Dreams for Rent: A Journey Beyond Reality

Dreams for Rent

BY[HASHAM]

The neon sign outside flickered lazily: “Dreams for Rent – Live Your Imagination.” Most people passed by without a second glance, thinking it was some gimmicky VR arcade. But for those who truly sought an escape, it was a sanctuary.

Lena had walked past it every day for two weeks, her curiosity gnawing at her like an insistent whisper. That afternoon, she finally pushed the glass door open, and a soft chime announced her presence. Inside, the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and ozone. Rows of sleek pods lined the walls, each with a headset dangling like a sleeping crow.

A man emerged from behind the counter, his white lab coat spotless, and eyes sharp with quiet amusement. “First time?” he asked, voice smooth, almost musical.

“Yes,” Lena said. “I… I heard you can… rent dreams?”

“That’s exactly what we do,” he replied. “Pick a dream, pay the fee, and live it as if it were your own memory. You wake up, and it’s gone—but you’ll carry the feeling with you.”

Lena hesitated. “It’s real?”

He smiled, a small, knowing curl of his lips. “As real as life itself.”

She followed him to a pod labeled The Endless Library. The description read: A place where forgotten knowledge and unwritten stories live, waiting for someone to explore them. Lena’s heart raced. She had always loved books, but lately, life had become a blur of bills, emails, and deadlines. She wanted… something more.

The moment she reclined in the pod and the headset descended over her eyes, reality shifted.

She was standing in a library taller than any skyscraper she had ever seen. The ceilings stretched into clouds, and the shelves spiraled endlessly upward, crammed with books whose titles glowed softly in shifting colors. Some books whispered secrets when she approached, others hummed like musical instruments.

A figure emerged from the mist—a librarian, but not quite human. Its skin shimmered like ink on wet paper, and its eyes were deep wells of stories yet to be told.

“Welcome,” it said. “You may take any book. But beware—some stories change the reader as much as they change the page.”

Lena wandered, touching the spines, feeling the pulse of lives she had never lived. She picked one at random. As she opened it, a world unfolded around her: a city suspended in the air, rivers of molten glass, and people with wings of light. She could feel their joys, their fears, their heartbreaks. Every emotion was magnified, sharper, yet strangely familiar.

Hours—or maybe minutes—passed. She read, explored, and lived a thousand tiny lives. The library seemed infinite, yet intimate, like a universe folded neatly into a single room.

Then she stumbled upon a small, unmarked book tucked in a shadowy corner. When she opened it, the library dissolved. She was standing in her childhood bedroom, but everything was slightly off—her toys were unfamiliar, the walls a different color. She heard a voice calling her name.

It was herself. Not the Lena who had walked into the dream pod, but the one she had left behind years ago, full of imagination and wonder.

“You forgot me,” the voice said. “You traded me for a life too cautious to dream.”

Lena’s chest tightened. She had. She had forgotten how to chase the impossible, how to lose herself in stories and wonder. Tears welled up as she reached out. Her hands passed through hers, but the feeling lingered—a warmth that seeped into her bones.

Suddenly, the world snapped back. She was in the pod, the headset lifted, and the lab smelled of cinnamon and ozone once again. Her heart pounded, her body shaking, but she felt… alive.

The man behind the counter nodded knowingly. “Every dream teaches something,” he said. “Most people rent adventures, romances, or riches. You rented yourself.”

Lena smiled, a real smile, unburdened. “How much?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Some things aren’t for sale. Some things are meant to be remembered.”

She left the shop and walked into the street, noticing details she hadn’t seen in years: the sunlight glinting off the windows, the laughter of children playing in the alley, the rhythm of life itself. The world hadn’t changed—but she had.

That night, she wrote. Not for fame, not for anyone else—just for herself. Pages filled with stories she had lived in the dream, characters she had loved, worlds she had walked. And for the first time in years, she slept peacefully, knowing that the library of her mind was still open, waiting for her to return.

Somewhere, in the city, the neon sign flickered again: “Dreams for Rent – Live Your Imagination.” And Lena knew she’d be back, not to rent a dream, but to remember how to truly live one