Chapter 2 — The Dream That Shouldn’t Have Ended

It was a very weird dream, that very night. Amaranta couldn’t decide if her brain had gone on vacation or if it had joined a romantic movie without her permission. One minute she was scolding her alarm clock for existing, and the next—there he was. That boy. The one she pretended not to think about but secretly did.

In that dream, everything moved at lightning speed. They met, became friends, argued about small things, laughed until their stomachs hurt, fell in love, got married, and even had children who somehow looked exactly like the little sketches she doodled in her notebook. It was perfect—too perfect. And when she woke up, it vanished, like breath on glass. Just her ceiling fan spinning lazily, reminding her that real life rarely moved that fast, or that kindly.

She groaned and rolled over, muscles sore from all the tossing and turning. Apparently, even dreaming could be exhausting.

The next morning, Amaranta dragged herself out of bed, still feeling the weight of the dream clinging to her. At school, she decided to do something brave. She placed her carriage right beside his, hoping he would notice. And then she waited. Long minutes passed, each one stretching her patience thinner, almost painfully so.

Break time approached. Ten minutes left. She sighed and decided to grab a quick bite upstairs, planning to return and try again. But when she came back down, the carriage was gone. His carriage was gone. And with it, a small flicker of hope she had been clinging to.

By the time she met her friend, Amaranta felt like the day had already betrayed her. She told her friend everything—about the dream, the waiting, and the quiet disappointment when the carriage disappeared. Her voice was low, almost trembling, but her friend listened carefully, eyes soft with understanding.

“You did the right thing,” her friend said gently. “You tried. That counts more than you realize.”

Amaranta looked down, tracing the strap of her own carriage. “It just… feels so pointless sometimes. Like nothing will ever move the way it does in dreams.”

Her friend smiled faintly. “Maybe not like dreams. But little things… little hints, small gestures, they can be just as meaningful. You don’t have to rush anything. You don’t have to confess or shout it from the rooftops. Just… let him see that you care, slowly. That’s enough.”

Amaranta felt a quiet warmth. The sadness lingered, but it was softened by hope. She nodded, thinking about how small, careful actions might make a difference. How the days ahead might hold little surprises, if she just allowed herself to notice them.

And for the first time that morning, Amaranta felt that her dream hadn’t completely vanished—it was just waiting for reality to catch up.

That afternoon, Amaranta opened her diary again, her pen trembling slightly in her hand. She wrote down everything—the dream, the waiting, the tiny hope that still fluttered in her chest. She wrote it as if he might somehow notice it, somewhere, sometime. It was a long love. A long wait. And she knew that soon, perhaps in just a few months, he would not even be in the same school as her. All she had to do was hold on, patiently, and in three more months, maybe she could finally confess what her heart had been whispering all along.

And for the first time that day, Amaranta felt that her dream hadn’t completely vanished—it was just waiting for reality to catch up.

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