Ryle 1

Even in my dream Regina is there.

My housemate who I see every day still finds her way to my dream.

Even when I sleep I still want to see her smile. As I wake up I see her, “Good Morning, sleepyhead. How was your dream?” And I flusteredly look away, “It’s not really… something you need to know.” Saying that is already a hint that something funny is beneath what I said and Regina’s lips form a teasing smile. She tries to pester me to answer what is it, to which I remain silent even as she moves closer, partly since I have yet to figure the choice of response whether to lie or to be honest or to be succinct or to try to express as much as I can without her misunderstanding and tease me harder (if there was anything to misunderstand). Her body suddenly hit me as I failed to retreat and fell upon me on the bed. She flashes a silly smile but then turns into a look of intrigue, like she wants to pry or do something further on me she could very well do right now and get away with it.

But then the voice of my dad calling shook us from whatever mesmerizing moment we are having right now in this room. Regina places an index finger on her lips and makes a “Mmm” noise, “maybe we should get out now.”

And so we went to the dining room to have breakfast. “Delicious isn’t it?” is just a cliché phrase she always says every morning that perhaps I could make fun of but decide not to. She always has breakfast as if appreciative of every single piece of it and mouth always compliments my mom to no end. Such a repetitive sight is now taken as something that would be amiss rather than redundant to be present.