The pediatric wing of St. Michael’s had become almost familiar to John over the past few days. Nurses greeted him with polite smiles as he passed, a few nodding in recognition. He hadn’t expected to spend so much time here, but every visit with Noah seemed to stretch a little longer than planned. The boy had a way of drawing him in, his ideas so vivid and unrestrained that John often found himself thinking about them long after he left.
Today, he brought a new notebook and a small model of a mountain—a gift he’d found at a shop on his way. Noah loved creating and imagining, but John had realized that seeing something tangible helped bring the dream to life for him.
When John stepped into the room, Noah’s face lit up immediately. The boy was sitting up in bed, surrounded by pages of sketches from the previous days. Despite the hospital’s fluorescent lighting and sterile walls, Noah’s energy seemed to brighten the room.
“John!” Noah exclaimed, waving him over. “Look, I drew the lake we talked about! The one with the stars.”
John smiled, setting his bag on the side table. “Let me see.”
Noah held up a drawing of a sprawling lake that reflected an endless sky full of stars, even in the daylight. It wasn’t just the image that caught John’s attention but the detail—the tiny ripples in the water, the faint glow of light around the stars. The boy had an eye for wonder, an ability to capture magic in the mundane.
“This is incredible, Noah,” John said, genuinely impressed. “You really nailed the reflection. It looks like something out of a dream.”
Noah beamed, his pale cheeks flushing slightly. “Do you think she’ll like it? The villain?”
John hesitated, unsure how much to say. “I think anyone would be impressed by this. But we’ll have to wait and see.”
Noah’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “When do I get to meet her?”
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“Soon,” John replied, sidestepping the question. He still hadn’t made the call. It wasn’t just hesitation about working with Dream Catcher—though that weighed heavily on him—it was the growing bond with Noah. The more time they spent together, the more he felt the weight of the boy’s dream resting on his shoulders.
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They spent the next hour building out the dream world. Noah worked with colored pencils, sketching forests with whispering trees and rivers of light, while John took notes on the boy’s ideas. Sometimes, Noah would pause to explain why a certain detail mattered—how the trees should whisper secrets that could only be understood if you truly listened, or how the rivers should glow because they carried dreams instead of water.
“You’ve really thought this through,” John said as Noah described a mountain covered in glowing crystals.
Noah nodded, his expression serious. “I want it to be the kind of place where you can just… be. No rules, no sickness, no bad stuff. Just a place where everything feels right.”
John’s chest tightened. “That sounds like a world worth dreaming about.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. John watched as Noah carefully shaded the edges of a tree, his small hands moving with precision. It struck John how fragile the boy seemed—how every movement, every word, carried an undercurrent of effort. But Noah’s spirit was anything but fragile. It was bold and alive, pulsing with a determination that John found humbling.
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The next few days followed a similar rhythm. Each visit brought new ideas, new sketches, and new pieces of the dream world they were crafting together. Noah’s excitement was infectious, and John found himself looking forward to their time more than he cared to admit.
On the fifth day, Noah handed John a drawing he’d been working on in secret. It showed a figure standing at the edge of a glowing river, their silhouette faint but unmistakably familiar.
“That’s you,” Noah said, his voice quiet but sure. “You’re part of the dream too.”
John stared at the drawing, a lump forming in his throat. He hadn’t realized how much this meant to the boy—not just the dream itself but John’s presence in it. It wasn’t just about crafting a world; it was about sharing it.
“You’re sure about this?” John asked, his voice soft.
Noah nodded. “I want you to be there. You get it, you know? What I mean about villains and freedom and everything. It wouldn’t feel right without you.”
John swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “Then I guess I’d better make sure this dream is everything you imagined.”
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That evening, as John left the hospital, the weight of Noah’s words lingered with him. The boy’s trust, his belief in John—it was more than he deserved, more than he felt capable of carrying. But it also gave him purpose. For the first time in years, he felt like what he was doing mattered.
The sleek black card burned a hole in his pocket. He hadn’t dialed the number yet, hadn’t reached out to the one person who could make Noah’s dream come true. But now, after days of seeing the boy’s vision come to life, he knew it was time.
Walking through the quiet streets, John pulled out the card, his fingers tracing the silver-etched number. Memories he had tried to bury surged forward—her voice, her laughter, the way she had once looked at him before everything fell apart.
With a steadying breath, he dialed.