The late afternoon sun filtered through the lace curtains, casting soft golden patterns across the wooden floor of the Ambrose living room. Outside, the wind stirred the jacaranda tree her father had planted, scattering violet petals across the porch. Dream sat cross-legged on the couch, a sketchpad on her lap, staring blankly at the two half-done portraits she'd been debating between for days.
One was a raw, moody pencil sketch of a street musician caught mid-expression. The other—a vibrant photograph she'd taken months ago in black and white, of an elderly woman smiling beside a cracked mirror.
Two different worlds.
Painting or photography?
Her fingers tapped the pencil nervously against her knee.
"You'll know in your heart," her father always said. "That's where the truth lives, baby girl."
But what if her heart was just... tired?
She leaned back into the cushion, exhaling sharply, trying not to cry again. Grief came in waves, and sometimes the small decisions—like what major to choose—hurt the most. Because they were the kind of things she used to talk to him about while he made tea and rubbed her shoulders.
The doorbell rang.
Dream blinked.
Then again, louder this time—followed by a familiar voice shouting through the door.
"Dream! Open up before I climb through the window!"
She smiled weakly and stood up.
Opening the door revealed Claire Freeman, glowing as always. Her blonde hair was tied into a loose bun that still looked perfect somehow. Behind her stood Jeremy Klein, tall as ever, dressed in a Westbrook High hoodie, his basketball tucked under one arm, curls spilling under a cap.
Dream didn't even speak.
Claire pulled her into a hug so tight, it cracked something in her chest. Jeremy joined in seconds later, sandwiching her between the two people who had seen her at her best and worst since the seventh grade.
"We missed you, Dream," Claire whispered.
"I've been coming by every day," Jeremy added, softer than usual. "Your mom said you needed space."
Dream nodded. "Thanks... for giving it."
They stepped inside, the house suddenly warmer with their presence. Claire took off her jacket and threw herself onto the couch like she lived there, while Jeremy leaned his basketball against the wall and ducked into the kitchen, already sniffing around.
"Cookies," he said, eyes lighting up. "I knew it. Your mom always makes cookies when people visit."
"She's on a roll," Dream said, smiling faintly. "She made three batches last night."
Claire popped her head up. "Where is she now?"
"Getting ready for a night shift. Hospital's been short-staffed again."
"Of course," Claire said. "Nurse Maya, MVP forever."
Muffled footsteps came from the hallway. Maya appeared in scrubs, tying her hair back into a bun. Her tired eyes softened at the sight of the two teenagers sitting in her living room.
"Well, look who the cat dragged in," she teased gently.
Claire stood and hugged her. "Hi, Ms. Ambrose."
Jeremy followed. "Hey, Mama Maya. Sorry for not coming in sooner."
"Oh, don't be silly. Just seeing you here makes this house breathe again."
Dream watched the interaction from the couch, heart heavy but grateful.
Maya handed a small tray of cookies to Jeremy, kissed Dream on the forehead, and whispered, "Don't stay up too late, okay?"
"We won't," Dream said.
"Love you."
"Love you too, Mum."
And just like that, the door closed behind her, and they were alone.
The house grew quieter again, save for the soft ticking of the hallway clock.
Claire flopped back on the couch, grabbing a cookie and sighing. "Okay. I've been holding this in long enough... I GOT IN!"
Dream blinked. "What?"
Claire squealed. "To Dartmouth! For their pre-med pharmacy track! I got my letter yesterday and Jeremy's been holding it hostage till I told you in person."
Jeremy raised his brows. "Guilty."
Dream gaped, then launched herself forward, hugging Claire so tightly the cookie nearly broke. "Claire, oh my God. That's amazing!"
Claire laughed. "I KNOW!"
Jeremy grinned and tossed Dream a folded letter from his backpack. "And yours came too. Art schools don't play around—check it."
Dream caught it midair.
Her heart stuttered.
The envelope was white. Official. Sealed with an embossed logo from a place she'd dreamed about since she was fifteen: Rhode Island School of Design — RISD.
She stared at it, throat dry.
"Open it!" Claire demanded, grabbing her shoulder. "What are you waiting for?"
"I—what if it's a no?"
"It's not," Jeremy said calmly. "I've read your essays."
Dream looked at them both. Then tore it open.
The silence stretched like a held breath.
Then: "Dear Miss Ambrose... We are pleased to inform you—"
A scream erupted.
Claire jumped up, knocking over a cushion. Jeremy whooped, spinning her around while Dream stood frozen, laughing and crying at the same time.
"I got in," she whispered.
"You GOT IN!" Claire yelled.
"You're gonna be famous," Jeremy said, hugging her again. "Painting or photography, they don't know what's coming."
Dream collapsed back onto the couch, still holding the letter. "I haven't even decided which one."
Claire looked thoughtful. "Well...?"
"Photography lets me capture real life. But painting..." Dream glanced at her sketchpad on the table. "Painting lets me escape it."
They nodded, understanding without asking more.
Then Dream's smile faded slightly.
"There's something I need to tell you guys."
Both turned to her immediately.
She drew a shaky breath. "At the burial. There was this man."
Jeremy raised a brow. "What kind of man?"
"He was... tall. Really tall. Like 6'7". Pale as the moon. Hair just past his ears. And his eyes... they were grey, but not normal grey. Like—"
"Storm grey?" Claire asked.
"Colder. Almost silver. He didn't even look human."
Jeremy blinked. "You sure it wasn't just a distant family member or something?"
Dream shook her head. "No one knew him. I looked away for two seconds—and he vanished."
Claire exchanged a glance with Jeremy.
"I know how it sounds," Dream added quickly. "But... I saw him. He was watching. Not creepy. Just... there. Like he didn't belong."
"You've been through a lot," Jeremy said gently. "Funerals can mess with your head."
Claire nodded. "And grief does weird things to our memory."
Dream's stomach dropped. "So you think I imagined it."
"I think you saw something," Claire said slowly. "But maybe it wasn't what it felt like."
Jeremy leaned forward. "We don't mean to dismiss it. But we also don't want you spiraling, okay? Your dad was deep into folklore stuff, right?"
"Yeah..."
"Maybe your mind just pulled from his world to help process the loss."
Dream looked down.
They meant well. But she knew what she saw.
Still... maybe they were right. Maybe.
"Well," Claire said, sitting back. "Time for less spooky talk and more movies."
Dream smiled faintly. "Agreed."
They ended up watching The Princess Bride, followed by half of The Sixth Sense. Jeremy predictably fell asleep halfway through with cookie crumbs on his hoodie. Claire scrolled through Pinterest and mocked every outfit. Dream curled up on the rug, finally at peace for a little while, surrounded by the only people who made the world feel soft again.
Outside, the jacaranda tree rustled under a quiet sky.
And somewhere—just for a second—a grey-eyed figure watched from a streetlamp's shadow before vanishing again into the night .