I woke up again, paralyzed.
My body didn't move. My chest didn't rise. My eyes—open but blind—stared into the dark ceiling above me.
I'd stopped panicking weeks ago. This was routine now.Every night, like clockwork.Every time, at exactly 3:33 A.M.
I could feel something pressing down on me. Not a person. Not a hand. Just… weight. Like my own soul had grown too heavy for my bones.
They call it sleep paralysis.Science has names for it—REM intrusion, hypnopompic hallucinations.
But science doesn't know what happens after.
Because that's when the air fractured.A low hum filled the room, vibrating through my skull like electricity underwater.
And then—I fell.
Not down, not up—just away.The world collapsed like paper folding in on itself, and I was pulled through.
The fall wasn't physical.There was no wind. No sound.Just an endless, sinking sensation.Like I was being swallowed by my own shadow.
Then—light.
Soft, golden, blurry like sunlight through water.
The weight disappeared. My lungs worked again. I could breathe.And I was standing.
Grass brushed against my legs. The sky was pale with morning.But none of this was mine.Not my bed. Not my apartment.Not now.
I turned slowly, my pulse thudding.
That's when I saw her.She couldn't have been older than eighteen.Hair tied up, sneakers dirty with dew, holding a book against her chest like it was something precious.
I didn't have to guess who she was.It was my mom.
But not the woman I knew. Not the one who raised me.
This version of her smiled like she still believed the world would be kind.
I wanted to speak.To call her name.But the dream wasn't finished with me yet.
From the edge of the street, someone else appeared.
A girl.
Not my mother.Not anyone I'd ever met.And yet...
She looked at me like she'd been waiting.