It’s Just a Dream.

Clara blinked awake, her heart racing, as the remnants of the dream faded like morning mist. She lay still for a moment, the sunlight filtering through the lace curtains, casting intricate patterns on her quilt. The dream had felt so real—so vivid. In it, she had stood at the edge of an endless ocean, waves crashing against the shore, each swell a whisper of secrets and forgotten memories. 

She sat up, brushing her hair back from her face, recalling the details. A distant figure had beckoned her from the water, their face obscured by shadows, yet the weight of their presence lingered, pulling Clara into an emotional whirlpool. It was an ache she couldn’t quite name, neither joy nor sorrow—an unresolved feeling that had plagued her for as long as she could remember.

Clara slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen, hoping a cup of tea would ground her. She opened the cabinet, reaching for her favorite mug, adorned with little blue flowers, and filled it with hot water. As she waited for the tea to steep, she gazed out of the window, watching the world come to life outside. The familiar sights of her neighborhood offered a comforting contrast to the chaos of her dreams, but today, something felt different.