23rd June 1995 — Rich Manor
I slowly open my eyes and the first thing I notice is the ceiling. It stretches high above me, impossibly ornate, decorated with intricate patterns that somehow manage to be both luxurious and restrained. Every carving feels deliberate, every symbol ancient. The craftsmanship is unmistakably African, though there is something about it that seems... different.
Older.
Some might even call it magical. The second thing I notice is the room itself, it's enormous. Not merely large, but absurdly so—the kind of room that makes you question whether the architect had ever heard of moderation. It feels more like the private chambers of royalty than an ordinary bedroom.
As the last remnants of sleep fade away, my gaze drifts downward. To the gigantic bed. I honestly doubt it conforms to any mattress size known to mankind. More importantly, it's unbelievably comfortable. If someone told me clouds had opened a hotel, I'd believe them. Then I notice something far more important. My hands. They're...
Young.
Smooth skin.
No calluses.
No scars.
No signs of age whatsoever.
I slowly raise one hand toward my face, feeling unfamiliar features beneath my fingertips. "...Huh." After a moment of careful consideration, my brilliantly logical mind arrives at the only possible conclusion.
This is a dream.
Naturally.
Completely normal.
Honestly, considering how much I drank last night, this is probably one of the less concerning possibilities. Content with my flawless deduction, I relax back into the heavenly mattress. If my subconscious wants to give me unlimited wealth, eternal comfort, and what feels like the world's greatest bed, who am I to complain? I close my eyes again.
Then—
BANG!
The bedroom door flies open. A blonde girl rushes inside. She looks about my age—at least my current age—with bright sapphire-blue eyes and shoulder-length golden hair held back by a matching blue headband. She wears a simple blue-and-white dress, yet somehow manages to fill the enormous room with enough energy to make it feel crowded.
"Theo!"
She runs over and practically launches herself onto the bed. "Your dad's looking for you! He says it's urgent!" I groan. Without opening my eyes, I roll onto my side, turning my back toward her. If I ignore reality long enough...
...perhaps reality will ignore me.
A hopeful strategy. Unfortunately, she has apparently developed immunity to it. I hear an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, for goodness' sake..." The next thing I know, my blanket vanishes. Cold air immediately assaults my body. "Theo!" she shouts. "Your father just came home from the hospital! He says your little brother has finally been born!"
Well.
That certainly gets my attention. My eyes snap open. 'Alright,' I think. 'If the dream wants me out of bed that badly... I suppose I'll play along.' I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The instant I look at the girl again... memories surface. Not vague dream fragments or random flashes. Actual memories, conversations, arguments and shared laughter.
Countless ordinary moments that feel as authentic as the memories from my previous life. I know this girl. Her name comes to me effortlessly. "...Lead the way, Maria." She beams. "I knew mentioning your baby brother would work." Of course it would.
She turns and skips toward the door with the carefree confidence of someone completely at home. I stand to follow, then stop. "..." Something feels wrong. Very wrong. I inhale. The air is cool against my skin. I can smell polished wood, fresh flowers and old books.
The carpet beneath my feet feels soft and textured. Every sensation is crystal clear. Too clear. Dreams aren't supposed to have this much detail. I glance down at my hands again. They still don't belong to me. Yet somehow...
...they do.
The memories in my head insist they've always been mine. I know this house. I know Maria. I know where my room is. I know where the staircase should be. I know things I have absolutely no reason to know. For the first time since waking up...
...a sliver of doubt creeps into my mind.
Not enough to panic. Just enough to make me hesitate. Because what if...
What if this isn't a dream?
What if...
...this is a life I've somehow forgotten?