“Do you believe in dreams?” he’d asked me, jerking awake out of a restless sleep, drenched in a cold sweat.

That was before I knew that the rest of his life had been revealed to him in what seemed to be one long, nocturnal fast-forward. Before I knew he’d seen me in my last moments. Before he apologized, told me there was nothing he could do.

His big brown eyes reflected the glow from the streetlamp, which shown in glistening rays through the open window. I could hear the crickets, singing in sync just outside. It all felt oddly surreal.

“I think that your dreams are just what you refuse to think about when you’re awake,” I said.

His arm tightened around me.

“Do you think they ever come true?” he whispered.

I looked at him more closely. Worry lines had appeared between his eyebrows. It was then that I noticed he was crying.

“I don’t know,” I said softly.

He curled himself around me and his breathing once again grew even. When he thought I was asleep he whispered two words into my ear.

“I’m sorry.”