Nobody gets hurt in Dreams

You learn her order before you learn her name.

She comes in so late that Café Dérive feels like it’s holding its breath.

“Hi,” you say, already reaching for a cup.

“Anything warm,” she murmurs.

When you hand it to her, her fingers brush yours.

Ice cold.

“Thanks.”

You see her again that night.

Just not in a way you’re supposed to.

You had rules. Don’t stay too long. Don’t let them remember. And never, ever step into the dreams of someone you’ll meet in real life.

But some dreams don’t ask.

They pull.

And hers drags you under.

It’s dark.

Not just empty, but suffocating.

Karina stands in the center of it, her back to you. Someone is in front of her, but you can’t make them out. Their faces keep shifting, blurring.

The way her voice breaks tells you everything.

“Go,” she says, shaking. “Please… just leave me before I get you killed again.”

Her hand trembles.

The knife doesn’t.

“Please, just go. I don’t want to do this again.” She sobs out.

Her arm lifts anyway.

“I said go!”

You move without thinking, grabbing her wrist before it comes down.

The world stutters.

Like it doesn’t know how to continue without what was supposed to happen.

Her breath shatters, sharp and uneven.

For a second, everything holds.

Then she gasps.

Like she didn’t know there was another ending.

She turns to you, eyes wide, like you’re something that shouldn’t exist.

You leave before memory takes root.

The next night, she comes back.

But when you hand her the drink, she pauses.

Her eyes linger on yours, searching for something she can’t name.

You see it.

Recognition, faint and flickering, like a dream she almost remembers.

You tell yourself that was enough.

You broke your rules once. That should’ve been it.

You don’t try to go back.

But sleep doesn’t come.

Not when you remember the way she begged, how her voice sounded like it already knew how it would end, what happens if you’re not there.

You keep going back.

You arrive earlier. Before the figure. Before the knife.

Sometimes there’s someone there. Sometimes there isn’t. Sometimes it takes a while before the nightmare finds her again.

But you’re always there before it ends.

“Don’t,” you hold her hand gently.

“I’m trying,” she whispers.

She fights it.

She looks at you instead.

In the café, she starts staying longer.

Like she doesn’t want to leave, even if she doesn’t know why.

“You feel familiar,” she says one evening.

“You come here a lot.”

“That’s not it.”

She watches you for a moment, like she’s trying to hold onto something slipping away.

Then she lets it go.

In dreams, she stops pretending.

“You’re not part of this,” she says one night, her head resting against your shoulder.

“No.”

“You’re real. I know you.”

“Maybe.”

There’s a long pause.

“Stay.”

The word is small. Fragile.

You hesitate.

You shouldn’t

But she looks at you like you’re her whole world.

So you nod. Stay.

Just a while.

It couldn’t hurt. 

No one gets hurt in dreams.

That’s when it starts to blur.

The dreams don’t end when the nightmare fades.

They stretch.

Quiet moments that feel too real. Conversations that don’t matter, but somehow do. The way her hand finds yours like it belongs there.

“You don’t disappear,” she murmurs once.

“Not here,” you say.

“You’re in my dreams.”

Her voice is steady when she says it in the café.

You don’t deny it.

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Does it help?”

She nods.

“It does.”

A pause.

“That’s why you need to stop.”

Your chest tightens. “Why?”

Her gaze drops to the table.

“…Never mind.”

That night, something feels wrong before you even see it.

Karina is already there.

Facing you.

“You came,” she whispers

“Of course.”

“I thought maybe you wouldn’t.”

You step closer. “I said I’d stay.”

Something shifts in her expression.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “You did.”

Then the knife appears in her hand.

And this time she’s looking at you.

Your chest tightens. “Karina—”

“I don’t want to do this,” she says, her voice breaking.

Her hand lifts.

You move immediately, grabbing her wrist.

“Look at me,” you say.

Her eyes lock onto yours, already falling apart.

“I’m right here.”

Her hand trembles violently between you.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispers.

“You won’t.”

“That’s what I thought before,” she chokes out. “About everyone.”

The world flickers.

Your grip tightens.

“I’m still here.”

Her arm shakes then stops.

The knife slips from her hand and disappears.

Silence crashes in.

Karina stares at you like she doesn’t understand how you’re still standing.

Then she steps forward, gripping your shirt like you might vanish.

“You’re okay,” she whispers, over and over. “You’re okay.”

You let her hold on.

Even when you know she shouldn’t.

After that, everything changes.

In dreams, she holds onto you like you’re already slipping through her fingers.

In real life, she lets go before you even can.

She exhales slowly, like it hurts to steady herself.

“People around me get hurt, I’m going to hurt you too, you saw it that night.”

A pause.

“So we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

It doesn’t sound like a decision.

It sounds like something she’s already mourning.

You lean forward, just slightly.

“Not even in your dreams?” you ask softly. “Nobody gets hurt in dreams.”

Her eyes lift to yours.

There’s no flicker of doubt this time.

“That’s what I thought,” she says.

“If I let myself believe you’re safe there, that you’ll stay, then I’ll start building everything around it.”

Your chest tightens.

“I’ll start choosing it,” she admits. “Waiting for it. Counting down the hours until I can see you again.”

She swallows hard, her gaze dropping for a moment before forcing itself back up to meet yours.

“And even if I don’t hurt you…I still wake up without you.”

The silence stretches between you, heavy, suffocating.

“Then it’ll hurt to wake up,” she whispers.