I realized I was dreaming when the world refused to make sense.
The ground beneath my feet was smooth like water, yet it did not ripple when I stepped forward. Above me stretched a sky of pale gray, endless and empty, as though someone had erased the stars before I arrived. There was no wind, no sound—only a quiet that felt deliberate.
As if this place existed solely to be noticed.
I walked without knowing why, guided by a feeling rather than direction. With each step, a strange familiarity settled deeper into my chest, the kind that made my heart ache without reason.
Then I saw her.
She stood at the edge of the dream, where the light thinned and the world blurred. Her silhouette was clear, almost fragile, outlined softly against the emptiness. Long hair fell down her back, unmoving. She wore no expression—
because she had no face.
Where her eyes should have been, there was nothing. No features. No shadow. Just smooth absence.
I stopped breathing.
Yet fear never came.
Instead, my chest tightened with an emotion I couldn't name—something gentle and unbearably sad. I felt as though I had found something I had been searching for without realizing it.
She turned.
I knew she did, even though there were no eyes to meet mine.
"You're here again," I murmured, surprised by my own words.
Again.
The word slipped out naturally, as if this wasn't the first time.
She moved closer, her steps silent. With each one, the dream sharpened, colors growing warmer, the air heavier. When she stood before me, I felt exposed—as though she could see every thought I had ever tried to hide.
I wanted to ask her name.
I wanted to ask why she had no face.
But more than that, I wanted her to stay.
I lifted my hand. She did the same.
There was a small distance between us—an invisible boundary neither of us crossed. Still, my heart reacted as if our fingers had intertwined.
In that moment, I understood something terrifying.
I was already attached.
The dream began to tremble, light cracking at the edges like fragile glass. Panic rushed through me.
"Don't go," I said quietly. "Please."
Her head tilted, slow and careful. Though she had no mouth, I felt a smile—soft, bittersweet—reach me all the same.
Not yet, a thought brushed against my mind.
But not forever.
The world collapsed into white.
I woke up gasping, my room dark and silent, my heart pounding as if I had been running.
The dream faded quickly—colors, sounds, the shape of the world—but the feeling remained, deep and undeniable.
I couldn't remember her face.
Yet somehow, I missed her.