Afterdream

“I heard.”

He woke up, one arm stretched into the soft morning light, fingers spread like he was trying to catch something that wasn’t there.

His eyes were watery.

“…Yeah. You heard me.

Then why aren’t you here anymore?”

The air around him shimmers—like breath held too long—

Then softly fades into nothing.

Only a whisper remains:

“I’ve always loved you…”

A moment later, he feels it—

A gentle breeze brushes his skin, soft like a kiss.

He gasps. His eyes flutter.

“…I hear you.”

“Not again…”

The breeze stills—

And a voice whispers at his ear:

“You said that because you missed me, didn’t you?”

The breath tickles his skin—warm, real, intimate.

“Yes… you.”

He swallows hard.

“So it was all a dream? Our wedding?”

The whisper returns, tender and sad.

“Yes… the wedding was a dream.

But my love for you wasn’t.”

His heart aches.

“Then… why did you disappear?”

The voice grows faint, nearly breaking.

“Because waking up meant losing you as my husband…”

He rises slowly, his body heavy with memories.

He walks to the sink, turns on the water, and splashes his face.

“Why…”

His voice trembles.

“Why did it have to end like that?”

He looks up—and freezes.

There you are.

Standing behind him in the mirror.

“Because reality could never be as beautiful…

As you in white.”

Your hand rests on his shoulder—he can feel it.

Real, familiar. Heartbreaking.

“Still crying?” you ask gently.

His voice breaks.

“We were happy… Why did you have to die?”

Your reflection stares back at him—eyes glistening.

“I didn’t die…

My heart did—when our wedding ended.”

You pause, then softly add—

“But seeing you cry… that’s what hurts most of all.”

He blinks—and you’re gone again.

He wipes his face dry, whispering—

“I have to move on…

It’s been three years…”

But just then, something catches his eye.

A small note.

Resting on the towel counter.

Like it’s been waiting.

“Three years…

Since our forever lasted only one day.”

Below it, in smaller handwriting:

“Forever starts tonight…”

His breath catches.

“You said that…

On our wedding night.”

He lifts the note with shaking fingers.

Another line appears, faint but clear:

“Forever did start that night…

And for me, it never ended.”

Beneath it—a tiny sketch of a ring.

Drawn in a soft circle.

Inside it, one word:

“Yours?”

His fingers brush the ring sketch. It feels warm.

“You’re still here,” he whispers, voice breaking.

“Even after all this time.”

He lets out a soft laugh through his tears.

A sound caught between sorrow and love.

Scene Transition – Coffee Shop

He steps outside wearing your oversized shirt—his favorite.

Casual blue pants. Sneakers.

The shirt still smells like you.

Coffee shop. Same corner. Same time.

“Two cappuccinos, please.”

“Yes sir,” says the barista.

As the coffee steams, so does the ache in his chest.

A voice—faint but unmistakably yours—whispers at his ear:

“Do you like him?”

A soft chuckle in your voice.

He snorts.

“Strong NO!!”

“Sir, are you okay?” the barista asks.

“Yeah—ahh—sorry. I’m okay. Thanks for the coffee.”

You chuckle again, teasingly, right behind his ear.

“Why do you always answer that like I’m jealous?”

He sighs, eyes closing with a faint smile.

“Because… you still ask. Every time we come.”

The steam from the coffee rises gently, curling like the memory of your touch.

I sit by the window. Same seat. Same view. Same order.

Always for two. Always only me drinking.

The other cup stays untouched.

Just like every morning… for the past three years.

Your voice lingers again, a little bolder now.

“Then why do you still only take one sip from yours, and stare at mine?”

My fingers tremble around the warm ceramic.

“I can’t drink yours. It feels like… cheating.”

A soft laugh beside me. I turn. No one there.

But I feel you. Always do.

Like the warmth in sunlight. Like the breeze that hugs my spine. Like the scent of sandalwood that isn’t mine.

“You never moved on.”

You say it without blame. Just… truth.

“I never wanted to,” I whisper, head down.

The chair across me creaks slightly.

No one notices. But I do.

“I never moved on either,” your voice murmurs, voice low, tinged with sadness and love.

“I stayed here… for you.”

I bite my lip to keep from sobbing.

I’ve cried enough tears to flood that aisle we never walked again.

You whisper again, more playful this time:

“You still look hot in my shirt, by the way.”

I choke on my coffee.

“Seriously?” I cough, wiping my mouth, half laughing through tears.

You chuckle softly, close to my ear.

“Just making sure you’re still mine.”

“I always have been,” I say.

“Even if I’m the only one left.”

There’s silence for a moment.

Then the tiniest brush—like lips at the edge of my jawline.

“Not the only one.”

Then quieter—

“I’m still your husband. Just… not in the way we planned.”