DREAM

THYME'S POV:

Grey. Just the ceiling. And the dream—gone. Just like that.

The sounds faded first. Sizzling, a happy bubbling noise... then just the low drone of traffic. Weird. For a second, I thought I’d dreamed up little talking food creatures. The smell was the last to go. Or it tried to. Burnt sugar and something buttery still clung to the back of my throat. I could still feel a phantom warmth on my cheek.

"No. No, no, no, NO."

My eyes snapped open. I was already sitting up, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I realized I was strangling my pillow, my knuckles white. The dream rushed back in, sharp and invasive. It made my skin crawl. This wasn't one of my usual food daydreams. This was different.

The empty restaurant from yesterday, with Meta. Except it was full. Loaded. Tables groaning under so much food, all of it steaming. And him, standing in the middle of it all. Wearing nothing but a white apron and holding a plate of pasta. The image was so ridiculous it felt real, and that was the scary part.

His voice in the dream had been a low rumble. "It's all yours." His eyes were too dark, like he could see right through me. "Just be my boyfriend."

My stomach clenched. It was a nasty mix of actual hunger pains and a hot, rising anger. The worst part? Dream-me actually hesitated. Me. Considering dating Meta. Not for any normal reason, but because the guy could apparently pull food out of thin air.

"For food?" The words came out in a choked whisper. "That bastard. He's in my head. He's turning me into some kind of freak."

I threw the pillow. It hit the wall with a soft thud. This was more than just weird; it was humiliating. And it was his fault.

I glanced at the clock. The red numbers seemed to mock me: 7:30. My alarm never went off.

"Shit. I'm late."

I scrambled out of bed, got my feet tangled in the blanket, and went down. Hard. My face hit the floorboards with a crack that sent a flash of white through my vision.

"Ugh... that hurts," I groaned into the wood. A dull throb was already starting in my cheekbone, but being late was worse.

I staggered to the kitchen. The air was stale with the smell of old coffee. As if on cue, my stomach growled, a hollow reminder of the dream feast. My head was still spinning as I cracked a couple of eggs into a pan. The oil sizzled. Meta. That stupid apron. The heat from the stove on my face felt like his breath in the dream, and I felt my hands start to shake.

Then, a flash of a different memory. Real this time. His face, way too close to mine. His eyes, intense and possessive. I could almost smell his skin again, something clean and warm. I just knew he was about to kiss me. The thought made my stomach drop.

No. I slammed the pan down. The eggs sizzled angrily.

What is wrong with me? Why do I keep replaying that?

I forced the eggs down; they tasted like chalk. I needed to reset. A shower. A cold one. Now. I bolted to the bathroom, needing to wash the feeling of him off my skin.

Stepping out, heart still beating too fast, I saw a new message on my phone. My sister.

"Happy Birthday, Me! Hope you can make it home this weekend. Mom and Dad are asking about you."

My stomach did a slow, painful roll. Go home? For her birthday? The lie was ready before I even thought about it.

"Can't make it, chanee. Swamped with studies. Tell them I said happy birthday."

I hit send, and that familiar cold feeling settled in my chest. It was the silence that I knew would follow. The quiet disappointment. It was the feeling of my whole life. It reminded me of my twelfth birthday. I’d wanted a comic book, just one, and all I got was a pile of textbooks.

"This is better for your future, Thyme," my dad had said. He wasn't being mean, but his tone crushed me. The lesson was always the same: their expectations mattered more than my wants. Their approval was something I had to earn, every single day. That fear made me promise myself I would never make anyone else feel that way, never be the reason someone was rejected.

And now this whole mess with Meta felt like I was breaking my own rule. Not him, I thought. Not like this.

A small, cold voice in my head whispered, You're going to lose everything.

My uniform was a wrinkled disaster. I didn't care. I threw it on and ran out the door.

At the bus stop, I could feel it. People were looking. Whispering. My shoulders tensed up automatically. It felt like every eye was on me. I tried to make myself look smaller.

On campus, it was ten times worse. The stares felt like needles. The whispers were louder. Okay, this was officially freaking me out. Was it my clothes? Did I have something on my face? The not knowing was making me frantic. A fresh start. Right. This was just high school all over again, but with more people.

I made it to class just in time. Dom and Lance waved me over. The second I sat down, I saw the weird looks on their faces. I knew.

"Thyme," Lance said, all business. "What happened yesterday?"

"What are you talking about?" I tried to play it cool, but my stomach was in my shoes. "Nothing."

"This," Dom said, and shoved his phone in my face.

It was a perfect photo of me and Meta. At the restaurant. My mind went completely blank. There was nothing I could say.

"What? How...?"

"It's on 'Uni Pue-uk'," Dom said, already scrolling through a flood of comments.

"Uni Taro?" I was lost.

"Dude, where have you been?" Dom rolled his eyes. "The gossip page! 'Pue-uk'!"

"Guys, stop," Lance cut in, looking me dead in the eye. "Thyme, why were you with him?"

Shit. How could I tell them the truth? That I followed a guy I barely knew for a free meal? The memory of how good the food was made a hot flush of shame creep up my neck.

"Just answer," Lance pressed. "The entire campus is talking. They're saying you're Meta's boyfriend."

My eyes widened. "What? Seriously? They think I'm his boyfriend?"

They both nodded, their faces grim. The truth was too pathetic to admit.

"Thyme, we're waiting..." Lance started, but the professor walked in, saving me. For now. How was I supposed to get out of this without sounding like a total moron?

Class ended. I bolted. But the second I stepped outside, a group of girls blocked my path. They were waiting for me. Their faces were serious, and some were glaring. This wasn't random. They were organized.

This was bad. Really bad.

One of them stepped forward. "Are you Khun Ahan Yimgin?"

Wait.

My full name? How in the hell did they know my full name? That was only on official documents. A new kind of cold dread washed over me. This wasn't just campus gossip anymore.