The Library at the End of Dreams

Mara had always dreamed vividly — too vividly. Every morning, she woke with fragments of entire lives: a dancer in Venice, a soldier in 1918, a child chasing fireflies in endless fields.

One sleepless night, she wandered through her city until she stumbled upon a narrow door between two buildings. A sign above it read: The Archive of Forgotten Dreams.

Inside, shelves reached the ceiling, filled with glowing books. Each bore a name. She opened one — and saw her own handwriting. The story was about a version of her who had married, grown old, and died peacefully.

She found thousands more, each one a life she might have lived. A man approached — the Librarian.

“You may take one,” he said, “but remember — every story read becomes real.”

The climax: Mara chose a book where she was a writer who never stopped dreaming. When she opened it, the library faded, and she awoke at her desk — pages full of words she didn’t remember writing.