The train ride was quiet, safe for the occasional rustle of newspapers and soft conversations floating in from the aisles. Dream Ambrose sat by the window, watching towns blur past in a soft watercolor smear. Her heart was fluttering, somewhere between excitement and nerves,as the sign "Welcome to Rhode Island" flashed by.
Her backpack was light. Minimal. Just a sketchpad, a camera, her dad's leather journal, and the essentials. Her suitcase was mostly clothes, her laptop, and a few blank canvases. Dream wasn't one for clutter. She liked space. Clean lines. The kind of room that felt like a gallery, open and calm.
She arrived at Rhode Island School of Design—RISD—just after noon. The campus was even more beautiful in person. Historic red-brick buildings stood proud against the skyline, art installations scattered across green lawns, and the crisp sea breeze carried whispers of something old.
She rolled her suitcase through the courtyard, past a large fountain where a bronze unicorn sculpture reared up into the sky, mane swept back dramatically. At the base was an engraving in old cursive script:
"In Imaginis, Veritas" – Founded by Ezra Callowmere, 1893.
In imagination, truth.
Dream smiled faintly. Her dad would've loved that.
Her dorm was in a tall white building called Dunbridge Hall, with ivy crawling up its side like painted vines. She found Room 3B easily. When she knocked gently, the door swung open almost immediately.
Standing there was a tall girl—5'10", striking red hair curling slightly at the ends, brown eyes full of light. She had a soft face, full lips, and curves that made her look like she walked off a Renaissance canvas.
"You must be Dream!" she beamed, her Scottish lilt charming and melodic. "I've been waiting for you!"
Dream smiled, surprised by the warm welcome. "Yeah, hi. You're...?"
"Francisca. Francisca Reid," she said, stepping aside so Dream could enter. "Roomie, partner in paint splattered crime, and future tortured artist."
The room was surprisingly spacious. One side had already been claimed, Francisca's side. Her bed was layered in soft blankets, posters of old oil paintings, and a tiny tea kettle plugged into a desk outlet. Dream's side was untouched.
"Decorate however you want," Francisca said, watching her scan the room. "I'm guessing you're not the throw pillows and fairy lights type."
Dream shook her head with a soft laugh. "No. I like clean space. Breathing room."
"I knew it." Francisca winked. "Minimalist. I respect that."
As Dream unpacked, Francisca chatted. "So... I'm majoring in painting. Much to my mother's horror. She wanted me to be an engineer like my dad and brothers."
Dream raised a brow. "What changed?"
"My dad did," Francisca said, smile dimming. "He saw my work... finally saw it. Said, 'I don't understand it, but I think the world needs it.'" She sat down gently. "Mum passed away a few weeks later. Never got to see me off."
Dream's heart sank.
"I'm sorry," she said.
A moment passed.
"My dad passed away too," Dream whispered. "The day of my high school graduation."
Francisca's eyes welled up. "No... oh Dream, I'm so sorry, That's horrendous."
They sat quietly, two strangers bonded suddenly by shared grief.
"I think we're going to be good friends," Francisca said softly. "The kind that get each other without saying much."
"I think so too," Dream replied.
Just then, Dream's phone rang.
Mum.
She quickly answered. "Hey, Mum."
"Dream, sweetheart," Maya's voice came through, warm but exhausted. "Did you settle in okay?"
"Yeah. I just got here a little while ago. My roommate's really sweet. Her name's Francisca."
"Hi, Ms. Ambrose!" Francisca called out, leaning into the frame.
Maya smiled on video. "Oh, she's lovely! You girls look like you'll get along just fine."
"I'm sorry I couldn't be there, honey," Maya said. "They stuck me on a 24 hour shift again. We're down three nurses."
Dream shook her head. "Don't worry, Mum. I'm okay. You being on the other end of the phone is enough for me."
Maya smiled, brushing a tear from her cheek. "You're stronger than you think, Dream. Your father would be proud."
The call ended with exchanged "I love yous," and then the girls decided to explore the campus.
RISD was a world of color and creativity. Murals lined every wall. Sculptures of abstract wings, shifting glass towers, and enormous welded spiders peeked from the gardens. They wandered across the central quad, where a group of students played guitar beneath a willow tree. It felt like stepping into a dream.
They passed the unicorn fountain again.
"Ezra Callowmere," Francisca said, reading the name. "Sounds like someone out of a fantasy novel."
"I know, right?" Dream chuckled.
After walking through the sculpture garden, a botanical greenhouse, and the central library that looked like something out of Hogwarts, they grabbed pizza and ice cream from a run in café called Sketch & Scoop.
"I think I'm in love," Francisca said through a mouthful of mint-chocolate-chip.
"Same," Dream replied.
They returned to the dorm laughing about one of the weirder art pieces,an animatronic chicken in heels.
Then something stopped Dream cold.
Across the street, by a row of benches under the flickering streetlight... he stood again.
Him.
The same tall, pale figure from her father's burial.
Only this time—he was closer.
She could make out the curve of his jaw, sharp and pale like carved stone. His eyes, that impossible shade of lightless grey, locked with hers.
Her body went cold.
"I'll be right back," she whispered.
"Dream?" Francisca asked, confused.
But Dream was already crossing the road.
She hurried.
The closer she got, the more unreal he looked. Like someone pulled from a forgotten tale. His coat moved as if the wind obeyed him. His face... calm. Watchful. Familiar in a way that made her chest ache.
And then,
A bus roared between them.
Dream flinched.
When it passed, the man was gone.
Completely.
The bench was empty.
Her heart pounded. Goosebumps rose across her arms.
"What... the hell..." she whispered.
Back in the dorm, she recounted everything to Francisca.
"I swear. He was right there. I saw his face."
Francisca blinked. "I didn't see anyone across the street, Dream."
Dream looked at her, stunned.
"But if you did," Francisca added, "maybe it's some weird stalker? Creepy art guy? You should be careful."
Dream nodded slowly. "Yeah. Maybe."
But she didn't believe it.
That night, she got a video call from Jeremy and Claire.
Both were settling into their dorms. Claire looked radiant, sitting in a huge bed alone.
"No roommate?" Dream asked.
"My dad refused," Claire rolled her eyes. "He thinks I'll be bullied or kidnapped or sold."
Jeremy popped in shirtless, tossing a towel over his head. "I've got a roommate. Dude's huge. Also white. So I'm half expecting a 'Tall Guy' war."
"You settling in okay?" Claire asked.
Dream hesitated.
"I saw him again," she said softly.
They paused.
"The guy from the funeral?" Jeremy asked.
Dream nodded.
Claire's voice dropped. "Dream, this is getting serious."
Jeremy frowned. "You need to get pepper spray. Or a taser. Or both."
"I'll think about it."
"No," Claire said. "Promise us."
Dream sighed. "Okay. I promise."
She introduced them to Francisca, and the four talked a little longer. Then they ended the call with jokes and well-wishes.
Afterward, Francisca left to meet some friends from orientation.
Dream stayed behind.
Alone, finally.
She curled up in bed, trying to shake the image of him from her mind. She wanted to brush it off as a coincidence. Maybe stress. Maybe grief.
But deep down, she knew better.
Still clutching her half-melted ice cream and leftover pizza slice, she opened her laptop and put on Howl's Moving Castle. The soft music, quirky animation, and warmth of the story calmed her.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered shut.
But even in dreams... she felt him watching.