Two months had swept by like a storm, with Sofia and Miller guarding their secret romance, teetering between fervor and caution. She had defended her thesis with dazzling poise, her voice ringing clear in the lecture hall, while Miller, her academic advisor, sat among the panel, his pride and affection veiled behind a professional facade.
Their bond remained hidden: fingers brushing in deserted hallways, stolen kisses in his office, nights in his apartment where they lost themselves in each other. Yet something gnawed at Sofia, something she hesitated to voice. More and more, during their moments of intimacy, strange visions flickered at the edge of her senses. At the height of passion, the world would blur for a fleeting moment. She glimpsed them in unfamiliar places—a rustic room with wooden beams, scented with freshly cut grass; or a chamber with tall windows, drenched in blinding light and the tang of sea air. Some settings felt faintly familiar, as though tied to their city, while others were alien, with intricate wall patterns and winds that sang in unfamiliar tones. These glimpses, brief as a heartbeat, left her shaken, her pulse racing not just from desire but from a creeping dread of the unknown.
She held her silence, fearing the visions might cast a shadow over how Miller saw her. But one night, after a vision of a room draped in red curtains, pierced by the distant toll of a bell, she could bear it no longer. They lay tangled in his sheets, her head nestled against his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin. The quiet was heavy, burdened with her unspoken thoughts.
"I need to tell you something," she murmured, her voice faltering. She sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest like a shield. "It's… it sounds mad, but… have you ever seen something strange? When we're… together?"
Miller's brow furrowed, a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Strange?" he asked, his tone guarded.
Sofia swallowed, her cheeks burning. "Sometimes, when we're… close," she stumbled, her words barely above a whisper, "I see us somewhere else. Other rooms, other beds. Like we're not here. It lasts a second, but it's so vivid… a room with wooden beams, or tonight—red curtains, a bell tolling far off. It terrifies me. I don't know what it means."
Miller froze, his eyes widening with shock. "You saw that too?" His voice was hushed, almost disbelieving. "The red curtains. The bell. I thought… I thought it was only me."
Sofia stared at him, relief and fear warring in her chest. "You've seen it too?" She drew back, her eyes shimmering. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He sat up, his face taut with tension. "I didn't know how to explain it. It started that first night, here in my apartment. It's happened since—a room with stark white walls, light that feels otherworldly. Or a garden beyond a window I've never known."
Her hand pressed to her heart. "I thought I was losing my mind."
Miller pulled her close, his arms a steady anchor. "So did I," he confessed, his voice low. "I've always kept everything under control. But now… you, these visions… I don't understand them."
They lay in silence, their breaths falling into sync. The visions had become their shared secret, a haunting thread that bound them tighter, even as it stirred their fears.