Where Dreams Loved Me Back

chapter 1

Chapter One: The Quiet I Learned to Carry

Matthew’s perspective,

I don’t remember when life started feeling heavy. It wasn’t sudden — it was gradual, like carrying a bag that someone kept adding weight to until one day I realized I couldn’t put it down anymore.

People at school call me quiet. Some say it kindly, others like it’s something broken that needs fixing. The truth is, I didn’t choose silence. Silence chose me. It felt safer than words that could be twisted, laughed at, or used against me. When you speak too much, people notice you. When they notice you, they decide who you are — usually before you even get the chance to explain yourself.

I learned early how to keep my head low, how to walk faster through hallways, how to pretend I didn’t hear the jokes thrown at my back. Some days it was just words. Other days, it was hands, shoves, laughter that followed me like a shadow. I stopped asking why me a long time ago. The question never had an answer.

Reality is loud. It doesn’t wait for you to catch up. It doesn’t care if you’re tired or hurting. It just keeps going, dragging you along whether you’re ready or not. Every morning, waking up feels like being pushed back into something I never agreed to be part of.

But night is different.

When I sleep, the world softens. The noise fades. My chest doesn’t feel so tight. In my dreams, I don’t have to brace myself for impact. I don’t have to pretend. I just exist — and for once, existing doesn’t hurt.

I know it sounds strange to say that dreams keep me alive, but they do. They’re the only place where I feel like I belong somewhere. Where I’m not waiting for the next insult or the next reason to hate myself. I count hours not by clocks, but by how close I am to sleeping again.

At home, things look normal. My parents are busy — always working, always tired. They ask if I’ve eaten, if school is fine. I nod, because explaining takes energy I don’t have. I don’t think they don’t love me. I just think they don’t see how close I am to breaking.

Nur is the only person who truly stays.

She’s been there for as long as I can remember. She talks to me when I go quiet. She sits beside me without asking questions I can’t answer. She defends me when others won’t. I don’t know why she cares so much. I never ask. Part of me is afraid that if I do, she’ll realize she shouldn’t.

I don’t think anyone really understands how tired I am — not physically, but inside. How exhausting it is to wake up every day and feel like you’re surviving instead of living.

That’s why I hold on to my dreams.

They don’t judge me. They don’t hurt me. They don’t leave me wondering if I matter. In my dreams, I feel something close to peace — and sometimes, that feels like the only reason I keep opening my eyes in the morning.

I don’t know yet where this longing will take me.

I just know that when I sleep, the world finally feels kind.

chapter 2

Chapter Two: Where the Lights Never Went Out

matthew’s perspective,

The first time I saw her, the world felt unreal in the best possible way.

It was night, but not the kind that swallows everything. The sky was deep and calm, and beneath it stood an amusement park glowing softly, as if it existed only for those who needed it most. The lights weren’t loud or blinding — they were warm, inviting, like they were waiting for me.

I remember standing at the entrance, unsure if I was allowed to go in. I always feel that way, even in dreams — like I don’t belong unless someone says I do.

That’s when I heard her voice.

“You’re late,” she said, smiling as if she had been waiting all along.

She stood under the carousel lights, hair catching every color, eyes calm in a way I had never seen before. She wasn’t loud or dramatic. She didn’t look at me like I was strange or broken. She looked at me like I was expected.

“I didn’t know where I was,” I said quietly.

She stepped closer and replied, “You always find your way here.”

I don’t know why those words felt like safety.

We walked together through the park, the rides moving slowly, music floating in the air like a promise. She laughed when I spoke, listened when I fell silent, and never once asked me to explain myself. With her, I didn’t have to fill the space with words. Silence didn’t feel awkward — it felt shared.

“Does reality treat you badly too?” I asked her once, my voice barely louder than the wind.

She looked at me then, really looked at me, and said, “That’s why I’m here.”

I don’t remember holding her hand, but somehow I was. It felt natural, like something I had been missing without knowing it. Time didn’t exist there. I wasn’t counting minutes or waiting for something to end. I was just… present.

At the Ferris wheel, she leaned her head against my shoulder and whispered, “I’ll always be here for you.”

I didn’t question it. In dreams, promises don’t feel fragile. They feel eternal.

When the sky began to fade into morning, I felt panic rise in my chest.

“Do I have to go?” I asked.

