Decision Point

The familiar chipped cup seemed strange in Mateo's hands the following morning. The coffee was weak and tasted like ash. Through the kitchen window, sunlight illuminated dust particles whirling in the air. It was a routine, everyday scene, yet everything felt electrified and pulsating with the impossible information he suddenly possessed. Overnight, the dream confirmation, the unquestionable connection between the photos and the charcoal cat sketch, had changed the way he saw the world.

Nodding to his mother, shoving down some bread, and muttering vague responses about his plans for the day—which, until yesterday, included another mind-numbing stint at the café—he went through the motions. But he wasn't thinking about leaking pipes or burnt toast. The scene was being replayed: Seraphina clutching the charm in the dream, his hand drawing its odd form, the same item blatantly on show on a news website, her subsequent dream comments validating his observation. Unquestionably, it was a closed cycle that was irrational and unexplainable.

The dreams had been a perplexing, reassuring, and occasionally unnerving diversion for months. He had viewed them like colorful but ultimately pointless late-night films. He realized now that they were something else. A link. A link to someone, somewhere, who seemed both incredibly far away and very close. And what else could there be if that was real?

The thought pressed hard and persistently into his chest. Potentiality. Buried beneath the burden of financial difficulties and dashed hopes, the word had felt alien for years. The dreams were about more than simply the shining pop sensation Seraphina; they were about a fissure in the ordinary wall of his life. They implied that the universe wasn't quite as restrictive and predictable as his everyday existence demanded.

The aged furniture and the thin water stain on the ceiling, which were signs of their stagnation, caught his attention as he surveyed the tiny room. He reflected on the never-ending changes, the waning optimism in his father's eyes, and the gradual stifling of his own creative inclinations. All of a sudden, staying seemed scarier than leaving. It felt like a betrayal of something to do nothing and accept this half-life while knowing that something magnificent was echoing in his sleep. Perhaps hope. or simply himself.

The choice was made with a peaceful, bone-deep certainty rather than a sudden flash of lightning. He was unable to remain here. He was unable to simply dream. The connection had to be followed. He needed to locate her. Not only the pop star, but also the one who spent those odd, silent times with him beneath impossible, shared skies. He needed to know whether the bridge was there during the day.

He felt lightheaded at the thought's utter absurdity. Can you locate Seraphina? The superstar from America? Mateo, a man who lives in a remote area of Portugal and has hardly fifty euros? It was absurd. Even suicidal. But his resolution was rooted in the recollection of the cat charm, that small piece of indisputable evidence.

To give it substance, he had to speak it out loud. Rui was necessary to him.

Later that afternoon, after a little haul, he spotted his pal down at the harbor, assisting his own father in securing their small fishing boat. Practical and broad-shouldered, Rui wiped perspiration from his forehead with a forearm already smeared with diesel and salt. His pessimism was typically a welcome counterbalance to Mateo's artistic temperament, but even though he expected the response, Mateo needed his oldest friend today.

"Hard day?" Leaning against a pile of lobster pots, Mateo posed the question.

Rui grumbled as he skillfully threw a rope around a cleat. The cost of fuel is more than the value of the fish. Once more. What is going on? You look... strange.

Mateo inhaled deeply, feeling the tense energy humming inside him not much calmed by the sea air. "I have something to tell you. Additionally, you must swear not to call me crazy right away.

Rui stood up straight and gave him a suspicious look. Mateo, that's typically not a good sign. What is it? Alves causing trouble?

"No, not in that manner." Mateo paused, searching for the right words. He couldn't just say, "I have dreams in common with a pop star." He began carefully. "Do you know Seraphina? The vocalist?

Rui's eyebrows went up. "The one from America? Sofia's posters are all over the place. How about her?

"I believe... I am connected to her in some way.

After staring at him, Rui let out a loud, gruff chuckle that could be heard across the lake. "Relationship? You wrote her fan mail? Mateo, please don't tell me that you've been duped by a wall poster.

"That isn't how it is!" Mateo persisted, growing irritated. "It's... difficult. Dreams. We converse.

Rui's laughing stopped and was replaced by a sincere expression of worry. Dreams? Come on, Mateo. You're under stress. Too much work. Perhaps you should take a vacation. Or perhaps less coffee.

"Listen, Rui!" Mateo took out his phone, and when he browsed to the news item and then the photo gallery, his fingers trembled a little. Zooming in on the kitten charm, he thrust the phone in Rui's direction. "Observe this. on her coat. Then he reached into his pocket and dug out the folded piece of paper from his sketchbook, flattening it out until the charcoal design was visible. This is what I drew yesterday morning. prior to seeing this image. In a dream, I saw it. She attested to it.

Rui looked at Mateo's serious face, then at the sketch, and last at the phone. He scratched his head and scowled. "All right, so it's the same strange cat thing. Okay? Perhaps you've seen it before, unconsciously? In one of Sofia's magazines? Man, you're being deceived by your brain.

"It wasn't subliminal, no! There we were, conversing. She possessed it. Then she put it on. Then, in a different dream, she confirmed that I had indeed seen it! Mateo was trying to convince Rui of the impossibility of the world he had fallen into.

Rui looked concerned and wiped his face. "Listen to yourself, Mateo. Dreams in common? Verifications? This isn't This is not the actual world. "This is real life," he said, pointing to the stricken boats, the silent docks, and the crushing weight of their meager opportunities. "Real life is not chasing pop stars across the ocean based on... sketches and coincidences, but figuring out how to pay the bills!"

"This isn't merely a coincidence!"

"Well, what are you going to do?" Rui's voice lifted, tinged with anxious frustration. Take a plane to Los Angeles? Call on the door of her mansion? "Hello, we met in our dreams. My name is Mateo and I'm from Portugal." You will get arrested! Or commit yourself! Mateo, think! This is insane!

He was pummeled by Rui's practical arguments, which pointed out every logical roadblock and every obvious flaw in his nonexistent strategy. Doubt flashed for a second. Rui was correct. It was insane. It was financially disastrous, nonsensical, and unattainable.

However, the conviction persisted, buried far beneath the uncertainty and the anxiety. There was a genuine connection. There was a bridge. He couldn't ignore it, but he wasn't sure how. Ignoring it would mean he would always have to live with the grimness of his present situation.

His own face hardened with resolve as he met Rui's anxious stare. "Rui," he continued in a calm but forceful voice, "I don't know how yet." "I don't have a strategy. I'm short on funds. But I must make an effort. I must locate her. I must know.

Rui gazed at him, observing the unwavering resolve in his friend's eyes. He shook his head slowly, his face displaying a mix of genuine concern and incredulity. "You're not kidding." There was no question.

Mateo affirmed, "I am." The word, laden with consequence, floated in the air between them. The choice was made. Even if just verbally, the first, great step into the unknown had been taken. Even though the road ahead was foggy and full of difficulties, Mateo felt as though he was heading in a direction for the first time in years, albeit an unlikely one. He was beginning the voyage; he was no longer merely dreaming.