Late at night, Sabrina awoke once again from a dream. The weak figure of Hongmei, the hospital's cold lights, merged into endlessly repeating scenes. Her head throbbed painfully, yet she could not focus elsewhere—she simply closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift.
Occasional messages from Frank reminded her that the dreams were not isolated incidents—someone had started recording uncanny coincidences: the scenes in their dreams aligned with real-world time, cities, and even the weather. Sabrina began to realize that the calm of daily life was only a surface illusion; the dreams that had seemed to vanish had never truly left.
Clara's preparations for the Camino de Santiago trek shone through Sabrina's thoughts like sunlight. She realized that perhaps some journeys didn't need to be physically undertaken to leave a footprint in the heart; some attachments, even if unspoken, could become a source of strength.
The streets of New York had quieted. Sabrina leaned against the window, closing her eyes, feeling a strange intertwining—past, present, dreams, reality. Each person's life line flowed slowly, sometimes intersecting, sometimes parallel, occasionally sparking brief glimmers in the night.
After work, Sabrina arrived at the bar early.
Frank was still stuck in traffic and sent a message: "Wait for me, don't worry."
The bar was dimly lit, filled with the scent of alcohol. A low, melancholic song played from the speakers:
…
Years pass like seasons,
I'm just staying alive, what a voice,
Your own smells the same like yesterday's rain,
I whisper your name,
With heavy's quiet again,
every candle I light,
burns weaker than before…
…
The slow, mournful melody stirred memories of the dream from the previous night. The visions returned, leaving her on the verge of collapse.
She ordered a neat whiskey, letting the burn slide down her throat.
She texted William: "I'll be home late tonight."
When Frank finally entered and sat opposite her, he greeted her briefly before asking, "Did you see the photos everyone posted in the group?"
Sabrina had already left the group, unwilling to be disturbed by those fragments—the guesses, the speculations, the recurring dreams.
"I noticed a pattern," Frank said, showing photos of their boarding passes from that flight. All of those who later experienced recurring dreams had seat numbers almost exclusively in the A column, by the window.
"A?" Sabrina muttered to herself, puzzled. She usually chose window seats; maybe hers had been A that day as well.
"Almost everyone," Frank nodded. "Except Daniel. His seat was C, but there were no other passengers in the last row, so he moved to A after takeoff. In fact, he was sitting in A too."
The bar's music continued, condensation forming tiny droplets on the glass.
Was this just a coincidence?
What had truly happened before the emergency landing that day?
Frank fell silent for a moment. The music changed to a deeper, heavier beat.
"Daniel sent me a voice message yesterday," he said.
"He said he's been having the same dream repeatedly."
Sabrina said nothing.
Frank continued:
"In the dream, it's the plane.
Not crashing. Not an emergency landing.
Just—"
He paused.
"He was looking out the window the entire time."
Sabrina furrowed her brow slightly.
Frank looked up at her:
"He said that, at that moment, it was incredibly quiet outside.
Unnaturally quiet."
Someone laughed in the bar, clinking glasses, yet Sabrina felt the air grow heavy.
Frank handed her the phone.
"Listen."
The voice clip lasted barely twenty seconds. Daniel's voice was low, as if recalling a distant memory:
"I was sitting by the window… the plane seemed to stop.
Outside wasn't clouds.
It was like… a vast sheet of light.
Bright, but not blinding.
Like the sun at dusk shining on the sea.
The whole sky was golden."
The clip ended. Sabrina stayed silent for several seconds, her fingers slowly clenching.
Frank noticed her expression.
"What's wrong?"
Sabrina did not answer. A sudden image flashed in her mind—
The plane.
The cabin lights went out.
Outside the window: a sea of golden light, spreading across the sky like sunset.
Her heartbeat quickened. She remembered. She had seen it. She had always thought—
It was only a dream.
Frank watched her turn pale.
"Wait…" he said suddenly.
"You dreamt it too?"
Sabrina did not immediately answer. The bar lights flickered.
"Not a dream," she murmured. Almost to herself.
"That day, on the plane…
I really saw it."
Frank continued recounting the group discussion: some began to question seat numbers, some recalled the brief blackout…
Sabrina remained silent. She had already left the group, yet the dreams had never truly left.
Meanwhile, Lihua received a call from the hospital administration. Her stomach tightened slightly. They wanted information concerning the female doctor previously rumored to be involved with Haitao.
That doctor had suffered domestic abuse from her husband, which had caused a miscarriage. The incident arose from a pregnancy at a time when her husband was undergoing treatment for male dysfunction; he doubted the child was his, leading to violent conflict.
Now living in hospital staff housing, the doctor was interviewed by leadership, and Lihua was later called in.
When Lihua entered the director's office, she steadied herself, inhaled deeply, and said firmly:
"I am Haitao's wife. I know my husband—he could not have had an affair. These are all rumors."
Afterward, the atmosphere at home eased. The children laughed frequently, sunlight spilling across the winter windowsill.
Haitao often entered the kitchen to help Lihua—chopping vegetables, tidying up—awkwardly, but sincerely. Lihua understood: he was trying, perhaps seeking atonement for past mistakes. She let out a soft sigh and thought, Let the past be past. Life always brings setbacks. Some things must be released. She hoped the children would grow up happy, and the home would remain filled with warmth.
For Lihua, that was an ideal life: simple, warm, complete.
Meanwhile, Sabrina's phone vibrated. Clara's anxious voice came through.
Plans for a weekend dinner at a friend's restaurant were canceled. Most New York restaurants were closed; some only offered takeout. Last month, she had sent a box of masks to family in Beijing. Now, masks were nearly impossible to buy; supermarket shelves were stripped of bottled water, disinfectant, and toilet paper. Most worrisome, her father's fever remained high, and ICU beds were scarce—he had been sent to a temporary pandemic hospital near Central Park.
Listening, Sabrina felt a mixture of anxiety, sadness, and helplessness.
She had been working from home since last week, as had William. Projects were stalled indefinitely. When they might resume was unknown. The future was uncertain: markets closed, schools shut, Broadway shows canceled. Her mood was a mixture of gloom and worry.
The streets were empty. Even her morning runs felt like traversing a ghost town. Masks were mandatory outside. Doormen looked tense. The city was gripped by the pandemic.
Sabrina forced her voice to remain calm as she reassured Clara:
"Don't worry too much. Dad will get better."
On the other end, Clara nodded, drawing a deep breath, as if steadying herself against panic.
In this city that seemed to have pressed the pause button, everyone waited anxiously, uncertain when life might resume to normal—if ever.