The entire day, Mira couldn't stop thinking about the dream.
Normally, dreams faded quickly after waking up.
By lunchtime, most people barely remembered them.
But this one refused to disappear.
Every detail remained clear in her mind.
The studio.
The lights.
The conversation.
Even the way he had leaned against the table while answering her question.
It all felt too real.
During her lunch break at work, Mira opened her phone and played one of his songs again.
The familiar beat filled her ears through her headphones.
She stared at the computer screen in front of her, pretending to focus on work.
But her thoughts were somewhere else.
"What kind of dream remembers every detail?" she wondered.
She shook her head and sighed.
"Stop overthinking."
Still, the question lingered quietly in her mind.
That night, she returned home later than usual.
The gym had been exhausting, and her body felt heavy with fatigue.
After dinner, she collapsed onto her bed without even scrolling through her phone like she usually did.
Within minutes, sleep pulled her in.
The dream began suddenly.
Mira found herself standing in the same rehearsal studio again.
The bright lights.
The equipment.
The wide open floor.
Her eyes widened in shock.
"No way," she whispered.
She turned around quickly, scanning the room.
Everything looked exactly the same as before.
Before she could process what was happening, a familiar voice spoke from behind her.
"You came back."
Mira froze.
Slowly, she turned around.
He was standing there again.
Same relaxed posture.
Same calm expression.
But this time, something was different.
He was looking at her as if he had been expecting her.
Her heart started racing.
"Wait," she said, pointing at him.
"You're not supposed to remember me."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Why not?"
"Because this is my dream," she said quickly.
"You're just a character my brain created."
He thought about that for a moment.
"Then your brain has a good memory."
Mira stared at him, completely confused.
"This doesn't make sense."
"Dreams rarely do."
She rubbed her temples.
"Okay, hold on," she said.
"Yesterday we talked about songwriting and overthinking."
He nodded casually.
"Yes."
Her eyes widened.
"You actually remember!"
"Of course I do."
"That's impossible!"
He shrugged.
"You're the one dreaming."
Mira paced across the room, trying to make sense of it.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered.
"Maybe," he said calmly.
"But you still came back."
She stopped walking.
He had another point.
After a moment, she sighed and looked at him again.
"Fine," she said.
"If my brain is going to create a recurring dream character, at least make him useful."
He crossed his arms.
"Useful how?"
Mira grinned slightly.
"Teach me something."
"About what?"
She thought for a moment.
"Music."
He chuckled softly.
"You don't look like a musician."
"I'm not," she admitted.
"But I like understanding things."
He picked up a pen from the table and spun it between his fingers.
"Music isn't something you explain," he said.
"It's something you feel."
"Very philosophical," Mira replied.
He laughed.
"You started it."
They stood there talking for a while.
The conversation flowed strangely naturally, as if they had known each other longer than a few minutes.
Eventually, Mira sat on the floor, leaning back against a speaker.
"You know what's weird?" she said.
"What?"
"I'm getting comfortable talking to someone who technically doesn't exist."
He sat down across from her.
"Maybe," he said thoughtfully, "people don't need to exist in the same world to understand each other."
Before she could respond—
The lights flickered.
The room began fading again.
Mira looked around quickly.
"Oh come on," she groaned.
"Why do dreams always end right when they get interesting?"
He smiled slightly.
"Maybe we'll continue next time."
Her eyes widened.
"Next time?"
But the dream dissolved before she could ask anything else.
Mira woke up suddenly.
Her room was dark.
The clock showed 3:17 AM.
She sat up in bed, staring into the darkness.
Her heart was beating faster than usual.
"That… happened again," she whispered.
But what unsettled her the most wasn't the dream itself.
It was the way he had said those final words.
Maybe we'll continue next time.
Almost like he knew there would be another dream.
Mira lay back down slowly, staring at the ceiling.
One question kept repeating in her mind.
"What if… this isn't just imagination?"