He never lets go of my hand. Never lets go of me.
The river comes to my waist. I shiver, not from the cold, but from the quiet thrill of it all—how strange it feels to be here with him, this close, this… safe.
“Here.” He steps behind me, one hand steady at my back, the other brushing my wrist. “Relax. Let your body float. Like this.” And he tilts backward into the water, as easy as falling asleep. His curls spread like seaweed while his eyes close, his lips pink and slightly parted.
I try.
The water holds me, strange and cool. My heart beats a little too fast, but his hand is there, steady and warm. I close my eyes and let the river rock me.
For a moment, there is no time. Just the drift of my body, the weightless hush, the warmth of sunlight on my eyelids. Eli’s voice hums from somewhere near, a soft melody I don’t want to let go of.
I feel myself smile.
And then?—
I turn my head.
And suddenly, we’re on the grass.
The shift is seamless. There’s no splash, no stumble. Just—now. We’re lying on the shore. The grass is brushing my cheek like a sigh. It’s soft, overgrown, and dotted with Forget-Me-Nots that tilt their heads toward me.
Eli is beside me, one arm tucked under his head, the other holding his Forget-Me-Not brooch like he had just plucked it off its stem. The silver edge catches the light and I squint. It’s too bright. Too sharp for this soft day.
He twirls it slowly between his fingers. The tiny petals spin.
“You look happy,” he says, not looking at me. His voice is quieter now. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you like this.”
I blink, and something in my chest tugs. “I don’t understand.” I whisper. “We just met yesterday and I was the same.”
He hums, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns to his side and tugs a damp lock behind my ear. I sit up slowly. Something feels different. Colder. The light hasn’t changed. The trees are still here, old and watching, the breeze still kind. But something is off. Like a note played just slightly out of tune.
“Eli,” I say, and my voice sounds smaller than before.
He finally looks at me. His eyes are a little sad. A little knowing.
“Is this a dream?”
His smile doesn’t falter, but it softens.
“Maybe it is…maybe it isn’t.”
The air thins in my lungs, my throat tight with something I can’t place. It just…hurts.
In my dreams Eli visits me.
A tear rolls down my cheek, landing on a red ladybug. He reaches out, swiping his thumb over my skin. His touch is distant, barely there, like a memory, and it only hurts more. I pull away, sitting up, unable to bear his absence.
“Why am I dreaming? Why are we here?” I whisper, watching a family of ducks cross the river.
“That’s a question only you can answer Agnes of Thornhill.” Eli says, sitting up as well.
I swallow, clinging into the soft grass around me. I want to stay here, wrapped in this impossible stillness, where nothing can be broken and everything is warm and safe and mine.
But the brooch glints again, and when I look down at my dress, I realize I’m wearing my nightgown.
“I don’t want to wake up,” I whisper, my breath catching.
Eli’s hand finds mine in the grass. “I know,” he murmurs. “But you have to.”
