Days turned into weeks, and before Eli noticed, walking beside Kai had become something ordinary. It wasn't that they were glued together or that people whispered behind their backs—just that Kai's presence fit into Eli's days the way an extra shoelace fits a shoe: small, unnoticed at first, then suddenly necessary.
Their classmates teased them sometimes. "Eli, your shadow's here again," someone would call, and the group would laugh. Eli laughed with them, even when his chest flipped in a way he couldn't explain. He told himself it was nothing—just friendly banter. The truth was, he didn't mind the teasing. He didn't mind Kai being there.
One afternoon, the usual crowd had scattered to club meetings and errands. Eli found himself walking home with Kai instead of the rest of the gang. The streets were quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that lets you hear your own footsteps. Late-blooming flowers leaned over the sidewalk, filling the air with a faint, sweet smell. The light was soft, the kind that makes ordinary things look a little kinder.
They walked without talking for a while, each step falling into an easy rhythm. Eli kicked at a loose pebble on the pavement then stopped, glancing sideways at Kai. He'd been meaning to say something for days—something small that felt bigger every time he thought about it.
"You don't talk much," Eli blurted out, almost before he realized he'd said anything. "But… you listen well."
Kai glanced at him, and Eli had to catch himself from reading too much into the way Kai's mouth barely moved. "I like listening to you," Kai said, his voice low and even, like a simple fact.
Eli's steps faltered. His face heated up as if sunlight had focused right on his ears. "D-Don't say it like that," he stammered, trying to shove the sudden warmth away with a joke. "It sounds weird."
Kai only smiled, faint and steady. It wasn't flashy or dramatic—just a small curve that didn't hide regret. If anything, the smile made Eli feel safe and painfully aware of how small all their moments together had become and how large they felt inside him.
That night, the dream came back again.
This time the courtyard was crowded with paper lanterns that swung gently in the breeze, sending soft circles of light over flagstones. The man with the same face as Kai walked beside Eli, moving like he belonged to the place and the past—calm, sure, and strangely familiar. Their hands brushed once as they walked, nothing more than a touch, but it hung in the air like a bell.
"I like listening to you," the man said in a voice that felt both new and the same, echoing against the lantern-lit walls. The sentence was exactly like Kai's words from that afternoon, carrying the same quiet weight. Eli woke up with his heart racing, the phrase looping in his head until it was both comfort and question.
He forced himself to think logically. Dreams were dreams—patchwork of memories, of faces, of things the mind makes when you're sleeping. Kai couldn't be the man who appeared in his dreams. It was impossible. He dressed for school telling himself that over and over. He repeated it the way you repeat a spell to make the day go on.
But then Kai nodded hello in the hallway, the same calm greeting he always gave, and something inside Eli leaned toward that tiny, familiar motion like a plant toward light.
Why did it feel so real? The question settled under his ribs like a small stone, heavy and impossible to ignore.