Traces in Reality

“Slept late,” his dad said, eyes on his phone. “Not like you.”

“Guess I… was more tired than I thought,” Ethan mumbled.

His dad shrugged. “Well, you always snuck off to that park as a kid.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you’d go with…” His dad frowned, digging for a name. “Eh, whatever. Point is, you’d vanish for hours.”

Ethan slowly set his toast down.

He never remembered doing that.

But his dad said it like it was straight fact.

The air suddenly felt thicker.

“If I keep dreaming… what else gets rewritten?”

He drifted back to his room, chest heavy like a brick. Too much. Way too much.

The changes were real. No more denying it.

He flipped open his notebook—the one he’d scribbled his real memories in—and scanned his own desperate handwriting:

Friends.

Important moments.

Her.

Still there. But now… it all felt distant. Faded.

His phone buzzed, yanking him out of the spiral.

A message.

No sender.

Opened it, gut twisting.

“Remembering now?”

Ethan’s body locked up.

But before he could process it—

A blurry memory exploded in his skull.

Not a dream. Not new.

A memory.

Him as a kid, sprinting through the park.

A hand gripping his.

Her.

Couldn’t see her face. Couldn’t remember her name.

But the feeling stayed—warmth. Laughter. A promise.

Ethan’s eyes flew open, heart slamming.

Couldn’t run from this.

And if he wanted answers…

He’d have to sleep again.

The wind’s ghost still clung to his skin.

Ethan didn’t know when he slipped back into the dream. One second he was in bed, heart punching his ribs. The next—

The world shifted.

But this time, not the rooftop.

He opened his eyes to a long, silent hallway. Flickering orange light. Floor reflecting his silhouette. Doors lining both sides—all identical.

The school.

Or some hellscape version of it.

Ethan scanned the emptiness. Something’s wrong.

Lights buzzed and died. No voices. No footsteps. Just his own breath echoing too loud.

“Why here?”

He sucked in static-charged air and walked. This time, he wouldn’t let the dream steer.

He’d come to find her.

Didn’t have to walk far.

There she was.

Iria stood at the hallway’s end, straight hair spilling over her shoulders. Same calm stare.

But this time—just seeing her there… it hit like a shot of whiskey—hot, sudden, grounding.

Like for one fractured second, the world made sense.

She smiled. “You remembered the name.”

Ethan froze.

Name?

Then—the gut-punch.

Iria.

Her name sat on his tongue—familiar, but tasting like rust.

How? When?

She looked at him and smiled faintly.

“Took you longer than I expected.”

Ethan froze. His mind still reeling from reality’s chaos—the altered photos, his dad’s words, the nameless text.

But here, facing her, only one question mattered:

“Before anything else… tell me your name.”

Iria blinked, thrown by his sharp tone.

“My name?”

“Yes.”

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