In the summer of 2025, I had a dream.
We met in a garden for the first time. His white shirt was speckled with flecks of light. His outstretched hand brushed the back of mine, warm with the mingled scent of ink and sunshine. The words I wanted to say caught in my throat.
Should I wake up?
When I jolted awake, the fan was still turning, and I was clutching a dried flower petal…
