Not a Dream, Not Yet a Confession

It was already nine in the evening.

I was still curled up on the sofa, unmoving. Occasionally, my eyes flickered to the door, still shut tight, still unmoved. Not a knock. Not a chime. Nothing.

Ever since Gadis helped me into her hoodie and vanished behind the doors of that towering office building—together with him—I'd felt restless. The silence gnawed at me. Thoughts surged through my mind like uninvited waves in a storm.

She looked different today. So… grown. No more worn-out jeans, no more oversized black t-shirts she used to swear by. She had traded them for a neat, knee-length skirt and a matching blazer. A crisp white shirt buttoned up beneath. She looked like a whole different person. But her hug… her hug still held the same warmth it always did. That hadn't changed.

God, the way she embraced me—without hesitation, without shame—sent me spiraling into a joy I hadn't felt in years. Yet there was a bitter thorn lodged beneath it. She wasn't alone. The Gadis I knew, who never believed in being tied down, who once told me she hated the idea of commitment—had now given herself to someone.

My worst fear when she left has finally happened. She found love. And it wasn't me.

And then… at 9:30, just when my doubt began to curl itself into despair, the doorbell rang.

I jumped to my feet and opened the door I'd been staring at for hours. And there she was—Gadis, still dressed in the same clothes from earlier, though a little more disheveled now. No words left my mouth. I simply pulled her into a hug. Tight. Unapologetic. The tears I'd been holding since the afternoon finally broke free. I didn't care if she pushed me away. I didn't care if I'd crossed a line.

But she didn't flinch.

She didn't move.

She just stood there, motionless in my arms. Hypnotized by the moment, I leaned in. Closer. Until our lips touched. Softly. Hesitantly. And just like that, I snapped back to reality. I pulled away in guilt. Panic. Fear. Fear of losing her again. Two years were long enough. I couldn't survive another goodbye.

But then—she leaned in.

Gently, she cupped my cheek. I had never seen tears in her eyes before—not until now. Slowly, she closed the distance between us. Our lips met again. But this time… it was her kiss. Her choice. And as she kissed me, I felt her tears on my face.

It felt like a dream. So vivid, so impossible, it blurred the lines between what was real and what I wished for.

And somehow, we ended up in my bed. Our skin bare, tangled in warmth, in something that felt like the truth we had both been running from for far too long.

What was this?

I didn't know.

But I didn't care. Not tonight.

Tonight, I was the happiest I'd ever been—even if this happiness lived only in a dream.

⸻

"7:00 AM, Reality Whispers"

"I don't want to run away, but I can't take it, I don't understand…"

Daniel Bedingfield's voice bled through the speaker of my phone, dragging me from sleep.

Groggy, I fumbled blindly toward my nightstand, pressing whatever button I could to make the music stop. Then instinctively—without thinking—I turned my head to the side.

And breathed a sigh of relief.

She was still there.

Gadis. Still asleep beside me.

It wasn't a dream.

There she was, her face bathed in morning light. I used to do this every morning—watch her sleep. Admire the lines of her face, how peaceful she looked. That perfectly shaped nose. The sharp outline of her jaw. Even in sleep, she remained effortlessly beautiful. Untouched by the world.

Gently, almost reverently, I reached out and brushed her cheek. Careful not to wake her. But it was already 7:00. She'd need to leave for work soon.

By the time she stirred awake, I had already prepared breakfast. She answered her phone almost immediately—her voice sharp, professional. Something work-related, it seemed.

After the call, she didn't speak much. Just nodded, gathered her clothes from the bedside table, and began to dress.

"Morning," I said softly, handing her a cup of warm coffee. She smiled faintly and asked where the bathroom was. A few minutes later, she emerged—hair tidied, shirt buttoned. Ready to go.

She walked to the dining table, gave me a gentle stroke on the head, and whispered her goodbye. I tried to stop her, offered her a piece of toast, anything to make her stay even a minute longer. But she said she'd be late.

And then—she left.

In a hurry. So fast I didn't even get to ask for her new number.

⸻

Gadis' Side

"You're late, honey."

Ruben greeted me at my desk, placing a cup of my favorite latte beside my hand. I had just returned from a meeting, my body still recovering from the mad dash to make it on time. He leaned down, massaging my shoulders gently.

I spun my chair around until we were face to face. Ruben smiled, brushing my hair aside—such a simple gesture, yet it struck me like a blade of guilt.

Last night.

I pulled him into a hug, as if to bury that guilt into his chest. He rubbed my back gently, probably assuming I was just tired. I didn't correct him. I couldn't.

Office hours were almost over, but my mind was still trapped in yesterday.

Yesterday—the day I'd tried to avoid for years—had finally come.

Alya. Back in my life, suddenly, impossibly. And despite everything… I couldn't stop my heart from leaping at the sight of her.

She still looked like the Alya I remembered. Soft. Feminine. Her presence still wrapped in that same bittersweet pull.

When I told her I'd come by after work, I hadn't meant it. I took overtime deliberately, hoping to tire myself out, hoping the urge to see her would pass. But when the clock hit nine and I was walking home… my feet betrayed me.

And there I was—standing in front of her apartment door. I don't know why. My fingers moved on their own.

When she opened the door and rushed into my arms, I forgot everything I'd taught myself to bury.

Two years was long enough to forget a lot. But not her.

Not that kiss.

And when she pulled away, overcome by guilt, it was me who moved forward. Who kissed her back. Who started everything we weren't supposed to start.

Now, I sat at my desk, staring at Ruben as he looked at me with so much trust.

And all I could feel…

Was shame.