The name escapes my lips before I can stop it. ‘‘Solnyshko...’’
The whisper of it tastes like a prayer, a desperate call, and then, from the darkness, I hear it—a soft breath. A voice. ‘‘Aslanov...’’
It’s her. I know it is. The sound of her voice, the way it vibrates in my bones, makes my heart skip. But there’s something off. Something wrong. Her voice feels distant, fading, like it’s slipping between the cracks of this nightmare.
I move, pushing through the air, my fingers trailing through the dark, and finally, I find it. Her skin. Warm, soft. I can’tsee her, but I know it’s her. I feel it, the way her presence stirs something inside me that I can’t ignore. I reach for her face, tracing the curve of her cheek with my trembling fingers. It’s real, her skin, alive beneath my touch.
But the moment my fingers graze her, she pulls away, slipping from my grasp like water. The pain of it stings deep inside me, like I’ve been cut open, but I can’t stop. I have to reach for her again. I move toward her, desperate, and this time, when I touch her, I pull her closer, my hands finding her neck, my thumb brushing over her soft skin.
Her breath hitches in my ear, a soft, shuddering exhale, and for a moment, it’s like time stops. I can’t see her, but I can feel everything. The heat of her body against mine, the way her pulse flutters beneath my fingertips. I pull her closer, desperate to close the distance between us, but when I do, she fades again. She slips away like a shadow, and I’m left with nothing but the memory of her touch.
‘‘No...’’ The word escapes my lips, but it’s lost, swallowed by the darkness around us. I try to speak again, to call out to her, but my voice is gone. It’s like my throat is closed off, and no sound comes.
Isabella; the name burns in my chest, but it’s useless, hollow. I reach for her again, but she’s gone, leaving only an aching void in her place. A hollow emptiness that threatens to consume me. My pulse is wild, my skin crawling with the need to find her. I can’t lose her. I won’t.
But I’m already losing her.
And as I stand in the dark, I hear it again. Her voice, faint, but it’s there. ‘‘Aslanov...’’
Her name is a soft whisper, so quiet, so fragile, like the last breath of something dying. It echoes, but not loud enough to reach me. Not loud enough for me to grasp it.
I stretch out my hand, but before I can touch her, the darknessswallows her whole.
And then, I’m alone again.
Isabella
The dream is always the same, but never the same. The air is thick, like the world is holding its breath. The rain isn’t falling, but I can feel it in the air. I stand in the middle of it, drenched, but the cold doesn’t reach me, not in the way it should. My skin is numb, but there’s a different kind of chill in my chest. The ache is familiar now, as if it’s been with me for longer than I can remember. It grows with each passing moment.
And then I feel it.
Him. The pulse in my chest quickens, and suddenly, everything feels real again. His presence. The heat of him in the dark. It pulls me toward him, and without thinking, I start to move. My heart races with anticipation, and I reach for him, for the warmth that promises to fill the emptiness inside me.
But when I turn to find him, he’s not there.
I stop, and for a moment, I stand alone, listening to the deafening silence. His absence fills the space between us. I call for him, my voice barely a whisper, barely a sound. ‘‘Aslanov...’’ The word is like a lifeline, a thread that pulls me toward him, but it feels like nothing more than a ghost.
I reach out into the dark, desperate, my hands trembling. And then, I feel it. His touch. The warmth of his hand, covering mine, pulling me toward him.
My breath catches as his fingers trace my cheek. The roughness of his skin against mine makes my heart stop for a beat. His touch is light, tender, but it holds something more, an aching, yearning pull. His presence fills me, consumes me in the best way. The way he moves toward me, the way his hands slide to the back of my neck, drawing me closer, I don’t want to pull away. I want to sink into him, feel him, let him be.
‘‘Aslanov...’’ I whisper again, my voice breaking on the word, and I feel his lips against my ear, his breath a shudder against my skin.
‘‘Isabella...’’
His voice, low, guttural, full of need, makes my skin burn. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, to feel him like this. To touch him, to have him close, like it could heal whatever’s broken inside me. I close my eyes, letting his warmth take me over, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat against mine. I don’t want this moment to end.
But then, it’s gone.
The warmth slips away, the pressure of his body against mine fades, and I reach out, my hands grasping at nothing but air. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to lose him, but I feel him slip further away, leaving nothing behind but the ache.
‘‘No...’’ The word comes out in a choked breath, my chest tightening with the loss. I reach, I call for him, but there’s nothing. The darkness swallows everything.
And then, just as the last remnants of him fade, I wake.
I wake with a start, gasping for air, but it’s still not enough. I’m still trapped in the remnants of the nightmare. The bed is too cold. My skin is too cold. I clutch at the sheets, feeling the ache in my chest tighten.
I don’t hear his voice anymore.
