Promise

"NiGHTS," I called as usual. "NiGHTS!"

He would come. Whether from the skies out my window, or low to the ground, skimming the sidewalks, he would definitely come.

And I was not disappointed. I heard his call and followed it to my nightstand. Underneath were stacked several notebooks, full of doodles and journaling, all the many many pages of my dreams. I opened the top one and looked inside. There he was, on the page, looking out at me. "NiGHTS," I said, childishly babbling from relief. "You're here."

He smiled at me, so sweetly that he couldn't help but show his sadness, as we each touched our hands over the paper barrier. He wasn't coming out. We wouldn't be flying, tonight.

"When can I see you, again?" I asked. Already, it had been so long, so long that I'd had to endure many torments alone.

"You have to be purified," he said.

Yes. Of course. I knew I needed it. I had been so strong and brave before, I had thought. But it turned out that I had only been strong when I had faced nothing fearful. I'd been proud of how fearlessly I'd moved in the dark where others dared not go. Then true pains had struck, for which I'd had no armor.

My certainties and identities had been ripped from me, like proud edges from a weathered rock. Instead of a quiet girl with inner bravery, resilience, and depth, I realized what I really was: weak, selfish, and spoiled. I was too afraid to sleep in the dark, anymore. Too afraid to dream, anymore.

And I couldn't face NiGHTS like that.

I nodded and blinked back tears, still pressing my hand to the page where I could almost feel his, murmuring promises I wasn't sure I could keep.

Three years passed.

Mere months ago, I lucid dreamed again, in my room, where I stumbled out of bed, calling for NiGHTS. "NiGHTS, NiGHTS!" Was he even there? Had he been a figment of my imagination? Had I become pure enough?

I shoved open the window, though I was tottering, half-asleep in my sleep. "NiGHTS!"

My heavy eyes saw a small, disembodied hand grasp mine. I interlocked my fingers with it—so small, smaller than I remembered. So warm and small, and without a wrist, as my fingers observed well. Another promise.

Soon.