My breath hitched as the image of the car burned in my head. My vision blurred for a moment, and I realized my hands were shaking so badly I had to clench them into fists just to stop.
"Hey… are you okay?" Sarah's voice broke through, softer than usual. She'd noticed. Of course she had.
I swallowed hard, but my throat was dry like sandpaper. Mom's eyes darted from the screen to me, sharp and searching. "Why do you look like that? What's wrong?"
I couldn't answer. The words just wouldn't come out.
Because how was I supposed to tell them? That I already saw this accident—not here, not on TV, but behind my eyelids, hours ago? That I watched this exact car, this exact plate, crush the life out of me in a dream that didn't feel like a dream at all?
My heart was thundering so loud I thought they'd hear it.
Sarah stepped closer, touching my arm. "You're pale… and you're shaking."
Mom's voice dropped, worried but firm. "Tell me what's going on."
I forced myself to speak, but my voice came out cracked. "That car… I saw it. Earlier. Before the news. I—I saw it hit me."
The room went silent.
Sarah's hand slipped away, her face frozen in disbelief. Mom just stared at me, her mouth slightly open, like she was searching for something to say but couldn't.
And all I could think was—
Am I losing my mind… or is something much worse happening?
I swallowed again and forced a laugh that didn't reach my eyes. "Forget I said anything. Maybe it's just a coincidence. I'll go to my room."
They were worried but said nothing. I walked upstairs on legs that felt like lead, closed the door behind me, and slid down against it. The house felt too loud; every sound scraped at me. It was like the dream had torn open something inside, and the wound wouldn't stop burning.
I pressed my forehead against the door, trying to breathe, but every inhale felt shallow. My chest was tight.
Coincidence. It had to be. That's what I told myself, over and over, but the word felt flimsy, like paper trying to hold back a flood.
I dragged myself to the bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling. My body felt heavy, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. Every time I blinked, I saw that car again. The impact. The sound. The way the world tilted in that dream—it was too sharp, too vivid, too real.
My stomach twisted.
I grabbed my phone from the bedside table, almost without thinking. If the number plate was the same, then maybe—maybe I could look it up? Something, anything that would prove this was just my brain playing tricks.
But my thumb froze above the screen. What exactly was I even going to search? Dream car kills teacher? I almost laughed at how insane it sounded.
A soft knock at my door.
"...Hey," Sarah's voice. Quiet. "Can I come in?"
I didn't answer right away. My throat felt too tight. But after a moment, I managed: "Yeah."
The door creaked open and she slipped inside, closing it behind her. She stood there awkwardly, arms crossed, like she was holding herself together.
"You scared Mom," she said finally. "You scared me too."
I looked away. "Sorry."
She didn't move for a second, then walked over and sat at the edge of the bed. "Listen… what you said. About seeing it earlier. You weren't joking, right?"
My pulse jumped. I shook my head slowly.
Sarah didn't react at first. But then she let out a long breath and whispered, "Then… what does that mean?"
I stayed silent. She leaned forward, voice low and steady. "Tell me everything. Don't leave anything out."
For a while I didn't know where to start, but she waited, patient and terrible in her calm. So I told her — the first night, the way Mom looked at the clock, the falling, the hole of black. I told her about today: the teacher leaving, the sandwich, the nurse, the news. I told her about the car. About the plate. About feeling like I'd been there before.
When I finished, silence pressed in on us. Sarah's eyes were wide, unblinking, catching the dim light like glass. She didn't move, didn't even breathe for a moment, and the quiet felt heavier than anything I'd said.
Her voice finally came, low and uneven. "You… saw Mom die. In a dream. And then, the teacher. And the car…" She trailed off, her throat working as she swallowed
I could hear the fear in her voice, but I tried to steady her. "Not exactly. When I saw Mom die, it wasn't from my perspective. But with the teacher…it was me."
"I don't know if that means anything," I added. "Maybe none of this will happen to Mom. Maybe the dream and the accident are just a coincidence."
"Please don't worry," I told her. "You should go get some rest."
She crossed her arms and gave me a look that was half fierce, half exhausted. "Listen, I know I'm small, but I'm not stupid. I can see the worry on your face. You need rest more than I do. And promise me — tell me if anything else happens, okay?"
She left the room. I felt exhausted—so tired of everything. Maybe I shouldn't worry about any of this right now. I decided to go up to the terrace for some fresh air.
I walked up to the terrace and let the evening breeze wash over me, pretending for a moment that nothing had changed.