It was a strange thing, sneaking into Max's room for the third time in a week. By now, the routine felt familiar—the climb up the tree, the careful slide through the unlocked window, the quiet breaths I held as I settled myself in the shadows of his room. Tonight, though, I was more distracted than usual.
All day, I'd been trying to think of a way for us to spend time together outside of school. I wanted to suggest watching old movies with him, to introduce him to some of my favorites. But where could we go? My house was out of the question. I wasn't ready for Max to meet my family of blood-drinking predators. After hearing his parents argue last night, I could understand why Max had never invited me to his house either.
Until I figured out a solution, all I could do was enjoy his company during school. And maybe… sneak into his dreams.
I settled down on the edge of his bed and tuned into his thoughts. It didn't take long before his breathing changed, and his dreams began to take shape. This time, he was in a massive library, its shelves stretching so high they disappeared into darkness. He was searching, calling my name, his voice tinged with worry.
"Edie? Where are you?" He stopped another patron, asking if he had seen me, but the dream-figure shook his head.
He was thinking of me again! His dream was tinged with an ache I hadn't anticipated, and it stirred something deep within me. I leaned close to him, whispering softly into his ear.
"Max, you will listen to my voice, and you will not wake up. You will listen to my voice, and you will not wake up."
The shift in his dream was immediate. I saw his dream-self pause in the library, his expression shifting from confusion to relief as he turned and found me standing there.
"I'm here, Max," I whispered in his ear, and my words carried into his dream. "I've been looking for you too."
Dream-Max rushed toward the dream version of me, embracing her tightly. "Thank goodness, Edie," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I missed you so much."
He took dream-me's hand, leading her to a nearby sofa. They sat down together, his hand still clasping hers, his relief palpable. I smiled softly to myself, proud of how easily I'd managed to comfort him. But then, something happened that I hadn't expected.
The dream version of me reached into her pocket and pulled out a small silver pocket watch, its chain glinting faintly in the dim library light. She began to swing it back and forth in front of Max's eyes.
"What are you doing?" Dream-Max asked.
"Hypnotizing you," dream-me replied with a calm, enigmatic smile.
I stiffened, staring at the real Max lying peacefully in bed beside me. What was happening? I hadn't intended for this to occur. I'd successfully nudged his dream in a happier direction, yet now things was spinning out of my control.
In the dream, dream-me's voice softened, low and melodic. "You're getting very sleepy, Max. Your eyes are heavy, and you cannot resist me."
Why was he dreaming about this? Part of me wanted to run away, but I couldn't make myself stop listening in.
Dream-Max's gaze locked onto the swinging pocket watch, his expression going blank as his eyelids drooped. A small, hesitant smile tugged at his lips, like he trusted dream-me completely.
"Edie," he murmured faintly, his voice barely above a whisper.
My dream self snapped her fingers. Max's face went entirely slack, his eyes fixed on hers.
I stared at Max's real face, peaceful and unknowing, and my stomach twisted into knots. What had I done? Why had my influence manifested in this way? My suggestions must have been more powerful than I'd realized. Was the fact that I'd tried to nudge his dream in a happier direction itself manifesting in his dream? Now I wasn't sure if I could trust this. I'd meant to soothe his nightmares into pleasant dreams - not make him dream that I was hypnotizing him.
I leaned away from Max, trembling, and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Max."
As much as I cared for him, I couldn't ignore the fact that I had stepped into territory more dangerous than I had intended. I wanted to help him feel valued - not feel controlled. With a heavy heart, I slipped out of his bed, back out the window, and into the night, vowing to read some more and figure out what had gone wrong.
As I climbed down the tree, the rough bark scraping against my palms, I heard something else from Max's dream that stopped me cold.
"Max," my dream-self asked, her voice impossibly soft and alluring, "do you want to kiss me?"
I froze, clutching the tree, my mind racing. What was happening in his dream? Why was my dream-self asking him that?
"Yes, Edie," dream-Max murmured, his voice trembling with longing. "With all my heart."
Dream-me's voice came again, teasing and playful. "In that case, Max, when I snap my fingers, you will wake from hypnosis, and then you'll kiss me."
I didn't even think. I scrambled back up the tree and slid through the window as quietly as possible. I didn't care how strange this was or how much I might regret it later. I had to know what happened next.
Max's breathing was slow and steady, his body completely relaxed as the dream unfolded. I lay on the bed beside him, listening to him dream like it was the most enthralling romantic drama I'd ever experienced.
In his dream, my dream-self raised her hand and snapped her fingers. I saw the tiniest twitch in Max's real fingers as he murmured, "Edie," so softly I barely heard it.
In the dream, Max opened his eyes and gazed at my dream-self with pure, unguarded adoration. "You're so fascinating," he whispered, and I swallowed hard at the raw honesty in his voice.
Then he leaned in and kissed her—softly at first, almost hesitant, but then more confidently, like he couldn't stop himself. My dream-self kissed him back, her hands resting gently on his shoulders.
Lying there beside him, I felt like an intruder, and yet I couldn't stop listening. I was captivated by the tenderness of it all, by how much he clearly cared for me—or at least, the me in his dream.
A surge of emotions hit me like a wave: affection, longing, protectiveness. I wanted to wake him up right then and there, to tell him that I felt the same way, to kiss him and make the dream real. But I stopped myself. I didn't want to ruin the sweetness of this moment or invade the sanctuary his dream had created. This was unlike anything I'd heard him dream before - no disasters, no arguments, just sweetness. I wanted him to have the moment. I wanted to share it.
