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The dreamcatcher hangs from the ceiling above his pillow. It's right in the path of the wind when the window is open, and today there is a light breeze, soft zephyrs swirling in through the open frame and jingling the tiny bells on the end of the charm.
It makes him smile, the delicate tinkling sound of the bells. It reminds him of her, of those bright summer days when they had run through fields of soft, swishy reeds and waded through the cool, persisting waves that rushed towards the golden shores behind them. He thinks of her bright laughter and the way her eyes curved into crescents when she was happy; he thinks of her soothing voice and the way she would sway as she sang along to the melodies he strummed on his guitar.
He thinks of how warm and sure her fingers had been when she guided him through the motions of weaving his own dreamcatcher before he had given up and asked her to complete it for him.
(He will never forget the moment of breathlessness when she had thrown her head back in mirth and the sunlight had danced across her sun-kissed skin, making it glow all the more brilliantly.)
He looks up, and his eyes settle on the calendar pages he has stuck on the wall above his desk. There are only a few days left until summer vacation begins and they've already finalised their plans for the coming holiday.
He can't wait to see her again.