The nightmare was vivid, too real to be just a dream. He was standing in the middle of a vast, empty field. The sky was dark, swirling with thick, black clouds that crackled with unnatural lightning. The air was heavy, suffocating, and the ground beneath him felt unstable, as if it might give way at any moment.
"Aiden," a voice called, faint and echoing. He turned, but no one was there.
The pull returned, stronger this time, gripping his chest like an iron vice. He stumbled forward, drawn toward the building against his will. His legs refused to obey him, moving in jerky, unnatural steps. The closer he got, the louder the voice became.
"Aiden."
The shadows surged toward him, their forms twisting into jagged, humanoid figures with glowing crimson eyes. The leader drawing its sword to cut him down, but instead lila shielded him falling to her death. He tried to scream.
Then he woke up.
The alarm blared, a harsh, jarring sound that yanked Aiden out of the nightmare. He sat up in his chair, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The early morning sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting the room in soft hues of orange and gold.
"Just a dream," he muttered, running a hand over his face. "It was just a dream."
But the pull still lingered, faint but undeniable.
The alarm continued to blare, and Aiden groaned, reaching over to shut it off. The clock read 8:15 a.m. He had just enough time to get ready and meet Lila if he hurried.
Shaking off the remnants of the nightmare, he shuffled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. The reflection in the mirror looked tired, but at least he was getting to take a break for once.
By 8:45, Aiden was dressed and ready to leave. He grabbed his jacket, keys, and wallet before heading for the door. As he reached for the handle, something nagged at the back of his mind.
His sketchbook.
He turned back, spotting it on his desk, half-hidden beneath a pile of papers. He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed it. Lila would never let him hear the end of it if he forgot.
Sketchbook in hand, Aiden stepped out into the crisp morning air. The nightmare lingered in the corners of his mind, but he pushed it aside. Today was about moving forward. About forgetting.
Or at least trying to.
The hum of the diner was a comforting constant as the clock struck 9—murmured conversations blending with the clink of silverware and the sizzle of the grill. Aiden tapped his spoon against his coffee cup, staring out the window. The television mounted above the counter droned on, its glowing screen casting a faint light over the room. The newscaster's voice was steady, but the words carried an undeniable weight.
"Following the latest escalation, military experts warn that diplomatic relations between major powers are deteriorating rapidly. Both nations have placed their nuclear arsenals on high alert—"
Lila leaned forward, snatching the remote from a nearby table and flipping the channel with a grimace. "Enough of that," she muttered, her brown eyes narrowing. "We're here to take your mind off this stuff, not obsess over it."
Aiden smirked faintly, setting his coffee down. "Is that why you dragged me out of my apartment at the crack of dawn? I thought it was just so you could lecture me about not drawing enough."
"Don't flatter yourself," she shot back, waving her fork at him. "I'm just making sure you don't turn into a total recluse. And, for the record, it's not the crack of dawn—it's nine. Perfectly reasonable pancake time."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, Lila. Perfectly reasonable to drag someone out for pancakes during a global crisis."
Her expression softened, and she leaned her chin on her hand. "That's exactly why we need pancakes, Aiden. You've been glued to your work for weeks. It's all 'nuclear this,' 'diplomatic breakdown that.' It's not healthy."
"And watching the world go to hell is?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
"It's better than watching you spiral," she said bluntly. "You're allowed to take a break, you know."
Aiden looked down at his half-empty cup, her words sinking in. She wasn't wrong. He had been obsessing over the news—every headline, every press conference. It was hard not to when the world felt like it was teetering on the edge of something irreversible.
"I just can't shake the feeling that something's about to happen," he admitted quietly. "Like the whole world is holding its breath."
Lila reached across the table, nudging his sketchbook toward him. "And you obsessing over it isn't going to change anything. What will help is this. You haven't drawn in weeks, Aiden. That's not like you."
He shrugged, flipping the sketchbook open but not picking up his pencil. "I don't know. I just haven't felt inspired lately. Everything feels so... bleak."
She tilted her head, watching him carefully. "Maybe that's all the more reason to create something. If the world feels heavy, make it lighter. You've always said drawing helps you think."
He smiled faintly. "It does. But don't expect miracles. My last masterpiece was just a sad tree."
"That's because you're out of practice," she said, grinning. "Besides, sad trees are underrated. They're relatable right now."
Her teasing pulled a laugh from him, and for the first time in weeks, the tension in his chest eased. But just as quickly as the moment came, the droning voice of the television cut through the diner's buzz once more.
"…satellite images confirm naval forces mobilizing near disputed waters. Analysts warn the situation is more volatile than ever. A single misstep could trigger global catastrophe."
Aiden's shoulders tensed, his hand clenching around his pencil. "It's everywhere," he muttered. "Even when you try to escape it, it finds you."
"That's why I turned it off," Lila said firmly, gesturing to the remote. "Look, Aiden, I know you're worried. We all are. But sitting in your apartment, doomscrolling, isn't going to solve anything. That's why I dragged you out. You need to focus on something else—anything else."
He sighed, glancing at the sketches scattered across the pages of her notebook. Quick studies of people in the diner, rough outlines of the park fountain, even a goofy caricature of him. "You're relentless, you know that?"
"Absolutely," she said, taking a triumphant bite of her pancake. "And you're welcome."
"Fine," he said, lifting his pencil. "I'll try."
"Attaboy," she said, nudging his shin under the table. "And don't forget—our drawing date at the park is still on."
He smirked. "I thought this was the drawing date."
"This is breakfast," she corrected, wagging her fork. "The real work starts at the park. And no bailing, Aiden."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, though his gaze flicked once more to the TV, where the news ticker scrolled ominous headlines. Even with Lila's best efforts, the weight of the world still pressed on him, lingering like a shadow.
As they finished their meal and headed toward the door, the hum of the diner faded behind them. The streets outside were quieter than usual, the tension in the air palpable. Aiden shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, glancing at Lila as they walked.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
She arched an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For getting me out of my head," he said, giving her a small smile. "Even if it's just for a little while."
She grinned, nudging his shoulder. "Anytime. But don't think you're off the hook yet. You owe me at least two solid sketches today."
"I'll see what I can do," he said, his smile lingering.
As they turned the corner, the park came into view, its winding paths and glimmering lake offering a welcome reprieve from the looming tension. Aiden's grip on his sketchbook tightened, and for the first time in days, he felt a flicker of something that almost resembled hope.
Even as the world seemed poised to unravel, this moment felt steady. For now, that was enough.