The house was silent, save for the rhythmic, distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards settling into the night. Outside, the world was bathed in the silver-blue glow of a waning moon, casting long, distorted shadows across Sophie's bedroom floor.
Sophie lay in bed, her eyes wide, tracing the patterns of light on her ceiling. Her mind was a chaotic archive, replaying the library encounter with an intensity that made her skin feel too tight for her body.
He wiped the ink off my cheek. The thought was a recurring loop, each repetition bringing back the ghost of his touch, the dry, soft texture of the tissue, the heat of his fingertips, the way his eyes had locked onto hers for a fraction of a second too long to be "just friendly."
"It was just ink," she whispered into the darkness, her voice sounding small and fragile. "A smudge. A mistake. He was just being polite."
But her heart, which had become a rebellious entity over the last few weeks, refused to believe it. Her heart wanted it to be more. It wanted the "Stoic Wall" of her academic focus to crumble and leave her standing in the open, vulnerable and seen.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled her under, but it wasn't a peaceful descent.
The dream didn't start in the school. It started in the library, but a version of the library that existed only in the deepest corners of Sophie's mind. The shelves stretched upward forever, lost in a golden mist, and the books didn't have titles; they had memories.
Sophie walked through the aisles, her footsteps echoing on marble floors that felt as soft as moss. She was looking for him. She didn't have to ask where he was; she could feel the pull of him, a magnetic north that her soul had been calibrated to.
She found him at the back, standing by the large, arched window. The light was different here, not the harsh fluorescent glow of the school, but a liquid, amber warmth that made everything feel sacred.
Ethan turned. He wasn't wearing his school hoodie. He was just... him. His expression was open, the "New Guy" mask completely gone. He didn't say anything, but he held out his hand.
In the dream, Sophie didn't hesitate. She didn't overthink. She didn't worry about her "Commandments" or her "Observations." She reached out and placed her hand in his.
The moment their skin met, the dream shifted. It was like a kaleidoscope turning, a rush of colors and sounds. The library dissolved into the courtyard, then the festival setup, then the rainy doorway. Every moment they had shared was compressed into a single, overwhelming sensation of belonging.
"Why do you affect me so much?" Sophie heard herself ask. Her voice sounded like music.
Ethan leaned in, his face inches from hers. The "Crescent Moon" scar on his thumb was glowing softly. "Because you're the only one who looks," he whispered. "You don't just see me, Sophie. You notice."
He began to lean closer, the space between them disappearing. Sophie felt a rush of anticipation so strong it was almost painful, a desperate, aching hope that the gap would finally close.
The Harsh Reality of 7:00 AM
Sophie woke with a violent start, her hand clutching the edge of her duvet. The morning sun was peeking through the gaps in her curtains, a pale, clinical light that felt like a slap after the golden warmth of the dream.
Her heart was pounding against her ribs, a frantic thud-thud-thud that she could feel in her throat. She lay there for several minutes, her breath coming in shallow gasps, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
"It was just a dream," she told herself, but the tears stinging her eyes suggested otherwise.
The dream had done something dangerous: it had stripped away the safety of her "Crush Security." It had shown her exactly what she wanted, and in doing so, it had made the reality of her situation feel intolerable.
She sat up, rubbing her face. Her internal conflict was no longer a quiet debate; it was a full-scale civil war.
* He is new.
He is nice to everyone (including Chloe).
He is your project partner.
Making a move would make things "weird" for the rest of the semester.
The Case for the Heart:
He wipes ink off your face.
He remembers your handwriting.
He says you're "adorable" when you're flustered.
The way he looks at you when nobody else is watching.
Sophie dragged herself out of bed and walked to the mirror. She looked the same, the same messy hair, the same wide eyes, the same "Disaster Sophie" she had always been. But she felt fundamentally altered. The realization she had reached in the dream was now a permanent fixture of her conscious mind.
I really, really like him.
It wasn't a "Level 1" flutter anymore. It was a "Level 5" catastrophe. It was the kind of feeling that changed the way you walked, the way you breathed, and the way you saw your own future.
The Morning Mantra
As she got ready for school, every action felt heavy with the weight of her secret. Putting on her uniform felt like putting on armor. Brushing her hair felt like preparing for a battle she wasn't sure she could win.
She thought about Lila's advice. Just enjoy the ride.
"How am I supposed to enjoy the ride when the brakes are broken and I'm heading for a cliff?" Sophie asked her reflection.
But as she clipped her bag shut, she saw her "Overthinking Notebook" sitting on her desk. She picked it up, intending to hide it in her drawer, but she paused. She opened it to the last page, the one where she had written about him being a "Lighthouse."
I don't know what's coming next, she thought, a spark of that dream-courage finally igniting in her chest. But I can't go back to just being the girl on the bench.
The conflict was still there, the fear of rejection, the terror of "making it weird," the jealousy of his social ease. But the dream had given her something to hold onto. It had shown her that there was a version of them that existed without the masks and the awkwardness.
She walked downstairs, the smell of her mom's coffee filling the kitchen. The world was moving, the day was starting, and somewhere a few miles away, Ethan Carter was probably waking up, too.
Maybe he was thinking about the library. Maybe he was thinking about the "Stoic Wall." Or maybe he was just thinking about his breakfast.
It didn't matter.
Sophie stepped out her front door and into the cool morning air. She felt like she was standing at the edge of something vast, a forest she had to walk through without a map. She was scared, yes. She was confused, definitely. But as she started walking toward the bus stop, she felt a strange, quiet sense of power.
She knew her own heart now. And once you know the truth, the only thing left to do is live it.
One flutter at a time. One ink smudge at a time. One messy, terrifying, wonderful moment at a time.