The Girl in the Courtyard

The second time it happened, I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep.
One moment, I was staring at the ceiling of my room, the light from the streetlamp drawing slow-moving shadows across the walls. The next, I was somewhere else entirely.
I was standing in a corridor. The same corridor.
The same unfamiliar school with walls too clean, floors too polished, and windows that let in light but cast no shadows. But this time, I wasn’t alone. Or rather—this time, I felt like I wasn’t alone.
The air around me buzzed faintly, like a whisper caught in a loop.
I walked slowly, careful not to break the silence that hung over everything. The hallway twisted, unfamiliar and endless, until I reached an archway I hadn't seen before. Beyond it was a courtyard bathed in silver-blue light.
At the center stood a tree. But not any tree I'd ever seen.
Its bark shimmered like glass. Its leaves gleamed like stars—silver, translucent, softly glowing in a wind I couldn’t feel. It looked like something out of a dream. And beneath that dreamlike tree sat a girl.
Long hair the color of moonlight spilled around her shoulders like a veil. Her eyes were closed. Her hands were folded in her lap. She looked like a statue waiting for time to catch up.
And then, she opened her eyes.
They were pale—almost white—but glowing faintly, as if the stars themselves had lit a fire within her gaze. She looked straight at me.
“…You came back,” she said softly.
Her voice was like wind through paper—light, thin, and ancient.
I hesitated. “Back…?”
She nodded slowly, rising to her feet in one smooth, effortless motion. She stood barefoot on the stone path, and yet not a sound came from her steps.
“You dreamwalked again.”
“That’s… not a real thing,” I said, even as I glanced around. “This is just a dream. A weird one.”
She tilted her head, curious. “Is that what you still believe?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You remember me,” she said.
I frowned. “I saw you… last time. In a glimpse. But you didn’t say anything.”
“I wasn't supposed to.” Her eyes searched my face, then narrowed just slightly. “But you’ve seen too much now.”
I took a step back. “Look, I don’t understand what’s going on. One second I’m lying in bed, and the next I’m… here. This place doesn’t even make sense.”
“You’re slipping through the Veil.”
“What veil?”
“The boundary between the waking world and this one.”
“…This is a dream.”
She shook her head. “It’s not. Not entirely. You’re not asleep, Lucen. You’re walking.”
I froze. “How do you know my name?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she walked past me, toward the silver tree. The light from the leaves sparkled in her hair like falling stars.
“I waited here,” she said. “Because I knew you'd come again. Even if you didn’t mean to.”
“Who are you?” I asked. “And what is this place?”
She looked up at the branches above us. “This is a crossing place. A memory of what was. Or what could have been. You're only touching a small part of it now.”
Her words made no sense. Yet deep down, I felt something stir. A kind of… déjà vu. Like I should understand.
“You’re not supposed to be here yet,” she added. “But something opened the way for you.”
I stepped beside her. “Why me?”
“Because you still remember.”
Her answer didn’t explain anything. And yet it explained everything.
I looked up at the silver tree with its impossible glow. The sky above swirled with faint colors—violet, blue, silver—clouds that moved too slowly to be real. The air felt thick with something unspoken.
And in the silence that followed, she whispered something else.
“You’re a dreamwalker.”
The word echoed inside my chest.
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“You will,” she said. “But you must be careful. Dreamwalking is not safe. Not anymore.”
The wind shifted. The light dimmed slightly. And then, like a wave of pressure, a sound swept through the courtyard—a low, distant hum that made the stones beneath my feet vibrate.
She turned sharply toward the archway. Her expression hardened.
“They’re coming.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“You need to wake up.”
“I just got here!” I shouted. “I have questions!”
“There’s no time.”
She stepped forward and raised her hand. A thread of silver light traced from her fingertip, glowing like moonfire.
“Next time, listen closely,” she said. “This world is starting to remember you.”
I didn’t get to ask what that meant.
Her finger touched my forehead.
And the world collapsed.
The silver tree shattered into a million glimmering petals. The courtyard twisted and vanished. Her voice echoed in my ears—
“Don’t forget me.”
—
I woke up with a gasp.
The ceiling fan was spinning lazily above my head. My room was warm, the sun barely rising outside. I was drenched in sweat, heart pounding like I’d run a marathon.
I looked at my hands.
They were trembling.
I still remembered everything. The tree. The courtyard. Her.
I remembered it all.
Which wasn’t supposed to happen.
Dreams fade. But this one clung to me like it was real.
No.
It was real.
I could still feel the chill of the courtyard beneath my bare feet. Still hear the soft rustle of silver leaves in the wind.
And even though she never told me her name……I knew this wasn’t the end.
It was only the beginning.

---Hey, it’s Anurag here again! Thanks for reading Chapter 2 of Dreambound: The Veil Between Worlds. In this chapter, Lucen begins to realize his dreams aren’t just dreams—and meets the mysterious girl beneath the silver tree. Is she friend, guide, or something else entirely? Things are only just starting to unravel.
The next chapter dives even deeper into the connection between the dream world and Lucen’s real life—when echoes from the dream begin leaking into reality. Stick with me, and I promise a ride full of mystery, heart, and magic. 

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