That Dream Again

Her mom gives her a look, then steps over to the exercise stepper in the corner of the living room and starts moving steadily, hands on her hips.

"Less formal. You know… why don't you just call him by his name?"

"His name…?" Grace murmurs, tasting the idea. "Julian." She says it again, testing the weight of it on her tongue. "Hey, Julian…"

It feels strange. Not bad, just… strange. Like putting on clothes she hasn't worn before.

"I don't know," she says with a half-smile, "it feels kind of impolite. I was his student, you know?"

Her mom shrugs, chuckling softly as she steps rhythmically. 

"Do what's comfortable for you, then. I was just thinking—he might want something a little different now. I mean, don't you think it's gonna be weird, you calling him Professor all the time when you're, you know, dating?"

Hearing it out loud like that, Grace has to admit—it does sound a little ridiculous. Dating him and still calling him Professor? Yeah… that would be weird.

But honestly, right now, none of that really matters to her. The details don't bother her much. All she can feel is this steady warmth in her heart, the quiet certainty that God brought them together. Everything else is just decoration.

"It's God," she murmurs under her breath, mostly to herself. "All of this… God helped with it."

Her mom smiles but doesn't push further. She keeps stepping, steady and casual, before suddenly switching gears.

"So… what about that dream, Grace?"

Grace blinks. 

"Dream?"

"You know, that dream you kept having… that story, or whatever it was. You haven't mentioned it in a while."

And then it clicks—the old dream. The strange one, almost like flashes of another life, set somewhere in the 1920s. Herself, captured… saved by a man named June. And June—he looked exactly like Julian. Same eyes. Same voice. Same everything. The memory of it feels distant now, like watching the trailer of a movie she never finished. 

Now that she thinks about it… she hasn't dreamed of it at all lately.

"I guess… I don't dream of it anymore," she says with a shrug.

Her mom nods, not missing a beat on the stepper. 

"You said it would be a good story for your novel, remember?"

"Yeah, that's true, but…" Grace trails off, lost in thought. "I don't know. That dream felt too real. Too vivid to be just a random dream. And the weirdest part is… I dreamed about that man—Julian—before I even met him in real life. And they looked exactly the same."

She falls silent, the weight of that realization pressing gently against her chest. Even now, she still doesn't know what to make of it.

"It really is amazing," her mom adds, stepping steadily on the machine, breathing only slightly quickening, "how you said that the moment you saw Julian for the first time… he looked exactly like the man from your dream."

"Exactly…" Grace whispers, her gaze drifting to the window, where the city lights blink softly in the distance. The night feels endless, full of quiet secrets. "Usually when I wake up from a dream, I can't even remember the details. They just fade, like smoke. But this dream… this series of dreams… every single time, it was like I'd just… stepped out of that era and jumped back into this one. Like time-traveling in my sleep."

She hesitates, searching for words but coming up empty. "It still doesn't make sense. It's still a question."

And honestly, she doesn't know if she even wants to figure it out anymore.

Just then, her phone vibrates sharply on the sofa beside her. Reflexively, she picks it up.

A message from Julian.

Her whole face lights up instantly. "A theater? Great!" she bursts out, louder than she means to, making her mom glance over with amusement. Grace has always loved live acting, the energy of real people performing right in front of her—the breath, the mistakes, the raw beauty of it all.

Without hesitation, she taps out a reply.

It's Friday night, and Saturday is already creeping around the corner like the next chapter of a story Julian's not sure how to write yet.

He runs hard by the lake, his feet pounding against the pavement in steady rhythm, breath sharp and fast, heart racing like it's trying to outrun his thoughts. The world around him is hushed except for the occasional whisper of wind over water and the steady echo of his own movement.

Finally, as if the night itself calls for a pause, his Apple Watch vibrates on his wrist. Incoming call: Eugene.

Julian slows to a stop, pressing his palm to his knee as he catches his breath. 

"Hey, Eugene."

"Hey, June!" Eugene's voice, cheerful as ever, crackles through the line. "Were you out running again?"

