I was lying on my, staring at the ceiling fan, counting rotations until I started getting a headache. The notifications on my laptop were chiming one after another. I couldn’t be bothered to look at them. I was done for the day. It was 3:30 a.m.

The birds chirping—wait, no, there isn’t a single sign of nature nearby. I snooze my alarm. I must have fallen asleep. I look at the clock: 7:30 a.m. I get out of bed, go to the bathroom, and take a second to take in the mess reflecting from the bathroom mirror. “Gotta make the money to pay the bills, girl,” I tell myself so that I can drag myself out of the small apartment (can’t even call it an apartment, to be honest).

8:30 a.m. The streets are already getting too snug for a Monday morning. Most of the people are like me, rushing to work just because they have to. I put on a smooth music playlist, plug in my AirPods, and start walking down the street. Luckily, I live close to my workplace. The best part about these walks is that I use this chance to escape reality as it is. I get to walk past a small sewer line that I convince myself is green only because of the moss, the small bridge that is a wooden bridge across a blue river inside my head, and the streets are a small pathway with trees on either side—not the impatient, honking vehicles. The reality is blocked away by the loud music in my ears and my imagination. That somehow puts my mind at ease and in a better mood.

A girl’s best friend is coffee (and of course, something to eat). I stop by at my usual bakery and give a big “Good morning” first as I greet John.

“Good morning, sweetheart, the usual?”

 “Yes, please!” I take a big whiff of the coffee smell and feel it rejuvenating my brain, like how smelling salt brings back an unconscious person.

9:30 a.m., with the coffee in hand and a quick thank you, as usual, I rush to work.

Just like that, it is Friday again, and the cycle repeats. Weeks turn into months, months into years. And in all that time, in the back of my head, there is a small part of me that is closed away, kept under lock and key: a dream, a different life I had planned for myself when I was small, that dream that no longer seems achievable.

4:30 a.m. “Shit, I should probably go to sleep.” The air is cold and unwelcoming. The ceiling fan is the only companion I stare at once again. One rotation after another, it’s never-ending. I think to myself: When will I ever get to live the life the way I always dreamt of?

I wake up to the sound of the busy streets, louder and noisier than usual. 8:30 a.m. Of course, I had to miss the alarm. “Oh, crap! I am gonna be so late!” This is why I should never stay up late (the same thing I repeatedly tell myself but never listen to, of course). I quickly get ready and, of course, I drop my breakfast on the floor (a piece of buttered toast), stub my toe on the table, and forget my laptop charger, which I realize as I rush out the door. I probably forgot to switch off the ceiling fan, too.

Almost 9:00 a.m. I run past the sewer line and the cement bridge, trying to catch a tuk somehow. I guess I’ll have to miss my sweet coffee. That is going to make me cranky.

The work surprisingly reverts to its usual boring self, and I slave away from morning to evening as if it means the world to me. At least I’ll have to pretend to like it if I am to survive.

I keep glancing at my phone from time to time. It is almost 6:00 p.m. I am feeling a desperate need to just leave. I keep tapping my legs, tapping the pencil on the desk, unfocused, and more unmotivated than usual. 6:30 p.m. I grab my bags and leave. I am hungry and tired (tired of life mostly). I start walking, without a destination.

Home is no longer home; it’s just where my bed is for me to sleep.

You know that weird urge you get to do something spontaneous once in a while? Yeah, I got that, so I walked dead in the night into an alley that I have never been to. It seems safe “enough,” I convinced myself. Somehow, the whole thing had a very dreamy aspect to it. The yellow, dimmed streetlights reminded me of the Victorian streets from the books I used to read, the night sky pitch black but with stars sparkling. The whole atmosphere put me in a better mood. There was a small pastry shop in the corner that was still open. I go in and grab an Eclair and a Chinese roll (I always go with a sweet and a savory combo). My stomach rumbled. Maybe I should find a place to sit. I kept walking until I found a nice bench facing only a slightly creepy waterway and a bunch of trees. This is as dreamy as it could get, I suppose.

“Excuse me, would you mind if I sit here?”

I almost choke on my Chinese roll. I take out my AirPods. A tall (who am I kidding, he was a bit handsome too) guy was leaning over the bench.  “I am sorry? What did you say?”

“Oh, sorry to disturb you. Would you mind if I sit here?”

“Oh, no, no, go ahead.” Please don’t let this be the start of a serial killer documentary, I think to myself. He takes out a book (a green flag, right?) and starts reading. I try to get a peek at the title.

