Someone grabbed his wrist.
A soft fragrance brushed past him, it was similar to the scent in his dreams.
The world spun around him.
His vision started blurring out, with the same melody rising around him.
“D-Drea—”
But before he could complete his words, everything beside him faded into black.
“Dean!”
A familiar voice echoed in his ears, as someone was shaking his shoulder.
“Dean, wake up!”
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The first thing he noticed was Joey’s worried face hovering over him.
“You idiot!” Joey sighed in relief.
“Why were you standing in the middle of the road?”
Dean blinked.
He immediately stood upright, and looked around frantically.
People were walking on the sidewalk, cars were passing by normally.
Everything looked perfectly ordinary, as if nothing had happened.
“I’m asking you, Dee, what the fuck, were you doing in the middle of the road?” Joey continued, “If that Music Department girl hadn’t saved you, you would be in the hospital right now.”
Dean froze.
“She… saved me?”
“Yeah.” Joey pointed across the road.
“I was on my way to give your t-shirt we bought earlier, and then I saw you suddenly standing in the middle of the road.”
Dean looked at him, as he was trying to join the incidents in his head.
“And before I could move towards you, she ran and pulled you on the sideways.”
Everything flashed through Dean’s mind again.
“And before I could thank her properly, she left,” Joey sighed dramatically, “You should thank her later.”
But Dean wasn’t listening anymore, because one thought was echoing endlessly in his mind.
Why was he imagining her in the real world?
Joey looked at Dean’s pale face and sighed, “Don’t pressurize yourself, come, I’ll drop you home.”
The ride home was unusually quiet.
Joey neither teased him nor mentioned the girl, because he sensed Dean wasn’t in the mood.
When they finally stopped in front of the bakery, Joey leaned out of the car, “Take care of yourself, okay? I got your back, dude.”
Dean nodded, “Thank you, and you too.”
The bakery downstairs was already closed, only the kitchen light was on.
His mother and Ellie had probably gone to sleep.
Dean quietly walked up the stairs to his room.
The darkness in his room greeted him, as he tossed his bag aside.
But his mind remained restless.
He couldn’t understand.
Was what happened earlier just a hallucination?
The scent.
The melody.
Dean slowly looked toward his desk.
It was like, as if the sketchbook, which Ms. Decca, was inviting him.
With another thought, he sat down.
Opened the first page, and began to draw.
Dean closed his eyes, trying to remember.
Long black hair.
Gentle eyes.
No, it didn’t have those emotions.
He frowned, and ripped the page out.
Crumpled it and threw it aside.
Again.
Another sketch.
No.
Again.
Another.
Still wrong.
The floor around him slowly filled with crushed papers.
Dean gritted his teeth as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Why can’t I remember?”
Dean stared at the final unfinished sketch.
Then suddenly, his eyes shifted toward the large blank canvas standing near the corner of his room.
A thought flashed across his mind, he stood up.
Placed the canvas on the easel, picked up his tools, and began to sketch
Then, his pencil stopped, and Dean stared at the page.
He did it, finally.
Those gentle eyes, long black hair and the surreal beautiful emotions, her face carried.
For a moment, he forgot everything else.
Outside his window, the window blew softly, as if it had been waiting for him all along, to draw her.
His fingers lightly touched the drawing, “I’ll find your mystery.”
The next morning, Dean woke up later than usual.
For a few seconds, he stared blankly at the ceiling.
Then his eyes immediately darted towards the canvas resting beside the wall.
That girl.
He quickly grabbed his phone and typed: I need to show you something.
After finishing his morning, Dean carefully wrapped the canvas with a cloth.
He checked it twice.
For some reason, he didn’t want a scratch on it.
Carrying it gently in his hands, he walked downstairs.
The bakery was already busy.
“Morning, Dee!” one of the workers greeted him.
“Morning,” Dean placed the canvas carefully near the counter, “And one Matcha Latte, please.”
“Coming right up.”
While waiting, Dean leaned against the counter and started scrolling through the local news on his phone.
A headlight caught his attention.
BREAKING NEWS
A man involved in last night’s car accident was found dead.
He tapped the article.
According to the report, the victim had earlier crashed his vehicle into a roadside divider in the downtown area.
Witnesses reported that the driver appeared frightened and fled the scene shortly after the incident.
However, hours later, his body was discovered inside the same vehicle on the outskirts of the city.
The postmortem report has revealed something unusual.
The cause of death was not the crash.
“You should avoid reading such unpleasant things first in the morning,” The worker placed the cup in front of him, “Your Matcha Latte.”
Dean lowered his phone and accepted the cup with a small smile, “Thank you.”
The worker nodded.
“Have a good day, Dee.”
Balancing the Matcha Latte in one hand and carefully wrapped canvas in the other, Dean stepped out of the bakery.
The morning breeze felt refreshing, yet his thoughts remained occupied by the news article.
And somehow, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was connected to what happened last night.
“Maybe,” he muttered to himself, “I’m overthinking.”
By the time, Dean reached the university, the campus was already bustling with students.
He headed straight toward the Art Department and carefully placed the wrapped canvas beside his collection of his works.
“The preparation for the Annual Art Exhibition is complete, I see.”
Dean jumped slightly, and then turned around.
Professor Kote was standing at the doorway.
Dean confusingly answered, “Y-yes sir.”
“What’s the theme of your collection this year?”
Dean fidgeted his fingers, but his lips parted as he said, “Yumeka.”