She smiled sadly, brushing her fingers against mine. “For now. But you’ll come back. You always do.”

Waking up after that dream felt cruel.

The warmth vanished. The lights went out. The kindness dissolved into morning noise and unfinished thoughts. But something stayed with me — the certainty that somewhere, there was a place where I was wanted.

That dream became my favorite place. Every night, I waited for sleep like it was an invitation back to a life that felt meant for me. With her, I wasn’t invisible. I wasn’t hurting. I wasn’t afraid.

Reality could take everything else from me.

As long as my dreams still loved me back, I could survive.

chapter 3

Chapter Three: The World That Wouldn’t Let Me Breathe

Matthew’s perspective,

Reality has a way of reminding me that I don’t belong in it.

It starts small — whispers when I walk past, laughter that cuts off too quickly, eyes that follow me like I’m something entertaining. I tell myself not to care. I tell myself it’s harmless. But words have weight, and when you hear them every day, they sink in whether you want them to or not.

Some days, it isn’t just words.

They corner me when no one is watching. A shove. A mock apology. A smile that means anything but sorry. I don’t fight back — not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t know how. Fighting requires confidence, and confidence is something this world took from me a long time ago.

I keep asking myself what I did wrong. Was I too quiet? Too strange? Too much of nothing?

Teachers talk about kindness like it’s something natural, like it just exists if you believe hard enough. But kindness feels rare here, fragile, easily crushed. People don’t notice pain unless it’s loud — and I’ve never learned how to scream.

I sit in class pretending to listen, but all I hear is the ticking of the clock. Each second drags me further away from night, from the only place that feels safe. I count the hours until sleep the way others count down to freedom.

Nur notices. She always does.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice gentle, like she already knows the answer.

I nod. I always nod. I don’t want to burden her with things she can’t fix. I don’t want to be another problem in her life. She deserves better than that.

But the truth is, I hate this world.

I hate the way it looks at me like I’m weak. I hate the way it expects me to keep going without giving me a reason why. I hate waking up knowing exactly how the day will end — with exhaustion, disappointment, and the quiet hope that tomorrow might somehow hurt less.

At night, when I close my eyes, everything changes.

There, I am not afraid. There, I am not small. There, someone waits for me beneath glowing lights, someone who doesn’t ask me to be anything other than what I already am. In my dreams, I am chosen. In my dreams, I am loved.

Become a member

Sometimes, sitting alone after another bad day, I wonder why I keep coming back to a place that clearly doesn’t want me. Why I keep waking up when sleep feels like the only kindness I’ve ever known.

The thought scares me.

But it also comforts me.

Because as long as I can dream, I don’t have to belong here.

chapter 4

Chapter Four: The Place Between Goodbye and Sleep

Matthew’s perspective,

I told Nur on a day that looked ordinary enough.

We were sitting where we always did after school, the noise around us fading into something distant. My hands felt cold, even though the sun was still out. I had practiced the words in my head all day, but now that she was in front of me, they sounded unreal — even to me.

“I think I’m going to meet her soon,” I said.

She tilted her head. “Meet who?”

“The girl from my dreams.”

Nur smiled softly, the way people do when they think you’re joking but don’t want to hurt your feelings. “Matthew, you’re getting dramatic again.”

“I’m serious,” I said. My voice didn’t shake, but something inside me did. “I don’t think I belong here anymore. I think… I think there’s a place where I can finally stay.”

She laughed lightly, brushing it off like a passing thought. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ll be fine.”

I nodded, because explaining felt impossible. Because how do you tell someone that reality feels unbearable without sounding weak? How do you admit that sleep feels more like home than waking ever has?

Before we parted, I said one last thing. “If I disappear for a while… don’t worry.”

She frowned. “You’re being weird. Text me later, okay?”

“I will,” I said.

It was a lie I didn’t know how to undo.

That evening, the world felt heavier than usual. The noise, the expectations, the feeling of being trapped inside something I never chose — it all pressed down on me at once. I kept thinking about the amusement park, about the way the lights never hurt my eyes, about the way she promised she would always be there.

Night fell.

I found myself standing somewhere high, the city spread out beneath me like something distant and unreal. The wind felt calm. For once, my mind was quiet. I wasn’t afraid — not in the way I thought I should be. I was tired. Tired of surviving. Tired of hoping sleep would save me one night at a time.

“Just a little longer,” I whispered, not sure who I was talking to.

