I had always believed that love, the kind written in fairytales, wasn’t meant for people like me.
Not because I was unworthy—but because life had a strange way of being practical, ordinary, and painfully real. Fairytales belonged to books, to movies, to people who lived lives far removed from mine. My life was predictable: morning alarms, unfinished coffees, deadlines, and quiet nights spent scrolling through stories of other people’s happiness.
Still, somewhere deep inside me, a stubborn little hope lived on.
I wanted a love that felt unreal.
A love where someone would look at me like I was their entire world.
A love where I mattered.
But that never happened.
Not in my lifetime.
Or so I thought.
That night, like any other, I fell asleep with my thoughts tangled between exhaustion and quiet longing. I didn’t expect anything unusual.
But when I opened my eyes, I was no longer in my room.
The ceiling above me was unfamiliar—high, decorated with intricate carvings and soft golden light spilling from a chandelier. The bed beneath me was too large, too soft, too… luxurious.
For a moment, I stayed still, my mind struggling to catch up.
Where am I?
I slowly sat up, my heart racing.
The room was enormous. Marble floors. Silk curtains swaying gently by tall glass windows. Everything looked like it belonged in a palace, not a normal home.
And then I noticed something that made my breath hitch.
A framed photograph on the bedside table.
I reached for it with trembling hands.
It was… me.
Wearing a wedding dress.
Standing beside a man.
My husband.
Before I could process it, the door opened.
I froze.
A man walked in—tall, sharply dressed, his presence commanding enough to fill the entire room. His expression was cold, unreadable, like someone who had long forgotten how to feel.
His eyes met mine.
And in that instant, something shifted.
The coldness melted.
Softened.
“Awake already?” he said, his voice deep but gentle in a way that didn’t match his appearance.
I couldn’t speak.
He walked closer, his steps measured, confident. But there was something else in the way he moved—something careful.
Like he was afraid of breaking something fragile.
Like me.
“You look confused,” he said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Did you sleep well?”
I stared at him.
“Who… are you?” I whispered.
For a split second, something flickered in his eyes.
Pain.
But it disappeared just as quickly.
“I’m your husband,” he said softly. “Did you forget again?”
Days passed.
Or at least, it felt like days.
And somehow, I adjusted.
I learned his name. Learned about the life I was living there. A life that was completely different from the one I knew.
He was a CEO of a massive company—powerful, feared, ruthless.
Everyone around him treated him with a mix of respect and fear.
But with me…
He was different.
Entirely different.
He remembered the smallest things—how I liked my tea, the songs I hummed absentmindedly, the way I got quiet when I was upset.
He noticed everything.
And he cared.
In ways that didn’t make sense for someone like him.
One evening, I saw it clearly.
We were at a formal event—one of those grand gatherings filled with people in expensive clothes and fake smiles. I stood beside him, feeling out of place.
Someone approached us—a business partner, loud and arrogant.
“Didn’t expect you to bring your wife,” the man sneered. “You don’t seem like the type to care about things like love.”
I felt uncomfortable, ready to step back.
But before I could, my husband spoke.
“She’s not ‘things,’” he said calmly.
The man laughed. “Relax, I was joking.”
“Then don’t,” he replied, his tone still even—but dangerous.
The atmosphere shifted.
People were watching now.
“Or what?” the man challenged, smirking.
There was a pause.
And then—
“To make her smile,” my husband said quietly, “I’m willing to lose deals, reputation… even dignity.”
The room fell silent.
My heart stopped.
He continued, his gaze steady.
“So don’t test how far I’ll go.”
It wasn’t anger.
It wasn’t ego.
It was something far more terrifying.
Devotion.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I sat by the window, staring at the city lights below.
“Why?” I asked when he joined me.
He looked at me, confused. “Why what?”
“Why do you love me this much?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he walked closer, kneeling in front of me so we were at the same level.
“Because,” he said softly, “you’re the only thing in my life that feels real.”
His hand gently held mine.
“And I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”
My chest tightened.
For the first time, I realized something.
This wasn’t just a dream.
It felt real.
Too real.
We spent time together—simple moments that meant everything.
Morning coffees.
Late-night conversations.
Silent car rides where our hands stayed intertwined.
He smiled more around me.
Laughed, even.
And I began to fall for him.
Not slowly.
But completely.
Dangerously.
Then, one day, everything shattered.
We were driving.
It was raining heavily, the kind that blurred the world into streaks of gray.
I remember laughing about something he said.
I remember him looking at me—just for a second too long.
And then—
A blinding light.
A deafening crash.
Pain.
Darkness.
I woke up screaming.
My room.
My real room.
The same plain ceiling.
The same quiet emptiness.
I sat up, breathing heavily, my heart racing as tears streamed down my face.
“No…” I whispered.
“No, no, no…”
It couldn’t be.
It felt too real.
He felt too real.
I touched my hands, my face, trying to ground myself.
But the warmth I remembered…
Was gone.
Days turned into weeks.
And I tried to move on.
I told myself it was just a dream.
A vivid one.
Nothing more.
But every night, I wished—desperately—that I would see him again.
That I would wake up in that world.
That he would still be there.
Waiting for me.
But he never came.
And slowly, reality settled in.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
I had lost something that was never truly mine.
Life went on.
Like it always does.
Work.
Home.
Sleep.
Repeat.
I smiled when I had to.
Laughed when expected.
But inside, something was missing.
A piece of me had stayed behind…
In a world that didn’t exist.
Until one day—
Everything changed.
It was an ordinary afternoon.
I was walking down the street, lost in my thoughts, when I felt it.
A strange sensation.
Like someone was watching me.
I turned.
And my world stopped.
He was standing there.
Across the street.
The same face.
The same eyes.
The same presence that made everything else fade away.
My heart pounded violently in my chest.
“No way…” I whispered.
He looked at me like he had been searching for me his entire life.
And then—
He smiled.
Not the controlled, distant smile he gave others.
But that smile.
The one that belonged only to me.
He crossed the street, his steps quick, almost desperate.
And before I could react—
He was right in front of me.
Closer than a dream.
Closer than memory.
Real.
“Wifey,” he said softly, his voice trembling in a way I had never heard before. “You remember me, na?”
My breath caught.
“I thought…” he continued, his eyes searching mine, “I thought I would never see you again.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“How…?” I whispered.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “One moment, everything went dark. And then… I was here.”
He laughed softly, almost in disbelief.
“But you’re here too.”
He reached out, hesitating for just a second before gently holding my hand.
The warmth.
It was the same.
“I love you,” he said.
And this time—
It wasn’t a dream.
I looked at him, my heart finally understanding something it had been too afraid to believe.
Maybe love doesn’t follow rules.
Maybe it doesn’t belong to just one world.
Maybe, somehow…
Some connections are strong enough to cross even the boundaries between dreams and reality.
I smiled through my tears.
And for the first time in my life—
My fairytale didn’t feel impossible anymore.
It felt real.
Because he was standing right in front of me.
And he had found his way back to me.
No matter what world it took.
The End 👋