Instead, I leaned in close to him, close enough to hear his soft breaths, and whispered, "Max, you have no idea how much you mean to me."
He stirred slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips, but he didn't wake.
I stayed there for a few more moments before slipping back out of his bed and climbing out the window once more. As I dropped to the ground and melted into the shadows, I couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd looked at me in his dream—like I was the most precious thing in the world.
The next morning was overcast, which meant I could go to school. I found myself hurrying more than usual, an unusual sense of anticipation buzzing in my chest. When I arrived, I saw Max standing by his locker, fumbling with a book he clearly didn't want to carry but couldn't leave behind. He looked up when he noticed me approaching, and the small, shy smile he gave me was enough to make my insides flutter.
"Hey, Edie," he said, adjusting his backpack strap.
"Hi, Max." I leaned casually against the locker next to his, though casual wasn't exactly how I felt. "Can I talk to you about something?"
"Sure." He shut his locker and turned toward me, his blue eyes meeting mine.
"I've always been fascinated by dreams," I said, carefully choosing my words. "The way they work, how they reflect our thoughts and emotions. I think they say a lot about people."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Really? Like what?"
I smiled softly. "Like what they value. What they're afraid of. Who they care about."
For a moment, he seemed to be lost in thought. Then he chuckled, a little self-conscious. "You know, when I was a kid, I had this... daydream, I guess." He glanced at me, gauging my reaction, before continuing. "I used to imagine that I'd start dreaming about the love of my life before I even met her. Like, I'd see her in my dreams first, and then when I met her in real life, we'd just know. Like we'd recognize each other instantly."
For a second, I didn't trust myself to speak. He smiled sheepishly, looking down at the floor. "I wish that sort of thing were possible in real life," he added.
I reached out without thinking, gently placing my hand on his arm. "Max, that's... that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard."
He looked up at me, surprised by the intensity in my expression. "You think so?"
"Absolutely," I said, my fingers brushing over the fabric of his sleeve. "It's beautiful, really. To believe in something like that—fate, love—when the world can be so... difficult. It says a lot about you."
His cheeks flushed, and he gave a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, I guess I've always been a bit of a hopeless romantic. Not that it's done me much good."
I tilted my head, studying him. "Maybe it has," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
The hallway noise seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of us. For a moment, I thought about telling him the truth—that I'd influenced his dreams, that I knew he cared about me more than he could admit. But instead, I just smiled and said, "You'd be surprised how much dreams can shape our reality."
"Maybe," he said, his voice quiet, as if he were trying to work out what I meant.
The bell rang, breaking the spell between us, and Max cleared his throat, stepping back. "I should get to class. But... thanks, Edie. That really means a lot."
"Anytime," I said, watching him walk away.
As I turned to head to my own class, I couldn't help but wonder: if Max dreamed about the love of his life, could I be that person for him? And if I wasn't yet... could I be?
Max and I somehow ended up spending every free moment together. Lunch stretched into long conversations, spilling over into the time after school when neither of us seemed to want to leave. We talked about everything—old movies, plays. books, dreams, little details about our experiences.
Max told me about how he first watched The Adventures of Robin Hood when he was seven. "I made my dad rent it so many times, he finally just bought the disk."
I laughed at the image of a little Max with a toy sword, pretending to be Errol Flynn. "I can definitely see it. You've got the hero vibe."
"Oh, yeah?" He looked at me with mock suspicion. "You don't need me to storm a castle or something, are you?"
I tilted my head, feigning consideration. "No. Asking you to storm a castle would be inconceivable!"
We laughed, but when it came time to part ways, I found myself reluctant to say goodbye. The night stretched ahead of me like an eternity, and I didn't know how I'd fill it without him.
When I got home, I tried to distract myself by diving into more books. Most of them weren't much help, full of things that didn't pertain to our situation. But the more I read, the clearer it became: the quasi-hypnotic technique I'd been using on Max might well have planted the idea of hypnosis in his dreams.
Hypnosis. The word stuck in my mind, conjuring images from old Hollywood movies—undead villains with piercing eyes, their victims falling helplessly under their spell. I couldn't help but picture myself like that, holding Max's gaze, turning him into my lover with just a look.
With a sigh, I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Why can't we be like that in real life? I thought. Why can't we hypnotize people like Hollywood thinks we can?
The idea made me smile, but it also left me feeling wistful. What I wouldn't give to be able to make Max see how much I cared for him, how much I wanted him to care for me too—without all the complications of inter-species romance and sneaking into his dreams.
Still, I couldn't resist. Around two o'clock in the morning, I found myself jogging lightly toward Max's house, the world silent and still around me. His window was dark, his parents' house quiet. I climbed the tree with ease, slipped in through the now-familiar window, and slid into bed beside him.
Max was already dreaming, and I listened carefully, waiting to pick up the threads of it. It was something mundane at first—he was at school, trying to find his locker when all the numbers were missing—but it wasn't long before the dream shifted. He found me in the hallway, and I smiled at the sound of my dream-self's voice as it echoed in his thoughts.
In the dream, he said, "Edie, I was hoping I'd find you here."
My heart softened. His dream-voice was so earnest, so full of affection.
"I've been looking for you too," my dream-self replied, and Max's dream took on a warmer tone. We were sitting together on a grassy hill, watching the stars.
I felt a surge of tenderness as I lay there listening, watching the peaceful rise and fall of Max's chest. Someday, I thought, I'm going to have to confess that I've been sneaking into his bedroom and leaving before he wakes up. But not yet.
For now, it was enough just to be here, to know I was part of his romantic dreams—and to hope that someday, I might be part of a romantic reality too.