The School That Wasn’t Mine

The first time it happened, I thought it was just a dream.

I had fallen asleep like always—music still playing softly, phone screen glowing beside my pillow, a textbook left open on a half-finished page. The fan hummed overhead, and the world blurred into the comforting black of sleep.

But when I opened my eyes again... I wasn’t in my room.

I was standing in a hallway.

It wasn’t familiar. Everything looked... off. The walls shimmered faintly. The floors gleamed like polished marble, so clean they reflected the soft light coming through towering windows. A quiet breeze stirred the air, carrying the scent of parchment, ink, and something sweet like spring blossoms. Somewhere in the distance, faint music echoed—notes that vanished the moment I tried to focus.

I looked down at myself.

My pajamas were gone. Instead, I wore a neatly pressed white shirt with deep blue trim, fastened by silver buttons. A strange symbol was stitched above my chest—a silver tree encircled by a ring of curling vines. It shimmered faintly, like it was breathing.

"What the hell...?" I whispered.

Students passed me in the corridor. They wore the same uniform, carried books bound in dark leather, and spoke in voices that echoed slightly, like the walls held memories. Some of them moved too perfectly, like their motions had been rehearsed. No one looked confused. No one looked at me at all. It was like I’d always been here.

But I hadn’t.

My heartbeat thudded in my chest. Was this a dream?

I began walking. Not out of choice—my legs simply moved, pulled by a strange gravity. Every step felt both familiar and foreign. I turned corners without thinking, like I was following a path I’d walked a thousand times before in a life I didn’t remember. There were signs I couldn’t read but somehow understood. Hallways bent at impossible angles and still made sense.

Then I stopped.

Room 1-C.

I opened the door. The classroom was filled with warm sunlight streaming through tall windows. Desks were neatly arranged. Dust motes floated in the golden beams like slow-falling snow. I walked to a desk near the window and sat down. The chair creaked softly beneath me.

A breeze touched my face. Somewhere outside, bells chimed—not the school bell, something older.

"Yo. You’re new, right?"

I turned.

A boy stood beside my desk. Messy black hair. Sharp eyes that looked too tired for someone our age. His tie was loose, collar slightly open. He had a calmness that didn’t match the surreal world around us.

"I... guess?"

"You guess?" He grinned. "That's a weird answer. You’re in the dream, same as me. That means you're one of us."

I stared at him. "Dream?"

"Yeah. This place. It only exists when we're asleep. But it's not just a dream."

Before I could reply, a bell rang.

Sharp. Familiar. Too real.

Students filed in. A teacher entered. Lessons began. I moved like I belonged—opening a notebook, taking notes, even though my hand moved like it remembered something my mind didn’t. The language on the board wasn’t one I recognized. But I understood it. I wrote it like I’d been doing it my whole life.

Every minute felt longer than it should. Like time bent to the rhythm of thought. The teacher's voice was muffled at times and crystal-clear at others. The classroom felt suspended in amber.

As the day went on, the dream didn’t break. The classroom didn’t vanish. Nothing turned absurd like in normal dreams. It was all too consistent. Too whole. Too alive.

When the final bell rang, I stayed behind. My fingers trembled. The boy waited at the door.

"Still pretending it’s just a dream?"

"I’m not pretending," I said. "I just don’t get it."

"You will. The more you come here, the harder it is to tell which world is real."

I stood up. "Who are you?"

"Someone who’s been coming here for a while. You’re the first new one I’ve seen. That’s rare."

I walked out past him, down the corridor again. The sun had shifted. The sky outside was lavender now, not blue. A soft violet hue filled the school with strange beauty. The shadows of birds flew across the ceiling, but when I looked out, I saw no sky creatures at all.

I kept walking until I reached a courtyard.

It was huge. Circular. In its center stood a towering tree—its leaves silver, fluttering without wind. Its branches curled upward like arms embracing the sky. The bark pulsed faintly with veins of light. The ground beneath it shimmered like moonlight on water.

I stepped forward, drawn to it. I wasn’t alone—shapes stood in the distance, blurred like they were behind fogged glass. But none came closer.

I reached out to touch its trunk—and the world shifted.

The air thickened. A pressure formed behind my eyes. Like water warping the air, everything wavered. The tree blurred. The sky darkened to deep violet.

And then I gasped—

And woke up.

Back in my bed. The fan still spun. My music had stopped. My phone screen was dark.

But my hand... held something.

A silver leaf.

I stared at it, breath caught in my throat. It was smooth. Cool. Real. I turned it over. It didn’t vanish. Didn’t fade. It shimmered faintly in the dark.

My pulse thundered.

The boy’s voice echoed in my memory:

"This isn’t just a dream. It’s another world."

"You’re one of us."

I didn’t sleep again that night. I just sat in the dark, staring at the leaf, wondering if I had crossed into something I wasn’t meant to find. Wondering if that silver tree still stood, swaying gently under a lavender sky.

I should have been afraid.

Instead, I felt like I’d found something I’d been searching for my whole life.

Author’s Note:

Thank you for reading Chapter 1 of Dreambound: The Veil Between Worlds! This is just the beginning of Lucen's journey. What is this dreamworld? Who is the strange boy, and why does Lucen have a leaf from another world?

In Chapter 2, Lucen returns and meets the girl under the silver tree. She knows more than she should—and she’s been waiting for him.

If this story resonated with you, leave a comment and follow. We’re only just crossing the Veil.

— Anurag