"Yeah," Julian exhales, voice rough with exertion.

"Didn't mean to interrupt your whole marathon out there," Eugene teases.

Julian lets out a breathy laugh, sweat dripping from his hairline. 

"Nah, you're fine. I was due for a break anyway. Perfect timing."

"Sweet. So… you got time tomorrow? Got an extra ticket to the baseball game. Figured we could hang like old times."

There's a pang of guilt as Julian shakes his head. 

"I don't think I can tomorrow. I've already got plans."

"Oh, yeah?" Eugene sounds casual about it, but there's a trace of curiosity beneath the surface. "No biggie. My fiancée just got slammed with a work thing, so I figured I'd ask you. But no pressure."

Julian feels that familiar tug of guilt again, but it's softened by something else—something warmer. 

"Sorry, man. Another time."

"Yeah, yeah, all good." A small pause. Then Eugene's tone sharpens, like he's been meaning to ask. "So… how did it go?"

"What do you mean?"

"That thing with Grace. You said she was coming over to talk. How'd it go?"

Julian exhales, smiling despite himself, glancing out at the lake glittering faintly under the distant city lights. "Oh… that."

Immediately, Eugene's curiosity shifts to amusement. 

"That. From your voice, it sounds like something actually happened. Don't tell me—are you two…?"

Julian hesitates, feeling the weight of the truth catch somewhere between his heart and his throat. 

"Yeah. I guess… we're dating now."

Silence. The kind of silence that feels deliberate.

"Eugene?"

A low whistle breaks through the quiet. 

"Wow. I mean, I kinda suspected everything you told me… but still. It's a bit surreal. I haven't seen you with anyone since… well, since Hannah."

Julian presses his lips together, nodding to himself.

Hannah. 

Always Hannah.

Until now.

For a second, he toys with the idea of telling Eugene everything. The dreams. The name June. Grace seeing the same face, living through that strange 1920s world in her sleep, always rescued by him. And how somehow—against all logic—it's connected to his own past with Hannah. But the words never make it past his lips.

Not yet.

This one's between him and God for now.

"Anyway," Eugene says, his voice softening, the teasing gone now, replaced by something sincere. "I'm happy for you, man. Really. It's good to see you let someone in again."

Julian lets a smile pull at the corner of his mouth, feeling the weight shift slightly, lighter now. 

"Thanks," he says quietly. "Means a lot."

Sunlight filters through the thin curtain, warm and soft against her face. Grace jolts awake, breath hitching in her throat as her eyes snap open. The familiar white ceiling stares back at her, plain and unmoving, but her heart thunders beneath her ribs.

That dream… again.

A sharp tension coils in her chest, refusing to loosen its grip. She knows she's here—in her own bed, in her own room—but everything feels slightly off, as if the dream hasn't fully let her go. The room looks right, smells right, feels right… and yet, a faint hum of unreality lingers at the edges.

Her fingers fumble for her phone beside her pillow. The screen lights up with a soft glow—7:42 a.m. Saturday.

Right. It's Saturday.

Grace exhales slowly, letting the breath slip out like she's been holding it for too long. Closing her eyes, she murmurs a quiet thank you for the new day, willing the strange weight in her chest to dissolve.

But the dream is still there, sharp and vivid in her mind, like a story she's half living and half watching from the outside.

Write it down before it fades.

She grabs the phone again, thumbs tapping open the notes app. The words pour out in uneven bursts, fingers trembling slightly. Even as she types, the vividness of the dream feels unreal—too crisp, too present.

[I slowly descended the stairs, the dim glow of the hallway light casting long shadows along the walls. The soft creak of each step beneath my feet felt oddly amplified in the silence of the night.

That was when I saw him.

June stepped into the building, his entire form drenched in rain. Droplets streamed down his disheveled hair, sticking it to his forehead, and his thick khaki-colored jacket clung heavily to his frame. His boots, soaked through, left dark, spreading stains on the wooden floor beneath him. But what stole my breath weren't the rain or the mess— it was the blood.