After all that, he said, "Think about it. In three days, give me your answer."
Suddenly, a light flashed from my right. I turned to see it, but it was moving toward me too fast. The darkness made it impossible to tell what it was. When I looked back at him, he was gone.
A horn blared. I whipped my head toward the light—it was a train. It barreled toward me, impossibly fast, and before I could even react, it hit me.
Or did it?
I jolted awake, heart hammering, sweat slick on my palms. My eyes darted around the room. It was my room. My bed. My phone on the nightstand.
But when did I fall asleep?
And what I saw—was it really a dream? Or had it happened for real?
A cold shiver crawled up my spine. Was this another dream of death? Was someone else about to die? Or was it just that person's trick—showing me fear, trying to push me into joining them?
There was only one way to know.
I threw on a jacket and ran to the nearest train station. It was crowded, the night air full of noise and murmurs. My eyes swept over the people, my mind scrambling to remember the place from my vision. The platform. The tracks. The train. Where was it going to happen? Who was it going to happen to?
I stood there, heart pounding, scanning every face, every shadow, waiting for a sign.
The air at the station felt colder than outside. Maybe it was the open tracks, or maybe it was me. My breath came out uneven, turning white in the dim yellow lights flickering above. The crowd moved lazily—people scrolling on phones, sipping tea, chatting softly. None of them knew that my hands were trembling, that my heart was racing for a reason I didn't even understand.
Every sound felt sharp—the rustle of coats, the distant hum of an approaching train, the static from an old speaker. I couldn't stop scanning faces. A man in a blue jacket, a woman holding a crying child, a group of college kids laughing at something on a phone. Normal. Everything looked painfully normal.
But I could feel it—that wrongness again. The same pressure in my chest, that faint, suffocating pulse that always came before something terrible.
I moved closer to the edge of the platform, my shoes scraping against the yellow line. My eyes darted to the dark tunnel ahead. The faint light of the approaching train shimmered inside it like a heartbeat.
And then I saw her.
A young woman—maybe in her twenties—standing just a little too close to the edge. She was staring at her phone, earphones in, completely unaware of how near she was.
My pulse spiked.
No. No, no, no.
My brain screamed that I didn't know her, that this wasn't my business, that maybe I was wrong this time. But my body moved before I could think.
The sound of the train grew louder—metal grinding against metal, a deep rumbling that vibrated in my bones.
"Hey!" I called out, stepping closer. "Ma'am! Step back!"
She didn't turn.
The rumbling turned into a roar. The wind of the train's approach whipped against my face. I could see it now—the white lights cutting through the dark, the metal beast hurtling forward.
"HEY! MOVE!" I shouted again, louder this time.
Finally, she looked up—confused, startled—but her foot slipped off the edge.
Everything blurred. I lunged forward, grabbed her wrist—
Her skin was ice-cold. My fingers clamped down, but the force of her fall pulled me forward too. My feet slid, my body jerked toward the tracks—
At the last second, someone behind me yanked my jacket, dragging me back onto the platform. The train screamed past us, wind slashing through my hair.
When it finally stopped, everything was silent.
The woman… wasn't moving.
The world around me blurred, sound draining out like air from a punctured balloon. People were shouting—guards, passengers, someone crying—but it all sounded far away. I could only see her.
Her body half on the platform, half hanging over the edge. Her eyes open, empty, staring right through me.
My chest constricted so hard I couldn't breathe. My stomach turned, and a noise—some broken gasp or sob—escaped me before I even realized it. My knees gave out.
Blood. There was blood on the tracks.
And on my hands.
Someone touched my shoulder, maybe asked if I was okay, but I couldn't answer. Because in that moment, all I could see was the car crash, the teacher, and now her. Each face merging into one endless nightmare that refused to end when I opened my eyes.
I wanted to scream. To wake up. To undo it.
But deep down, I knew—I was already awake.
And whoever that man was…
He was right.
The dreams weren't done with me yet.