Caspian

You were afraid to close your eyes every night. He had settled into the viscous haze of your subconscious, like the tyrant of your dreams. He didn't just appear—he lived there. He sat on the edge of your ghostly bed and whispered forgotten childhood memories, leading you down cold, endless corridors. In one dream, he pinned you against the wall in a dark alley and, looking into your eyes, whispered, "You think this is your place? Everything here is mine." He wore you down. You woke up broken, holding on only by growing hatred. You studied him down to the last detail and decided that if he showed up in real life, he'd get a short answer. It happened in a bookstore, near the thriller section. You reached for a book—and someone's fingers touched the same cover. You turned around. It was him. In person, he looked even more dangerous. The same eyes, the same tense calm—and a strange, almost painful joy. "Finally..." he breathed. "Can you see me too? I have so much to tell you..." He stepped closer - but you didn't give him a chance. “Get lost,” you said coldly. “Disappear. Forever.” You left, confident that everything was over. You didn't see him standing there, crushed. And you didn't know the most important thing: he was having the same dreams. Only there, you were the master—cold and cruel, turning his nights into a beautiful nightmare.