The soft hum of fluorescent lights buzzed above, casting a pale glow over rows of empty desks. Only two figures occupied the vast classroom: a middle-aged man in a sleek black academic coat and a lone student seated at the front, leaning forward with curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
"Teacher," the boy asked, his voice tentative but hopeful. "Could you explain that again? I... I want to understand it properly."
Mr. Carter sighed, not out of frustration but weariness. He laid his pen on the desk, laced his fingers together, and looked up at the ceiling as if drawing wisdom from somewhere beyond.
"I'll explain it once more," he said. "But listen closely, Rowan—I won't repeat myself after this."
Rowan nodded eagerly.
"Reality and illusion," Mr. Carter began, "are not opposites. They're twins—separated only by awareness. Desire flows between them like a current. If I desire something deeply enough, I might imagine it, manifest it in my mind. That's illusion. But sometimes, that same desire pushes us to shape our physical world until the illusion becomes real. And then, which is which?"
Rowan blinked. "So… you're saying they're the same because they both come from desire?"
"Exactly." Mr. Carter's gaze sharpened. "Desire doesn't care about what's 'real.' It's the engine of both illusion and reality. And nowhere is that more apparent than in dreams."
Rowan sat back, eyes narrowing. "Dreams… are they illusions too?"
"That depends," Mr. Carter said. "Some say dreams are alternate dimensions—realms of the dead, timelines lost to time, or reflections of deeper truths. Others see them as mere mental noise. But I say this: dreams are not bound by the laws of physics. They're shaped by desire and the subconscious mind."
He paused for effect.
"Dreams and illusions are both non-existent in the physical sense. But they are very real in the emotional and psychological realm. And if we dream hard enough—if we desire something with everything we are—sometimes, just sometimes… the boundary between illusion and reality begins to tear."
Rowan shivered. "So… we live through our dreams. We try to make them real."
Mr. Carter nodded solemnly. "Yes. But reality… reality shifts. And as it does, so too do our dreams and illusions."
"Then... are we in a dream right now?" Rowan asked quietly, his voice almost trembling.
Mr. Carter smiled faintly. "Let me ask you something first. Do you exist?"
"Of course."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm aware."
"There it is." Mr. Carter sat forward, tapping the desk. "Awareness. You exist because you are aware of your existence. Consciousness confirms reality."
"But then… dreams and illusions also exist in consciousness, don't they? Doesn't that mean they're part of reality?"
"A brilliant observation," Mr. Carter said softly. "But here's the difference: dreams and illusions are created within us. Reality, true reality, exists outside of our control. It's what pushes back."
Rowan sat quietly for a moment, absorbing that.
"So… dreams and illusions are a separate kind of reality. One we try to integrate into this one… to fulfill our desires."
"Yes," Mr. Carter replied, and for a moment, his voice held a shadow of sorrow. "Two realities. Separate, yet intertwined. Sustained by one thing: desire."
Rowan chuckled, breaking the tension. "It's kinda funny when you think about it."
Mr. Carter grinned, relaxing in his chair. "It is, isn't it?"
Then Rowan, suddenly thoughtful, asked, "If you could manifest any dream into reality… what would you choose? What's your greatest desire?"
Silence.
The question hung in the air like a ghost.
Mr. Carter stared past his student, past the classroom, as if seeing another world. A girl with curly hair laughing in the backseat. A woman with warm eyes humming softly as she drove. Flashing lights. Screeching metal. Shattered glass.
The crash had taken everything. Seven years ago, on the N1 freeway to Johannesburg. A minibus taxi barreled into their hatchback, flipping it like a toy. His wife and daughter had died on impact. Somehow, he had lived.
And sometimes, he hated that fact.
"Teacher?" Rowan asked, tilting his head.
Mr. Carter blinked, returning to the present. He smiled faintly.
"I'd wish for the latest RTX 7090 graphics card," he said, chuckling.
Rowan burst out laughing. "Seriously? That card costs more than a house! You'd need to sell both kidneys and your soul."
"Exactly," Mr. Carter said with a wink. "A perfect dream."
The boy's laughter warmed the room.
Mr. Carter watched him fondly. Rowan had a light in him—a resilience. It reminded him of…
"Hey, Rowan. What about you? What dream would you bring into the real world?"
Rowan hesitated. "I'd… I'd want to see my mom again."
Mr. Carter's smile vanished.
"She died of cancer two years ago," Rowan said, voice low. "I miss her every day. I still dream of her, you know? Cooking in the kitchen. Singing while washing dishes. Sometimes, I feel like if I could just hold onto those dreams long enough… I could see her again."
He looked down, then smiled through the ache.
"But I know that's not how the world works. So I just keep the memories close. I believe she's still with me, somehow."
"I see," Mr. Carter whispered.
The bell rang, shaking them from the moment.
Rowan stood, packing his bag. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Carter."
Just before he left, Carter called out, "Rowan—why do you even come to this class? Philosophy isn't exactly popular these days."
Rowan paused, turned back.
"I like the questions," he said. "I like wondering about existence. About what's real. I think… I think it reminds me we're more than just flesh and bone. That we have potential. That our thoughts, our dreams, our hopes—they mean something."
Mr. Carter watched him go, heart aching.
"You're a good kid," he murmured. "I wish my daughter had the chance to grow up into someone like you."
The room fell silent.
Minutes later, Mr. Carter stood, tidied his desk, and locked the classroom. He passed through the halls, exchanged polite words with colleagues, and walked to his car.
But all the while, one thought echoed through him like a heartbeat.