Ethan's life had settled into a dull, predictable rhythm, one that made the city's endless noise feel like a distant hum rather than a part of him. He was twenty-six, working a decent job in an expensive city that demanded everything and returned very little. His studio apartment was small, sterile, and lonely, but it was his. Every morning, he woke, showered, dressed in bland office attire, and joined the anonymous stream of commuters on the subway. Coffee, emails, meetings — the same cycle repeated day after day.
Women crossed his path constantly. Some smiled, some flirted, some tried to catch his attention. Yet none ever sparked any interest. To him, they were all ordinary, unremarkable — faces that blended into the crowd as easily as raindrops on glass. He hadn't even bothered dating for years; the effort seemed wasted. He had grown accustomed to a quiet solitude, the kind that feels both comforting and suffocating.
Then, one night, the dreams began.
It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible. A faint sense of someone watching him as he slept, a shadow at the edge of consciousness. But soon the dreams sharpened into clarity. A woman appeared, standing by a moonlit lake whose water shimmered like molten silver. Her hair fell in black waves, glinting as though dusted with starlight. Her eyes were impossible — deep, piercing, yet tender — holding emotions he could not name.
She did not speak, but her presence was a language in itself. She smiled at him, a slow, knowing curve of lips that made his chest ache. And when she reached for him, her hand brushed his, a touch that burned warmth through him in ways he had long forgotten.
Ethan woke gasping, his sheets damp with sweat, heart pounding. The image of her lingered, vivid and unshakable. He tried to dismiss it as a dream, a product of a bored mind, but deep inside, something tugged him toward the memory, urging him back to her.
The next night, she returned. The lake, the moon, the soft rustle of trees — all exactly as before. This time, Ethan reached out without thinking. Her hand met his, warmer, softer than he had imagined, and he felt an impossible comfort, as though his soul had finally recognized a long-lost companion. He laughed aloud, startling himself. The sound was raw, unfiltered, alive — a reaction he hadn't experienced in years.
As nights passed, the dreams grew more immersive. He wandered through mist-shrouded forests, across bridges that gleamed with ethereal light, through fields where flowers seemed to hum with invisible energy. Each night she appeared, waiting for him with that same enigmatic smile, always silent, always perfect. Time in the dream was elastic; minutes stretched into hours, hours into days. He felt a sense of intimacy and connection that reality had never offered, and with every encounter, he fell further.
By day, the city became a blur. Ethan noticed the constant hum of traffic less and less. Office chatter became background noise. Even the people around him seemed ghostly, their concerns trivial. His colleagues remarked on his distant eyes, on the pallor creeping across his face, but he paid no heed. His life in the waking world was secondary — a tedious prelude to the nights that truly mattered.
Yet there was a strange unease that crept into his growing adoration. Sometimes, when he looked at her in the dream, a shadow would flicker across her face. A sudden chill in the air would make him shiver, though the night was warm. At times, her smile seemed too knowing, too sharp, as if she could see through him, into corners of his mind he had never revealed. And still, he could not turn away.
Weeks stretched into months. Ethan's obsession deepened. He began marking his calendar, not for work deadlines or social events, but for nights when he would sleep and see her again. Food, conversation, even sunlight lost significance. The only thing that mattered was the dream, the lake, and the lady waiting for him.
One evening, exhausted from his waking life, Ethan collapsed into bed earlier than usual. The city lights filtered weakly through his blinds, painting long shadows across the floor. He closed his eyes and let himself drift, anticipation curling in his chest like fire. The transition was seamless. The mist rose around him, the moon glimmered above, and she was there, waiting.
"Hello," he whispered, though he knew she could not hear him.
She smiled. And then, for the first time, she spoke. Not with words, but with a voice that resonated inside him — soft, melodic, and terrifyingly real. "I've been waiting."
The nights became a blur of touch, laughter, whispered confessions, and stolen moments under impossible skies. Ethan explored hidden valleys, danced in flowered meadows, and spoke to her as though she were flesh and blood, though he never truly left the dream. Each touch sent jolts of electricity through him. Each smile tore at the boundaries between reality and fantasy.
But gradually, subtle cracks appeared in the dream's perfection. Sometimes he would notice ripples in the water that made no sense. Occasionally, the shadows lingered longer than they should. There were moments when the wind carried a whisper of warning he could not place. A nagging thought whispered at the edge of his mind: this is not real… and yet, I cannot leave.
Ethan did not care.
Love, in its purest form, had consumed him. Every waking thought, every breath, every heartbeat belonged to her. He began to avoid waking life entirely, arriving late at work, skipping meals, losing contact with friends. The city outside, with all its noise and obligations, felt increasingly alien. He wanted nothing but the night, the dream, and the lady who haunted it.
And then, one night, it happened.
The dream was different this time. The lake shimmered like quicksilver, reflecting not just the moon but a thousand stars that did not exist. She emerged from the mist, her form more radiant than ever, eyes shining with a light that made Ethan's heart stutter. She reached for him. He stepped forward, hands trembling, ready to meet her.
The moment their fingers touched, the world shifted. The mist swallowed him, the stars spun, and a cold, sweet clarity filled his mind: this was forever. There was no waking. No return to bills, noise, or empty apartments. There was only her.
And then, silence.
In the city, weeks later, the landlord knocked on Ethan's door after reports from neighbors. When no one answered, he forced the door open. The apartment was empty of life, yet no signs of struggle or illness marked his body. He lay on the bed, pale and peaceful, a faint, serene smile etched across his face.
It was as though he had simply drifted off to sleep and never returned.
No one knew why. No one could explain the lightness in his expression, the quiet bliss. Only Ethan understood the truth — that he had finally gone to where he belonged, into a world that was neither fully life nor fully dream, guided by the woman he had loved for months without end.
The lady from the dream had claimed him, and he had followed willingly, leaving the harsh world behind.
And somewhere, beneath the veil of reality and sleep, he walked with her forever, untouched by time, untouched by pain, and entirely lost to the waking world.