Chapter 25: The Dream She Almost Forgot

Yuki didn’t mean to fall asleep in class.

She’d been up late again, flipping through old notebooks, pretending she wasn’t rereading memories she tried to bury. The room was warm, the lecture was slow, and before she knew it—her head dipped, eyelids heavy.

Then the world shifted.

She was standing in a bright hallway she didn’t recognize. Photographs lined the walls. Real ones. Moments frozen in time—children laughing, an old couple dancing in the rain, a stray cat curled inside a cardboard box. Each frame carried her name in neat handwriting:

Harada Yuki.

She moved forward.

In the dream, she saw herself older—calmer, tired but fulfilled—holding a camera like she’d been born with it. She watched dream-Yuki crouch near a window, capturing sunlight as if it were something sacred.

Then she saw him.

Ren stood on a small stage, guitar in hand. He wasn’t the boy she once dated. He wasn’t the husband she divorced. He was something in between—someone who found his sound but still couldn’t smile right.

Future-Ren looked at future-Yuki from across the room.

Their eyes met.

They didn’t move any closer.

The dream turned cold.

Future-Yuki whispered something she couldn’t hear.

Future-Ren looked like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t.

The distance between them felt permanent.

Then—

A soft chime echoed through the dream.

The same strange sound she’d heard before.

Louder. Clearer. Closer.

Yuki flinched as the world shattered like glass.

She jerked awake, heart pounding, breath uneven.

Her classmates stared.

Sena nudged her. “Hey, you okay? You look pale.”

Yuki wiped her forehead.

“I… I’m fine. Just a weird dream.”

But it wasn’t just a dream.

It felt like a memory she hadn’t lived yet.

After school, she walked home slower than usual.

Every step replayed that hallway of photographs.

Every frame felt like a message.

When she reached her room, she pulled out her old camera from middle school. Dusty. Battery half-dead. But when she held it, something inside clicked into place.

For the first time in years, she raised it to her eye.

She snapped a photo of the window.

The light was perfect.

Her hands didn’t shake.

Yuki felt a quiet warmth spread through her chest.

“This… this is it,” she whispered.

“My thing. My dream.”

Not a dream shared with Ren.

Not a dream built because they were young and in love.

A dream that belonged entirely to her.

She started researching classes, clubs, workshops—anything that would help her grow. She didn’t tell Ren. She didn’t plan to. This was a piece of herself she needed to reclaim.

Meanwhile…

Ren was alone in the music room, plucking soft chords on a guitar he hadn’t touched in years. The sound was raw, imperfect, but it felt more honest than anything he’d done recently.

He closed his eyes.

Music had always been the thing he loved but feared he wasn’t good enough for. He’d buried it during their marriage, trying to be “practical.” Trying to be someone dependable. Someone he thought Yuki needed.

Now he let himself breathe again.

He played until his fingers ached.

Until the notes felt like pieces of him returning.

But when he paused, the silence hurt.

Something was still missing.

Something important.

Something he wasn’t ready to name.

Without knowing it, they both found their path on the same day.

And without knowing it, neither felt truly happy.

Because passion fills the hands…

But it doesn’t always fill the heart.