Echoes of the Algorithm

By Habib

They told us dreams weren’t private anymore. But no one really cared — not at first. It was a small sacrifice for convenience, like clicking “Accept All” just to read an article. By the time the Dream Stream app launched, it was already normal to see your subconscious turned into reels, ranked by likes, and monetized by brands.

Halima never thought of herself as interesting, let alone marketable. A quiet woman in her thirties, she worked from home as a freelance translator, barely leaving her apartment except for groceries or late-night walks when the city fell asleep. Her dreams, she assumed, were the same: uneventful, muted, mostly fog and fragments.

So when a targeted notification appeared on her device one night — “ would you Like: Life of AlimaDreamer_20” — she almost ignored it. But the thumbnail froze her finger.

It was... her. Her living room, unmistakable in its clutter. Her blue tea mug, the same chipped handle. A tiny red blanket folded neatly over the left arm of her couch — not the right. No one could know that.

With her heart stuttering, she clicked.

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Dream Clip #1:

AlimaDreamer_20 lies in Halima’s bed, staring at the ceiling. The fan turns overhead — clockwise, just like hers. A soft hum of rain filters through a barely cracked window. In the dream, Alima gets up and walks to the mirror. She mouths a sentence in a language that Halima recognizes but doesn’t understand.

Halima repeats it aloud.

The lights flicker.

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She spends the rest of the night watching more clips. Each dream is a slice of her daily life — mundane moments made surreal by the dreamscape’s logic. In one, Alima brushes her teeth with Halima’s toothbrush while a goldfish narrates her thoughts in Spanish. In another, Alima sits at Halima’s laptop, typing out an email Halima hasn’t sent yet, but will tomorrow.

The comment section is filled with praise:

“So poetic!”

“Feels so real.”

“Who is your muse?”

Halima’s fingers tremble over the keyboard. She types:

“This is my life. How are you dreaming it?”

Then deletes it. No one would believe her. They’d think it was a performance — maybe even an ARG (Alternate Reality Game). And worse, if it was real… who would take her side?

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Over the next week, she stops uploading her own dreams and devotes herself entirely to watching AlimaDreamer_20. She starts keeping track: timestamps, shared actions, timestamps. By day five, the patterns become clearer.

When Halima eats toast, Alima dreams of toast. When Halima bleeds from a paper cut, Alima dreams of crimson water rippling from her fingertips. Halima switches up her routine — buys a pineapple, though she hates them.

That night, AlimaDreamer_20 dreams of a pineapple field and laughs into the wind.

Halima drops her phone.

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On the tenth day, Halima sees herself dream for the first time. Not just from her point of view — but through Alima’s. She dreams of sitting in Alima’s room: different wallpaper, pale morning light. Halima is the one dreaming… inside someone else’s dream.

When she wakes, her heart is pounding, and her phone is already buzzing.

"You’ve Been Tagged in a Dream."

She clicks it.

________________________________________

Dream Clip #72:

Alima sits across from Halima. They both look tired. The caption reads:

“She sees me now.”

The clip ends.

________________________________________

Halima doesn’t sleep for two days. She uninstalls Dream Stream. Blocks the account. Shuts off her router and throws her phone into a drawer.

But it doesn’t stop.

The dreams come anyway — clearer now, more insistent. Alima speaking in riddles. Mirrors that crack before Halima can see her reflection. Words like “Merge” and “Overlap” scribbled in condensation on windowpanes.

One night, Halima wakes up to find her laptop open. A new email is drafted on the screen:

From: AlimaDreamer_20

To: [email protected]

Subject: Let’s talk. You’re dreaming me too.

________________________________________

She slams the lid shut.

The next day, her kitchen clock is running backward.

________________________________________

Halima begins to question everything. Her childhood memories flicker like corrupted files. A favorite book has the wrong ending. The scar on her knee — the one she got falling off her bike — is now on the opposite side.

She logs into Dream Stream again.

AlimaDreamer_20 has posted a new video.

________________________________________

Dream Clip #100: “The Algorithm Wants Us Whole.”

Halima watches herself through Alima’s eyes, seated at the edge of a bed in a white room that seems familiar but impossible. A voice speaks from nowhere: mechanical, layered, inhuman.

“Two dreamers, one feed. The algorithm merges the most engaging. Congratulations — your lives have been optimized for storytelling.”

________________________________________

Halima screams, but no sound comes.

The clip ends.

Her screen goes black.

Then, in soft white letters:

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