“It is The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown.” He says with a small smile, looking up at me. I love Dan Brown! I don’t want to look too excited, though.

“Oh! I am a big fan of his books, very excited for his new book, can’t wait to get my hands on it.” I was trying to keep my excitement a bit under wraps. But he got a bit of a sparkle in his eyes.

“I know, right! That is why I am reading his books all over again.”

It has been so long since I talked about books with someone or even touched a book.

The conversation drifted for longer than I thought—books to coffee to adventures and all sorts of things, and to food. Oh, food! 10:00 p.m. “Oh my goodness, it is 10 p.m.!”

“Am I boring you with my talking?” he asks, giving a small, cheeky giggle.

“Of course not. The topic of food made my stomach rumble.”

“Ah! Honestly, I am also feeling a bit hungry now. You know, I have never walked across this alley, but on the way here, I saw a small pizza corner. Maybe it is still open. Do you want to grab a bite?”

Here I am trusting a stranger. What’s the worst thing that could happen, right?

“Yeah, of course, sounds perfect.” We walk in silence (There wasn’t anything awkward about the silence). It was as if we were both letting everything around us take control of us for the moment and forget who we were before sitting down at the bench.

The pizza and the conversation were more filling than any meal I’d had in recent weeks (or even months). I realized I missed having a proper friend, a companion, or simply the joy of enjoying a normal conversation. The night drifted. We were back at the bench. 1:00 a.m.. The night sky was the prettiest it had been since I last remembered. We stare at the night sky in silence. I realize I am definitely not wearing any ideal clothes for this weather. A moment later, I felt a warm coat covering my legs. I glance at him. Romantic, I think to myself. He is back to staring at the sky. There is a timeless feeling to the silence between us, just staring and not doing anything—simply us and the sky, and nothing else.

Time passes. He looks at me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“If you could forget whatever problems you have, and you could do anything you want in the world, what would you want to do?”

Without a second’s hesitation, I say, “Live.”

He seemed satisfied with my answer because he didn’t ask me anything else. We went back to staring at the sky.

“What about you? What would you want to do?” I ask.

“Dream more.” The world does need more dreamers, people who aren’t stuck to the capitalistic cycle of life, earning to live and living to earn each day. “I know you probably shouldn’t be trusting a stranger, but do you want to take a walk along the beach?”

“A walk along the beach sounds wonderful, let’s do it.”

We talk about life, childhood, adulthood, and everything in between. Walking along the beach, dead at night, is one of the best feelings ever. He put the coat on the somewhat cold sand. I lie down without any hesitation; what more could happen at this point? He lies down next to me. At one point, both of us stare at each other while lying down, maybe wondering about how we ended up in this moment. Is it fate or is it simply a coincidence? There’s a bit of an adventurous feeling to this whole thing. 2:30 a.m. It is pretty late.

I wake up to a salty feeling in my mouth. I look at my watch: 6:30 a.m. I glance at a peacefully sleeping, tall, handsome man next to me. I feel confused for a moment. Then everything from last night flooded my mind. Wow, did all of that really happen? I think to myself. He wakes up in a while.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” I say looking at his sleepy face. He gives a small giggle. “I am surprised you didn’t leave me here to get mugged or something.”

“Damn it! Now that you mention it, that is exactly what I should have done,” I say, sounding disappointed. He laughs, and I laugh along. “Yesterday… I don’t think I’ll forget it. I don’t think I’ve laughed like that in a long time,” I say softly.

“Likewise.”

The sun starts rising, bleeding orange and yellow into the blue sky. Another day already. I feel a pang in my heart. Is it to warn me about the eventual parting that is going to come, or is it because yesterday was too great to simply move on?

8:00 a.m. I give my hand to him. “Julie. My name’s Julie.”

“Harry, mine’s Harry,” he says, taking my hand. Harry. I see.

“I guess this is where we part ways, go on our own adventures and conquer life?” I say, trying to sound cheerful but failing to keep the bitterness out of it.

“But I doubt it will ever be the same as before,” he says, staring directly into my eyes.

Before leaving, we give each other a tight hug and hold each other for a while, taking in everything: the bright sun, waves crashing, the warmth of the hug, the memories made from the dark alley to the pizza corner to this sandy beach.  And we go our separate ways. For some reason, we didn’t share any way of contacting each other or make plans to meet again.

I guess it felt more dreamier that way.