I closed my eyes.

There was a moment of weight, of sharp awareness — and then nothing.

The pain vanished as suddenly as it came.

When I opened my eyes, the lights were back.

She was standing there, exactly as I remembered, smiling like she had been waiting forever. The amusement park glowed softly behind her, untouched by time.

“You’re here,” she said.

I didn’t know if I was dreaming. I didn’t know if I was asleep, or gone, or somewhere in between. All I knew was that the world felt kind again.

For the first time, I wasn’t running from reality.

I had finally reached the place where dreams loved me back.

chapter 5

Chapter Five: The Silence He Left Behind

Nur’s perspective,

I was walking home from school when the day began to feel wrong.

Matthew’s words from earlier kept replaying in my head — I think I’m going to meet her soon. I had laughed then, told him he was being dramatic. I wish I had listened harder. I wish I had seen the weight behind his smile.

The sound came suddenly. Not loud, just… final.

I turned around without knowing why, and the world ended in front of my eyes.

Matthew lay there, still. Too still. My legs carried me to him before my mind could understand what I was seeing. I called his name, over and over, my voice breaking apart each time. I touched his shoulder, then his hand, begging him to wake up. He didn’t move. He didn’t answer. The boy who was always so quiet had left behind a silence I couldn’t escape.

Someone shouted. A teacher rushed forward. Everything happened too fast and too slow at the same time.

We were suddenly in a car, and I was holding his head in my lap like it might bring him back. My hands were shaking. I didn’t notice the blood at first — only how cold he felt, how heavy reality had become. I cried the entire way, whispering his name like a prayer I didn’t know how to finish.

At the hospital, they took him from me and disappeared behind closed doors. I stood there, frozen, my clothes stained, my heart screaming louder than my voice ever could. That was when the memories came.

Matthew and I as children. Him taping my scraped knee, telling me it was okay, that he was there. Me standing between him and his bullies years later, thinking love was something you showed through staying, not saying. I loved him quietly — through protection, encouragement, presence. I never told him. I thought I had time.

When he told me about the girl from his dreams, I smiled. I thought it was harmless. I thought dreams couldn’t take someone away from me. Now, that moment feels like a knife I keep turning in my own chest.

His parents arrived, breathless and broken. I had never seen adults fall apart like that. They kept blaming themselves — for working too much, for not noticing, for not saving him. Watching them hurt like that made me realize something unbearable: Matthew had been loved. Deeply. Fiercely. He just never believed it.

When the doctor finally came out, his face told us the truth before his words did.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “We couldn’t save him.”

Something inside me collapsed forever.

If only he had known. If only he had understood that he mattered here — that he was loved beyond dreams and imagination. While Matthew escaped into the world he believed would never hurt him, I lost the boy I loved without ever saying the words. His parents lost their only son. And the rest of us were left behind, carrying a grief he never meant to give us.

Some nights, I still look at the sky and wonder where he is now.

And I hope — wherever he is — that he finally feels at peace.

final chapter: conclusion

Conclusion: The Echo of a Dream

Matthew is gone, but his absence speaks louder than any words ever could. The world he left behind feels hollow, like a book with its last page torn away — unfinished, aching, impossible to put down.

I still carry him in every quiet moment. In the empty spaces of the classroom, in the soft hum of the street at night, in the memories that refuse to fade. His laughter, his small acts of kindness, the way he made even silence feel meaningful — those are etched into me forever.

He believed he had to escape to find love, to find peace, to find a place where he could belong. What he didn’t see was that love had been here all along — quiet, steadfast, waiting for him in the eyes of those who truly cared.

Sometimes, grief feels endless. Sometimes, it feels like a punishment for not seeing what was right in front of you. But even in the heartbreak, there is a lesson too painful to forget: love exists in the world we walk, not just in the dreams we chase.

Matthew’s story is tragic, but it is also a reminder. To speak our hearts, to reach for those we care about, to notice the ones who quietly love us — it matters. Dreams may carry us to places reality cannot, but the love that surrounds us, even unnoticed, is real, tangible, and powerful.

Where he finally found the peace he sought, we are left with memory, with sorrow, and with a quiet hope: that maybe, somehow, the boy who lived in dreams will always know he was loved, beyond imagination, beyond words, beyond the world he left behind.

And perhaps, in that knowledge, the silence he left behind will finally speak.