The dream always began differently, but tonight it felt like the universe was holding its breath.

Jae-min found himself on a rooftop bathed in violet light, the city below shimmering like molten stars. She was there—of course she was—leaning against the railing, the wind playing with her luminous hair. Even after all these dreams, his chest still tightened at the sight of her.

“You’re late,” she teased, though her eyes softened as he approached.

“I didn’t want to wake up,” he said quietly, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin.

They spoke of nothing for a while—trivial things, silly jokes—but his mind was elsewhere, turning over the same thought that had been haunting him for weeks.

Finally, he said, “I want to see you.”

She blinked, her smile faltering. “You… see me all the time.”

“I mean in real life. Not here. Not in some… dream city.” His voice was careful, almost hesitant. “I need to know you’re real in my world too.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground between them, the glow of her skin dimming slightly. “Jae…”

“I’m serious.” He took a slow breath. “Tomorrow. Let’s meet.”

There was a long silence. Her lips pressed together, her fingers curling against the railing. “What if it’s different? What if I’m not…” She hesitated. “I won’t look like this. Not as beautiful. Not like the girl you’ve been seeing here.”

“I don’t care,” he said, immediate and certain. “I just want you.”

Her eyes lifted to his, something unspoken passing between them. Finally, she nodded. “Your café. Tomorrow. Noon.”

When he woke, his heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might shake the walls.

The next day, Jae-min was restless at the counter of Cloud Nine Café, his hands moving automatically—grinding beans, steaming milk—but his mind replayed the dream on a loop. Customers came and went. Hours stretched like taffy.

At 11:55, he wiped the counter for the third time in as many minutes.

At 12:03, the bell over the door chimed.

He looked up—and knew.

She stepped in quietly, pausing just inside the door. Her hair was shorter, darker, with faint streaks of violet that caught the light. Her eyes were the same—those deep, searching eyes that had watched him in countless dreamscapes. She wore a loose sweater, jeans, and no makeup, but the air around her felt the same—like something only he could see.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then she walked to the counter and slid onto a stool, her hands folding together on the polished wood. Her shoulders were slightly tense, as though bracing for something. But when she met his eyes, she smiled—small, unsure, but real.

“Hi,” she said softly.

Jae-min swallowed, realizing his fingers were gripping the cloth he’d been using. “Hi,” he echoed, his voice rougher than he meant.

Up close, every tiny difference from the dream stood out—the faint shadow under her eyes, the way her sweater sleeve was fraying at the cuff, the shy twist of her mouth. And yet, she was still her. More her than ever.

He slid a cup toward her without asking. “Your drink,” he said.

Her brow lifted. “You know my order?”

He allowed a faint smile. “I’ve had enough practice.”

She laughed quietly, looking down at the cup before taking a sip. When she looked back up, something in her expression eased, as if the last thread of her doubt had loosened.

“This is strange,” she admitted.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning on the counter. “But it’s us.”

For the first time since she’d walked in, she held his gaze steadily. And in that moment, Jae-min knew that every impossible night, every dream, had been leading here. Not to a perfect image, but to her—real, human, and sitting in front of him.

And he wasn’t going to let her disappear again.