The Princess of Dreams

Every night when I closed my eyes, I left behind the weight of the real world — its noise, its pain, its endless expectations — and entered a place that existed only between dream and imagination. It was there that I met her — the girl I came to call The Princess of Dreams.

The first time I saw her, I didn’t even know I was dreaming. I was standing in a garden made of silver petals and glowing trees. The stars above weren’t just distant lights — they danced. And then she appeared.

She didn’t walk. She floated.

Her hair flowed like rivers of starlight, and her eyes—my God, her eyes—held galaxies inside them. They weren’t just beautiful; they were eternal.

She didn’t say a word at first. She simply smiled and reached out her hand. I didn’t think twice. I took it. And the moment I did, the world around us changed.

We flew.

Not with wings, but with will — across skies that shimmered like oil on water. Below us were cities made of crystal and clouds. Above us, dragons with translucent wings glided silently. I had no idea where we were, or how I got there. But with her, none of that mattered.

She was silent for most of that first night. But her presence spoke louder than any voice. I could feel her emotions — peace, joy, curiosity — as if they were my own. It was like we were connected beyond time, beyond words.

When I woke up, my chest ached. I had lost something. Not a dream — but someone.

The next night, I returned. And she was waiting. This time, she spoke.

“You found your way back,” she said softly, her voice like music without instruments.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I am... whatever you need me to be,” she said. “But you can call me Noor.”

Noor.

It meant light — how perfect.

Night after night, our bond grew stronger. She showed me places that no human eye had ever seen — a waterfall that flowed upwards, a forest where trees whispered your name, an ocean where memories floated like leaves.

She would tell me stories of dream-travelers, of spirits who only existed in the space between sleep and consciousness. She told me that few people could find this place. Even fewer could return to it.

“You’re different,” she said one night as we sat on the edge of a glowing cliff, watching moons rise and fall like tides.

“How?” I asked.

“You still believe.”

“Believe in what?”

“In wonder. In things without explanation. In me.”

Sometimes, I wondered if she was real. Could someone so perfect, so pure, truly exist? Was she just a creation of my tired mind?

But when I looked into her eyes, I knew — she was more real than anything in my waking life.

She never aged. Never changed. But I did. Days turned into weeks. My real life grew heavier — work, bills, disappointments. And one night, she wasn’t there.

I waited. Searched. Nothing.

The silver garden was empty. The sky was still. Even the stars refused to dance.

Night after night, I returned. But the dream faded more and more each time. Noor was gone.

It felt like heartbreak. Not the kind you feel when someone leaves — but the kind you feel when you realize they might never have existed.

Weeks passed. Then months.

I stopped dreaming altogether.

Until one night, I found myself in a dark corridor. No stars. No colors. Just shadows. At the end of it, a soft light flickered.

I walked toward it, unsure.

And then I saw her — sitting by a fountain of frozen light.

“Noor,” I whispered.

She turned slowly. Her eyes still held galaxies, but they were dimmer now.

“You forgot me,” she said.

“I didn’t. I... I just couldn’t find you.”

“You stopped believing,” she said gently. “You let the world take away your wonder.”

I dropped to my knees. “I didn’t mean to.”

She stood and walked toward me. Placing her hand on my chest, she smiled.

“You still carry me here,” she whispered. “I am a dream, yes. But dreams are the seeds of reality. Never forget that.”

And just like that, the colors returned. The garden bloomed. The stars danced once more.

I held her close, knowing that she might disappear again. But also knowing that she would never truly be gone.

Because Noor — the Princess of Dreams — lives where belief begins.

And as long as I remember her, as long as I believe...

She will always find her way back to me.