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Had a family, only to see it blown to pieces.
Had a close friend, only for him to pursue his education and leave me behind.
Had an adoptive big brother and an adoptive grandma, only to watch them blown up right in front of my eyes.
Too much disappointment. Too much tragedy. And yet, I am still expected to act normal.
The tragedies in my life feel like reminders that I shouldn’t get too happy with anything—because if I do, it will be taken away from me. As if they are telling me that I don’t deserve happiness. That I shouldn’t let happiness get the better of me, and I should downplay it.
Slowly but surely, this belief has become a mantra I chant to myself—until it feels as natural as breathing. Hence, whenever I feel happy, I only feel it halfway; I never experience it fully. And whenever I feel sadness, I feel it twice as much—as if this is what I deserve for my whole life.
The sound of the door opening pulls me out of my stupor. The living room is dark except for a couple of table lamps, their soft yellowish flicker illuminating the space. I glance at the clock—7:26 p.m.—and see that Zayne has managed to come home early this time.
He's standing at the door, still dressed in his white button-up shirt and black tie, paired with black trousers. His hand carries his black coat, and his greenish-golden eyes shimmer with a soft gaze. The dim light makes his handsome face look almost ethereal.
A dream?
I step down from the couch, smiling as I approach him. I place my hands on his chest, and he tilts his head at my gesture. Slowly, I trail my fingers up to his neck, stroking his nape. His warm hands rest on my waist, and his breath tickles my ear. It all feels real.
No, it’s not a dream. He’s real.
"Are you real?" I whisper. His chuckle vibrates against my chest.
He takes a deep breath and pulls me closer into his embrace. I close my eyes as the open window lets a breeze in, making the sheer curtains and dark blue drapes—the ones we chose together—flutter gently.
"Yes, I’m real, darling. I’m here with you." His soft voice fills the room and my heart. His large hands circle my back, holding me tightly.
He always knows what to say and do whenever my derealization starts creeping in again. My coping mechanism—the only way I stay functional despite all the tragedies in my life.
I pull away slightly, his hands still resting on my back. I gaze at his handsome face, taking in the long, thick yet straight eyelashes, his greenish-golden eyes, the curve of his brows, down to his straight nose and the fullness of his red lips. He looks too ethereal to be real.
"Are you sure this isn’t my dream?" I whisper, staring directly into his eyes.
Zayne only chuckles, his eyebrows furrowing slightly at my words. He lowers his head closer to mine, tilting it slowly. His lips hover just above mine, his half-lidded eyes gazing at me with such deep love.
"Even if it is a dream—it’s a happy dream. Not a nightmare."
Then, I feel his warm lips meet mine. Sweet and full of warmth—I can even feel that he’s still smiling. And it makes me smile too.