. And so, I ran.

I sprinted towards the terrace, my heartbeat pounding in sync with my steps. Without hesitation, I leaped—soaring through the air, landing effortlessly on another building. The rush was exhilarating, weightless, freeing. Flying in dreams is unlike anything else. I have these dreams often, where I leap higher than anyone could or glide across entire countries without boundaries or restraints. I have never been on a plane, yet I know—no airplane could ever match the pure, unfiltered joy of flying like this.

I was soaring through the sky, the wind rushing past me as if carrying me away from everything. Someone was following me, and I had to escape. Fear and excitement intertwined so naturally that it felt real—so real that, for a moment, I believed it was.

The higher I went, the safer I felt, as if leaving all my worries behind. From above, I could see people moving like tiny specks below me. I had the power to choose my direction, to change the course of my life in an instant. If only reality were this simple—if only I could fly, break free, and go wherever I wished.

But just as I embraced the freedom, I lost it. The dream slipped away, and I woke up—back to reality.

The reality was the same as always—a hard morning, the kind that weighed heavy before the day had even begun. I needed a cup of tea, but I’d forgotten to buy milk. Never mind. I could skip breakfast today; lunch would be heavy anyway.

Already late for the office, my thoughts tangled around me like invisible chains. The rush of the morning swept me away, and just like that, the dream was gone—buried under the weight of deadlines, responsibilities, and the same cycle of worries.

How could I fly away when reality kept pulling me back down? I wanted to stop for a second, just like I had in my sleep—to breathe, to feel weightless again. But no. I couldn’t. Not now. Now was the time to keep moving, to keep running, to make things better. Maybe one day, I could pause. But not today.

Today, I had to do what everyone else was doing—swallow the pain, pack away the anxiety, silence the desire for happiness, and step back into the real world.

Back to the office.

I sat in a café, the warmth of the afternoon sun wrapping around me like a familiar embrace—like him. It had been a long, yet only half a day, but exhaustion clung to me, heavier than it should. I had woken up early, though not by choice. Sleep had eluded me the entire night. I kept shifting in bed, moving from one position to another, trapped between wakefulness and restless dreams.

When I am half-awake, I often have visions—not quite dreams, yet not entirely unreal either. They always carry fragments of reality, twisted and reshaped into something strange yet familiar. Last night was no different. My mind was restless, playing scenes of work and people over and over again, making me more fatigued than before. One vision stood out—one that left an imprint long after I opened my eyes.

I saw myself struggling to wake up, running late for the office, tangled in a loop of anxiety. Then, the dream shifted. A girl appeared—someone I was certain I had never met before, yet she seemed uncannily familiar. She had fiery red curls cascading down her shoulders, wearing a short black dress with long boots. She was breathtakingly beautiful. And in that fleeting moment, I questioned myself—If this is a dream, why don’t I look like her?

Before I could make sense of it, she approached me, her eyes filled with urgency. Run. Leave this place now. If you don’t, they will take you away.

I didn’t need to ask who they were. Somehow, I understood. And so, I ran.

I sprinted towards the terrace, my heartbeat pounding in sync with my steps. Without hesitation, I leaped—soaring through the air, landing effortlessly on another building. The rush was exhilarating, weightless, freeing. Flying in dreams is unlike anything else. I have these dreams often, where I leap higher than anyone could or glide across entire countries without boundaries or restraints. I have never been on a plane, yet I know—no airplane could ever match the pure, unfiltered joy of flying like this.

I was soaring through the sky, the wind rushing past me as if carrying me away from everything. Someone was following me, and I had to escape. Fear and excitement intertwined so naturally that it felt real—so real that, for a moment, I believed it was.

The higher I went, the safer I felt, as if leaving all my worries behind. From above, I could see people moving like tiny specks below me. I had the power to choose my direction, to change the course of my life in an instant. If only reality were this simple—if only I could fly, break free, and go wherever I wished.

But just as I embraced the freedom, I lost it. The dream slipped away, and I woke up—back to reality.

The reality was the same as always—a hard morning, the kind that weighed heavy before the day had even begun. I needed a cup of tea, but I’d forgotten to buy milk. Never mind. I could skip breakfast today; lunch would be heavy anyway.

Already late for the office, my thoughts tangled around me like invisible chains. The rush of the morning swept me away, and just like that, the dream was gone—buried under the weight of deadlines, responsibilities, and the same cycle of worries.

How could I fly away when reality kept pulling me back down? I wanted to stop for a second, just like I had in my sleep—to breathe, to feel weightless again. But no. I couldn’t. Not now. Now was the time to keep moving, to keep running, to make things better. Maybe one day, I could pause. But not today.

Today, I had to do what everyone else was doing—swallow the pain, pack away the anxiety, silence the desire for happiness, and step back into the real world.

Back to the office.