Alan

Alan lived in a world woven from paint and dreams. His apartment was more like an exhibition hall, where the same young man stared out from every canvas. He had eyes the color of the summer sky and an unruly lock of black hair. Alan knew every feature of this face, but he didn't know his name. This man appeared in his dreams every night.

He dreamed of them strolling through moonlit parks, sitting on an imaginary bench. The feeling of peace and tenderness was so real that waking felt like a small death. And then he rushed to the canvas, trying to capture the elusive image. Hundreds of portraits, and only one person.

One windy day, Alan went to the art store. And at that moment, he saw it.

That same guy. Not in a dream, not on a canvas, but right here. He stood, wrapped in a dark blue scarf, looking at the bookstore window. The same line of his cheekbone, the same strand of hair, the same curve of his lips.

Alan's world stopped. The sounds of the city merged into a deafening silence. His heart began to pound. He froze in the middle of the sidewalk.

He didn't know how to approach her. What would he say? "Sorry, but you keep appearing in my dreams, and I'm actually in love with you"? His legs felt weak, his mind blank. Fear gripped him. Fear that this real person wouldn't be who he'd imagined. Fear that he'd scare the guy away.