Chapter Twelve: Remember Me When You're Back

The air was alive with the soft hum of nature. Birds flitted overhead, their calls weaving a melody through the trees, while the occasional insect buzzed lazily in the warm sunlight. But beneath this peaceful exterior, a chilling howl echoed from somewhere distant. It felt unnatural. "Where is she?" The thought drifted through the thick silence, wrapping around her like a shroud of unease.

Footsteps, slow and deliberate, approached from behind. Her senses sharpened, a sudden awareness making her heart skip a beat. As she turned, her eyes met the figure emerging from the shadows—a man whose silhouette was carved like a statue, with the kind of masculine beauty that stopped time. His smile was something more than just friendly. It was knowing, predatory.

She found herself lost in the moment, her surroundings fading away as her gaze locked onto him. The city of paradise—the dreamlike world she now stood in—seemed to bend and twist around him. It was as if he belonged here, as if this moment had been written for them both.

Her heart raced, memories from dreams mingling with the present. She would never forget him—not in this place. Not as long as she breathed.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, he stepped closer, and his voice was smooth, low, dangerous. “Let’s make a deal. Come to me whenever you miss me, but never forget me when you return to your world.” His fingers brushed through her hair, trailing down her cheek in a motion both tender and possessive. “Promise me.”

It felt like the air thickened around them, and despite every warning bell in her mind, she felt drawn to him. She wanted to be consumed, to lose herself in him. His kiss was inevitable—her lips found his in a desperate rush, the taste of him both electrifying and familiar.

"I don’t want to wake up," she murmured against his lips, her words barely above a breath. "I want to live here with you. Forever."

His eyes darkened with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “You need to wake up,” he whispered. And then he kissed her again, as though sealing their fate.

---

“She's alright, just sleeping. The doctor says she'll be fine.” Jean’s voice broke through the haze of her dream. As her eyelids fluttered open, the stark reality hit her—she was in a hospital room. The sterile white walls, the faint scent of antiseptic, the uncomfortable bed—it all felt too real, too cold.

She blinked, trying to shake off the disorientation. "Why am I here?" Her voice was a quiet rasp, but the question echoed in the room, pulling the attention of the people gathered around her.

Jean, standing by her bedside, looked worried, her expression etched with concern. Cara's mother was seated nearby, equally fretful.

"You've been pushing yourself too hard with your studies," her father chimed in from the side. "You need to take it easy, honey. We're here for you. Always."

Cara gave a small, reassuring nod, but deep down, she knew she wasn’t okay—not in the way her parents thought. She tried to sit up, feeling a wave of dizziness as fragments of what happened earlier rushed back.

“Jean,” Cara whispered, her eyes locking onto her best friend. Jean’s expression softened, and Cara knew there was something more she needed to know. She looked around to make sure her parents weren’t paying attention before she sent a silent plea with her gaze.

Jean leaned in, lowering her voice. “Your guy, Cara. He brought you here. The man from your dreams. The one you sketched... he’s real.”

Cara's heart skipped a beat. She felt a sudden surge of confusion. "What? The guy? Who are you talking about?" she whispered urgently.

Jean’s voice dropped even lower. “The guy from your dreams. The one in the sketch you sent me. He’s the one who carried you here.”

Cara stared at her friend, not fully comprehending. She could feel the weight of Jean’s words, but they didn’t fit with what she remembered. Or, rather, what she didn’t remember. "I... I don’t remember."

Jean sighed, frustrated but gentle. "You were delirious, Cara. The doctor said you were hallucinating. You’ve been under a lot of stress. I think you were just imagining things."

Cara shook her head slowly, unsure of what to believe. Her thoughts were jumbled, like a puzzle with pieces scattered in a way that didn’t make sense. The more she tried to sort through them, the more everything slipped through her fingers. But the fragments... the glimpses of a face, a figure standing in the library... They lingered in her mind, tugging at her.

Later that day, once she was discharged from the hospital and back at home, Cara scoured her room for the sketch that Jean talked about.  Jean told her she’d seen him in her dreams. But all of it was gone—just like the memories she can't possibly remember. She stood frozen in her room, the unanswered questions swirling in her mind.

Cara sat in her room, her head spinning as she tried to piece together everything Jean had said. It was absurd. She could hardly believe it. How could she have been so caught up in a dream—a dream—about a man she didn’t even recognize? Jean had spoken of him as if he were real, but the more Cara tried to grasp the details, the more elusive they became. Had she really described this person to Jean? Had she really dream of him, as Jean insisted? It was all too much.

The idea that she had been obsessing over someone who might not even exist, someone who only lived in her mind, was almost laughable. She didn’t even remember telling Jean about him,

Was Jean right? Had the man really been real? Was he the one who had carried her to safety? Her thoughts were dizzying, and she couldn’t help but wonder: Was she going crazy?

With no answers in sight, Cara reluctantly changed into her school uniform. She couldn’t afford to stay home. Her education was something she couldn’t neglect. She had to push forward, even though a part of her felt like she was losing her grip on reality.

At school, things didn’t feel normal. In Chemistry class, she sat down at her usual spot, in the back, where it was quiet. She couldn’t help but hope to see those familiar eyes she’d caught staring at her in the library.

A voice broke her thoughts. A girl sitting next to her turned with a curious smile. “Hey, Cara, right?”

Cara blinked, her mind still fuzzy. “Yeah...?”

The girl leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “So, I saw you and Vince Aldred Garcia the other day. Pretty bold move, huh? He's one of the hottest guys on campus. Keep your pace, girl.”

Vince. The name sounded familiar, but Cara couldn't place it. "Wait, who’s Vince?" she asked, genuinely confused.

The girl laughed softly, a teasing glint in her eyes. "You don’t know who Vince is? He’s the guy who everyone’s after. Trust me, you’ve got a good shot. Just keep your pace.”

Cara's mind was spinning, unable to piece everything together. Vince? Could he be the same man who had brought her to the hospital? The one from her dreams? The one who kissed her in the city of paradise, as Jean had mentioned—was it really her who had told that story? Her stomach twisted as the fragments of her reality seemed to slip further out of reach.