The dream was always the same.

She stood at the edge of a cliff, her silhouette framed by the golden light of the setting sun. Her laughter echoed, soft and unrestrained, like the wind itself had joined her in joy. Her hair caught the breeze, wild and untamed, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. She wasn’t just pretty—she was alive, vibrant, and full of a kind of energy he couldn’t help but be drawn to.

She loved the outdoors. In his dreams, she was always running ahead, daring him to catch up. "Come on, slowpoke!" she’d shout over her shoulder, her voice teasing yet warm. She’d lead him up jagged cliffs, through lush forests, and to rivers so clear they mirrored the sky. She’d always reach the top first, standing there with that triumphant grin, one hand on her hip, the other extended to help him up.

She was the kind of person who could light a fire with ease, cook a meal that warmed you from the inside out, and then tease you mercilessly for burning your fingers trying to help. She wasn’t just his dream girl; she was perfect.

And the best part? She loved him.

In every dream, she’d take his hand, her grip firm yet gentle, her smile carrying unspoken promises. Her touch was grounding, an anchor in a world that felt like it could fall apart at any moment.

“I’m here,” she seemed to say without words. “You’re not alone.”

When he woke up, he’d lie there for a moment, eyes shut tight, trying to hold onto the warmth of her presence. But reality always came crashing back, cold and relentless.

The sky outside his shelter was a dull, endless gray, choked by ash and clouds that hadn’t moved in years. The ground was cracked and lifeless, littered with the bones of cities and the remnants of humanity’s ambition. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of decay and dust.

The world was dead.

But even in the ruins, he smiled.

Every day, he met her.

She wasn’t just a dream. She was real—or at least, he believed she was.

He saw her in the smallest things: the flicker of a shadow around a corner, the soft echo of laughter on the wind, the warmth that crept into his chest when everything else felt cold. She was there, somewhere in the emptiness, waiting for him.

She gave him purpose. Hope. A reason to keep moving forward.

Even when days were hard, when food was scarce, or when danger loomed in every shadow, she kept him going. She wasn’t just his dream girl; she was his reason to survive.

It was a day like any other.

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He was scavenging in an abandoned street, his boots crunching over broken glass and crumbling concrete. The city around him was a skeleton of its former self, all jagged edges and hollowed-out buildings. His pack was nearly empty, and he needed supplies—anything to make it through another week.

The air was too quiet, the kind of silence that pressed down on you like a weight. He’d grown used to it, but today, it felt heavier than usual.

As he sifted through a pile of debris, something broke the stillness.

Footsteps.

Quick. Light. Frantic.

He froze, his breath hitching as his ears strained to follow the sound. Slowly, he turned toward the noise, his heart thundering in his chest.

And that’s when he saw her.

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. He blinked, his mind scrambling to make sense of what his eyes were telling him.

She was running down the street, her movements quick and desperate. Her hair, once so wild and free, was tangled and matted. Her clothes were torn, her face pale with fear.

But it was her.

It was her.

The world shifted.

The sky, once gray and suffocating, exploded into blue—deep and endless, like a promise he’d forgotten. The cracked asphalt beneath his feet softened, sprouting wildflowers and green grass that stretched as far as he could see. The air filled with the scent of fresh rain and blooming trees, washing away the metallic tang of decay.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He could barely breathe.

She was real.

Her eyes met his, just for a second, wide and filled with something he didn’t recognize—fear, desperation, or maybe relief. Then she turned, darting around a corner, her silhouette disappearing into the ruins.

“No!” The word tore from his throat before he even realized he’d spoken.

He ran after her, his legs moving before his mind could catch up. His boots pounded against the ground, kicking up dust and debris as he chased the fleeting figure.

She was fast, her movements nimble and purposeful, like someone who’d been running her whole life. He stumbled, tripping over a piece of rubble, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

“Wait!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and raw. “Please, wait!”

The world around him blurred, the ruins of the city fading into the background. All he could see was her.

But no matter how hard he pushed, no matter how fast he ran, she stayed just out of reach.

He skidded to a stop at the corner where she’d disappeared, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. The street ahead was empty, silent save for the faint whistle of the wind.

She was gone.

His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as frustration and disbelief flooded him.

She was real. She was here.

And now she was gone.

For the first time in years, the weight of the apocalypse pressed down on him, heavier than ever. The gray sky crept back, smothering the brief flash of blue. The wildflowers wilted, and the ground returned to its lifeless state.

But something had changed.

The dream wasn’t just a dream anymore. She wasn’t just a figment of his imagination or a phantom laugh on the wind.

She was out there.

She was alive.

And she was running from something.

His jaw tightened, determination settling into his bones. He didn’t know what had brought her here or what she was running from, but it didn’t matter.

He would find her.

For the first time in years, he felt alive.

Because now, he had something to chase.