The Dream That Stayed

It was always the same.

The setting never shifted, no matter how many years passed or how many different beds I woke up in. It was always that specific stretch of sun-baked pavement outside our old houses. The air always smelled of approaching rain and the sweet, cloying scent of the jasmine bushes overhanging the neighbor's fence.

And there was the same fading sunlight, casting long, honey-colored shadows that made everything look like an old Polaroid photo.

“Jimei,” he called.

His voice was gentle—familiar in a way that still had the power to cut through my defenses. In the dream, he looked exactly as he did when he was seventeen: messy hair, a tie loosened around his neck, and eyes that seemed to hold all the light in the world.

I tried to move closer, my feet heavy as if I were wading through water. But no matter how much I strained, no matter how fast I tried to run toward him, the distance between us remained perfectly, cruelly static.

“Wait,” I whispered, my voice sounding thin and fragile in the golden air. “Justine, wait.”

But just like that afternoon under the acacia tree, the light around him began to flicker. It didn't fade out; it pulsed, erratic and weakening, like a dying firefly trapped in a jar. He gave me one last look—not of malice, but of a quiet, devastating goodbye.

And then—he was gone.

...----------------...

*Alarm ticking*

I woke up with a sharp, ragged breath, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

I stoped my alarm clock from ticking.

For a long moment, I simply lay there, staring at the shadows dancing on my ceiling, trying to force my brain to separate the ghost of the dream from the cold reality of the room. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the city waking up outside.

It had been years. Nearly a decade of deliberate forgetting. I had moved cities, changed my number, and buried my head in textbooks and spreadsheets until the memory of a boy next door felt like a story I had read in a book once, rather than a life I had actually lived.

And yet… he still found his way back into my dreams. Like a recurring glitch in my system.

“Why now?” I murmured to the empty room, my voice raspy from sleep.

I sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair and letting out a long, shaky sigh. Today wasn’t supposed to be about the past. Today was the most important day of my professional life. Today was about the version of Jimei who had survived, the one who had earned a degree and fought her way into a prestigious management trainee program at one of the biggest firms in the country.

Today was my first day at work.

...****************...

The morning sunlight filtered softly through my window, but unlike the dream, this light was real. It was steady, unmoving, and slightly too bright. It didn't promise magic; it promised a long day of orientation and paperwork.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror, meticulously fixing my hair into a professional low bun. I smoothed out the imaginary creases in my charcoal-grey blazer, checking every detail of my reflection.

“You can do this,” I told the woman in the mirror.

My voice sounded more confident than I felt, but I needed to hear it. I had spent years crafting this persona—the efficient, detached, and reliable Jimei Chen. A fresh start wasn't just a hope; it was a necessity. I needed this building, these strangers, and this career to finally act as the wall that kept the past where it belonged.

—

The city was already a frantic hive of activity when I stepped outside.

Jeepneys roared past, their colorful bodies a blur of motion. People moved with purpose along the sidewalks, their faces set in expressions of morning determination. Everything felt like it was moving forward—fast, unstoppable, and entirely indifferent to my internal tremors.

I tightened my grip on the strap of my laptop bag, taking a deep breath that tasted of exhaust and street food.

This was it. No turning back to the quiet streets of the province. No more looking over my shoulder.

—

The office lobby of the corporate tower was colder than I expected, the air conditioning set to a temperature that demanded productivity.

It was a cathedral of glass and polished marble. Bright lights hummed overhead, and the quiet, rhythmic sound of heels clicking on stone filled the cavernous space. It was intimidatingly modern, a place where emotions seemed like they would be out of place, which was exactly what I wanted.

“Good morning,” the receptionist greeted me, her smile practiced and bright. “Checking in for the new hire orientation?”

“Good morning,” I replied, forcing my lips into a professional curve. “Yes. Jimei Chen.”

I followed her directions toward the elevators, feeling like a small fish entering a very large, very sleek ocean. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe the sheer scale of this place would finally swallow the lingering fragments of my childhood.

—

“New hire?”

I turned at the sound of a voice as I stepped out of the elevator on the executive floor. A woman in her late twenties, dressed in a sharp navy suit, smiled warmly at me. “You must be Jimei. I’m Sarah from HR. I’ll be showing you around your department.”

I followed her, nodding as she rattled off names of departments, protocols for the pantry, and the hierarchy of the regional managers. I tried to focus, I really did, but my mind was a traitor. Fragments of the dream still clung to me like cobwebs.

The way his voice had sounded. The way the light had flickered.

I shook my head slightly, a sharp, internal no. Not today.

—

“And this will be your department,” Sarah said, stopping in front of a massive set of frosted glass doors. “This is the core of our operations. You’ll be reporting directly to the executive suite.”

I took one last deep breath, centering myself.

Sarah pushed the doors open.

The room was a flurry of high-stakes energy. Phones ringing, hushed but urgent conversations, and the rapid-fire clicking of keyboards. It was a world completely unaware that for me, the air was starting to feel very thin.

“Everyone,” Sarah called out over the hum, “this is our new management trainee, Jimei Chen. Let’s make her feel welcome.”

A few heads turned. Some people offered distracted smiles; others gave a quick nod before returning to their monitors. It was normal. It was professional. It was exactly what I had prepared for.

Until my eyes traveled to the far end of the room, toward the glass-walled corner office.

A man was standing there, his back to the room, looking out over the city skyline. He was wearing a suit that cost more than my entire year's rent, his posture radiating a quiet, absolute authority. He looked like he owned the horizon.

Then, as if sensing the eyes on him, he turned around.

The world didn't just slow down; it stopped. The sounds of the office—the ringing phones, the chatter, the hum of the AC—all vanished, replaced by the roar of blood in my ears.

...Justine....

...----------------...

The eyes were sharper, the jawline more defined, and the easy smile of the boy next door had been replaced by the cold, calculated gaze of a man who moved markets. But it was him.

The same presence that had once filled my small world now filled this entire floor. He wasn't just a coworker. He was the reason everyone in this room was holding their breath.

He was the CEO.

My chest tightened so hard it hurt. My breath caught in my throat, and for a terrifying second, I thought my knees might actually give out. Out of all the buildings in this sprawling city, out of all the companies I could have applied to, it had to be this one.

The past I thought I had buried under years of silence hadn't just found me. It was now my boss.

“Jimei?”

He spoke my name, and the sound of it—deeper now, and maybe colder, but with that same lingering cadence—shattered the last of my composure.

The firefly hadn't disappeared.

It had just been waiting for the dark to get deep enough.

.

.

.

.

To be continued…

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