The days blurred together for Selene in a haze of forced normalcy. She filled her time with Eliza, immersing herself in the easy, uncomplicated rhythm of their outings. Every laugh was a little too loud, every outing a little too planned, a deliberate attempt to smother the quiet ache that had taken root in her chest since her confrontation with Lyra. With Eliza, there were no ancient artifacts, no terrifying confessions of immortality, no walls. There was just honest, unguarded fun. Eliza was sunlight; bright, warm, and simple.
But as the days passed, the lie became harder to maintain. The distraction was wearing thin, and the truth was a persistent whisper beneath the noise. She could not ignore the way she felt about Lyra. It was a deep, magnetic pull that had existed since the moment their eyes met across the library. Eliza was a pleasant detour, but Lyra was the destination.
Her nights, however, were no longer her own. Since the confrontation, since Lyra had shown her the artifact and then snatched the truth back, Selene's dreams had intensified. They were no longer just fleeting glimpses of a past that might have been; they were visceral, full sensory experiences that left her gasping for air upon waking.
She dreamed of Lyra on a storm lashed ship, not as a observer, but as her. She felt the rough hemp of the rope burn her palms as she helped tie down the sails, tasted the salt spray on her lips, and felt a desperate, aching fear for a Lyra who stood at the helm, her face pale but determined. She dreamed of a dusty marketplace, the sun scorching her back as she bartered for bread, her eyes constantly scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Lyra's familiar face, a knot of protective anxiety in her stomach. The emotions were not her own, yet they felt more real than anything she felt during her waking hours with Eliza. They were drenched in a love so profound and a fear so acute it was paralyzing.
She would wake with her heart hammering, the echo of a name she did not recognize on her lips, the ghost of Lyra's touch on her skin. The dreams were a constant, haunting reminder that what she had with Lyra was not just a simple crush; it felt like the continuation of a story centuries in the making.
That afternoon, Selene was at the library, pretending to work on her doctoral thesis. Her notes lay scattered, untouched. Her focus was entirely on the empty desk across the room, her mind still half trapped in the previous night's dream of hiding in a hayloft, Lyra's head resting on her shoulder as soldiers searched below. Her phone buzzed, shattering the silence.
It was Eliza.
Eliza: "Hey, I know you have been busy, but how about we grab dinner tonight? It will be fun! You deserve a break. I am craving something spicy!"
Selene read the message. It was a lifeline thrown to her drowning in her own thoughts. An escape from the haunting visions. Without overthinking it, she typed back.
Selene: "Sure. Let us do it. I could use the distraction."
The moment she sent it, guilt curdled in her stomach. She was not just accepting a dinner invitation; she was actively using Eliza as a shield against her own complicated feelings and the terrifying, beautiful weight of her dreams.
As if the universe itself were challenging her evasion, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was Lyra.
Lyra: "I am heading to the library soon to pick up some new books. Want to grab a coffee afterward?"
Selene's heart stuttered. The casualness of the text felt like a peace offering, a tiny crack in the wall Lyra had built. This was her chance. They could finally talk. She could ask about the dreams, about the artifact, about everything.
But the fear was too great. The memory of Lyra's rejection, her refusal to explain, rose up like a barrier. A defensive, spiteful part of her wanted Lyra to feel the same distance she had been feeling.
Without thinking, she typed back a deflection, using Eliza as her excuse.
Selene: "I am actually meeting up with Eliza tonight. Maybe some other time?"
Regret was immediate and cold. She had not just declined; she had wielded Eliza's name like a weapon, ensuring Lyra knew she had been replaced by easier company. The seconds ticked by with no reply. The silence from Lyra was a louder condemnation than any words could have been.
That evening, at the vibrant Mexican restaurant, Selene tried to bury her guilt and the lingering disorientation from her dreams in the noise and spice. Eliza was in her element, lively and engaging, but Selene felt miles away, her mind replaying a dream of Lyra's laughter in a moonlit garden.
"Okay, seriously," Eliza said, finally cutting through Selene's preoccupation. "You are like, the least fun dinner date ever when you are this spaced out. What is going on?"
Selene put her menu down. She could not lie, not when Eliza was looking at her with such direct concern. But the full truth felt too vast, too tangled to explain.
"I do not know," Selene said with a weak shrug. "I guess I am just... thinking about things. You know, work, life. Nothing big."
Eliza gave her a flat, unconvinced look. "Right. You have been 'thinking about things' for the last week. And you are still not telling me what is really going on."
The pressure built in Selene's chest. She could not keep it in. "I do not know what I am doing," she admitted, her voice dropping. "I like hanging out with you, but... I keep thinking about Lyra. I cannot stop thinking about her." And dreaming about her, she added silently.
Eliza leaned back in her chair, her expression shifting from concern to frustration. "So why do not you talk to her about it?"
"I have tried," Selene said, the words spilling out. "But she pulls away. She has been different since we kissed. I do not know how to reach her."
Eliza's gaze was unwavering. "You have to stop letting Lyra pull you around, Selene. You deserve someone who does not make you feel like you are walking on eggshells."
"It is not that simple," Selene insisted, a flare of defensiveness rising in her. "Lyra is not like anyone else. I cannot just walk away from her." The dreams won't let me, she thought desperately.
"You are not walking away," Eliza countered, her tone firm. "But you also cannot let her keep doing this to you. This back and forth. It is not fair."
Selene leaned back, the truth of Eliza's words hitting home. The conversation had sucked the air from the room, leaving the festive atmosphere of the restaurant feeling hollow and dissonant.
Later, back in the silence of her apartment, Selene's phone finally buzzed with Lyra's delayed response.
Lyra: "Okay. Maybe we will talk later. Take care, Selene."
The message was polite, distant, and utterly final. It was the sound of a door closing. Lyra had retreated again, and Selene knew her own cowardice had given her the final push.
As she fell into a fitful sleep that night, the dreams returned, more intense than ever. She was running through a dark forest, thorns tearing at her clothes, her hand clasped tightly in Lyra's. She could feel Lyra's fear, her determination, her love, as if it were her own. She woke just before dawn, her cheeks wet with tears, the echo of Lyra's voice whispering, "Find me," in a language she should not understand.
Eliza was right about one thing; the back and forth was not fair. But as Selene lay in the dark, her heart aching from the dream, she knew the problem was not just Lyra's avoidance. It was her own. She was so terrified of the profound, terrifying connection revealed in her dreams that she had chosen the safe distraction over the difficult truth. And in doing so, she might have lost her chance to finally understand. The answers felt further away than ever, and the desire to find them was now a desperate, haunting need.