Each night, the dreams returned, like an old song that refused to fade. And last night, for the first time in years, Justice saw her again the friend whose laughter once filled the empty spaces of her life, now just a shadow in her memories, slipping through her fingers as if she were a dream herself.
Why now? Why after all these years? Justice couldn't help but wonder if the dream was a sign, a forgotten piece of her life demanding to be remembered. In the silence of the night, she closed her eyes and let the memory flood back the carefree days they shared, the laughter, the promises they had made.
She recalled it so clearly: the afternoons at her aunt's house during prayer time. They were supposed to bow their heads and recite solemn words, but as soon as their eyes met, all reverence evaporated. It always started with a twitch of Reed’s lips, and then the quietest giggle would escape. Justice would try to hold it in, but the moment would spiral out of control until they were both shaking with suppressed laughter. Her aunt’s exasperated voice echoed in her mind, scolding them and separating their mischievous grins. It never mattered. The joy was worth the scolding every time.
And then there were the rainy days. Justice remembered how they’d run through the fields together, hands clasped tightly, the rain soaking them through. Reed would laugh, the sound bright and unrestrained, and Justice would match it without a thought. It was as though the rain gave them permission to let go of everything else. That simple act holding hands as they ran felt like a bond that could never be broken.
But not every memory was carefree. Justice thought of the Christmas when Reed had panicked. She’d been upstairs, sleeping off a headache, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding downstairs. Reed had searched everywhere for her, braving a torrential downpour and destroying her phone in the process. When Justice finally emerged, Reed was soaked, her eyes red from crying.
“Where were you?” Reed’s voice had cracked with worry.
“I was upstairs,” Justice had whispered, guilt blooming in her chest.
“You scared me,” Reed said, pulling her into a tight hug. That moment stayed with Justice the depth of Reed’s care, the way her fear had melted into relief as soon as she saw her.
There was one more memory, softer than the rest but just as vivid. Reed had asked her to dance one evening. Justice had protested, stumbling through the steps as Reed laughed at her stiff movements. “You’re hopeless!” Reed teased, taking Justice’s hands and guiding her with infinite patience. Justice had never been good at dancing, but with Reed, it didn’t matter. By the end of the night, the room had echoed with their laughter, and Justice felt something she rarely experienced: total comfort in her own skin.
Reed was the only person who made her feel that way loved, accepted, Free and special just as she was. Reed had been more than a friend; she had been a lifeline, a steady presence who saw past Justice’s walls. “You don’t have to change for anyone,” Reed had once told her, and the words had stayed, becoming an anchor through the years.
Now, though, all Justice had were memories. The dream left her with a sense of longing, like waking from a beautiful melody only to find the silence unbearable. She reached for the phone on her bedside table, her fingers hesitating above the screen. Would it be too much to reach out? Too late? Or would the message she had composed in her mind for so long remain unsent?
The distance between them had grown so wide over the years, neither of them knowing exactly when it happened. Was it the silence that made it worse, or the unspoken words that never left her lips? Justice couldn’t recall the last time they had spoken, but the weight of that unspoken goodbye hung over her like a shadow that refused to leave.
She thought about it again, her thumb hovering over the call button. What would she say after all this time? How could she explain the ache in her chest, the constant replay of moments they once shared? Would Reed even remember her the same way, or had their worlds drifted too far apart?
With a sigh, Justice placed the phone back down, the weight of the decision heavy in her chest. Perhaps tomorrow she would have the courage. Or perhaps, like the dreams, the past would remain a distant memory that never quite let go.

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