Chapter Eighteen: Her Dream Therapy

Her body was drenched in sweat as she searched the entire house, from room to room, every corner, desperately trying to find what had been on her mind since the moment she woke up from her dream. She walked back and forth, from the living room to the kitchen, then outside to the front and back yard, retracing her steps again and again. But despite her exhaustive efforts, she couldn't find the sketch. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if her parents came home right now, they would think a burglar had ransacked the place. The mess she had created was almost unrecognizable.

Frustrated, she went back to her room and collapsed onto her bed, letting out a deep sigh. She closed her eyes, trying to focus her mind. She hadn’t been able to remember where she’d put it, and now, after hours of searching, it felt like she was losing her grip on everything. The more she thought about it, the more empty her memory seemed. She couldn’t remember where she had placed that sketch of the man from her dream.

Suddenly, it hit her. She remembered Jean, her best friend, who had once shown her the picture of the sketch. It bore a striking resemblance to Vince's face. But there was a catch: the man in her dream had a completely different personality and aura. Despite the uncanny similarity in their looks, the person from her dream couldn't possibly be the same as Vince when it came to character.

She had only met Vince recently, and the dream had happened long before that. How could she have dreamed of Vince’s face before even knowing who he was? It seemed absurd. She had no logical explanation for it. Maybe it was just a coincidence, maybe she was imagining things.

“Hey, are you alright? What’s going on? Why’s this house such a mess?” Jean suddenly appeared in her room, looking surprised and concerned.

Cara looked up at her, exhausted, and sighed. “I’m going to change the passcode later so you can’t catch me in this state again,” she joked, though there was little humor in her voice. “I’ve been looking for the sketch... but I can’t find it anywhere.”

Jean raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the issue. Instead, she shifted the conversation. “I found some letters in the mailbox. Your Mister Secret Admirer is still writing you love letters?”

Cara rolled her eyes. “Yeah, every day. But I’m ignoring them. What else can I do if he won’t show his face?” She hadn’t even bothered reading the letters lately. They were stacking up in a corner of her room like meaningless postcards.

Jean waved one of the letters in front of her, reading aloud, “‘Your smile is so sweet that I can’t hold myself to come near you. Seeing you today was a nice thing.’ Signed, Mister Smith.”

“You’ve met him already?” Jean asked, her curiosity piqued, as she continued reading the letter without Cara’s permission.

Cara couldn’t help but let out an exasperated sigh. “No, Jean. I just told you. He won’t show his face to me.” She repeated herself, feeling like a broken record. “How can I meet him if he stays hidden?”

But Jean wasn’t satisfied. She pushed the letter into Cara’s hands. “Come on, you have to be thinking something about this. Couldn’t it be one of the guys you know?”

Cara shook her head and glanced at the letter, trying to disregard any inkling of doubt. She thought about her day at school—the only two people she had interacted with were Vince and Will. Neither of them seemed like they would write her love letters. The idea of one of them being Mister Smith felt completely ludicrous. It just didn’t add up, though she couldn’t completely rule it out either. Maybe someone was hiding their true identity.

She shrugged, still dismissing the thought. Jean’s expectant face made her pause, but she simply said, “I have no idea.”

Jean wasn’t convinced. “You say you don’t know, but your face is telling a different story. You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Cara gave her a forced smile. “I promise, if I ever find out who he is, I’ll let you know. Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright, fine,” Jean sighed, clearly still unsatisfied with Cara’s response. “Now, let’s get back to your dream therapy. How are things going with your dreams?”

Cara settled into her bed, preparing for another therapy session with Jean. The therapy had become a regular part of her routine, ever since her strange dreams began. Jean had put together a makeshift apparatus to detect her emotional state while she slept, hoping to help Cara make sense of the dreams and their meanings.

“I need to see it again,” Cara explained, her voice quiet. “Maybe if I can remember more of my dream, I’ll be able to trigger something. It’s the only way I can figure this out.”

Jean nodded. “Okay, let’s try another session.”

Cara closed her eyes and tried to relax, focusing on the last dream she could remember. Slowly, the dream world began to take shape.

In her dream, she found herself walking hand in hand with a boy down a narrow, winding path. The landscape around them was filled with thick trees, and the air was heavy with the scent of the forest. The path was rough, and though she hoped they were heading toward a peaceful place, they only seemed to be getting more lost. She couldn’t remember how long they had been walking, or how they had ended up there.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over them. Her body was beginning to feel the fatigue of their journey. She glanced up at him, hoping for some reassurance, but his eyes were fixed on the road ahead. She wanted to ask where they were going, but she didn’t know how to break the silence.

Suddenly, he stopped, tightening his grip on her hand. Without warning, he covered her eyes with his palm. She felt his heartbeat thudding against his chest, fast and nervous, as if he was trying to protect her from something. The tension in the air made her uneasy.

Was there danger ahead? She wondered if they were facing a wild animal. She couldn’t imagine how he would protect her, though—he was just a boy.

In an instant, she opened her eyes, pulling his hand away from her face. And there, just a few feet in front of them, stood a wild boar, its eyes gleaming with hunger.

Without thinking, she reached into her bag and pulled out her chocolate and cookies. She tossed them as far as she could, hoping the animal would go after the food and leave them alone. The boar sniffed the air, distracted by the treats. Hand in hand, they ran, not stopping until they were far enough away from danger.

“Cara, wake up!” Jean’s voice cut through the dream, pulling her back into reality. She blinked rapidly, realizing where she was. It had all felt so real. But she was lying in her bed, in her therapy session. The dream was over.

She sighed, sitting up slowly, and shared the dream with Jean. Despite the wildness of it all, the dream left her with more questions. What did it mean? Why was she dreaming of someone who seemed so familiar, yet so distant?

“Maybe this dream will help us figure things out,” Jean said gently. But Cara couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something much bigger.