Chapter 9: In the Dream
The morning light filtered through the thatched window, casting golden rays over the room. A gentle breeze rustled the curtains, and the sweet scent of wildflowers floated in. Avrielle stirred slowly, her limbs still tangled with Ian's. His arm was draped protectively around her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
For a moment, she lay still, watching the way the light danced on his skin, listening to his soft breathing.
Then she smiled.
This was her favorite moment of the day—when the world was quiet, and it was just the two of them in their own little bubble of warmth.
Ian groaned sleepily, shifting. "You're staring," he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.
She giggled. "How do you know? Your eyes are closed."
"I always know when it's you."
Avrielle turned to face him, brushing his messy hair back. "Good morning, husband."
Ian cracked one eye open. "Mmm, I'll never get tired of hearing that."
He leaned forward and pressed a sleepy kiss to her lips. It was soft and slow, and full of unspoken promises. Avrielle curled closer into him, letting the warmth of his body chase away the last bits of sleep.
"I still can't believe this is our life now," she whispered against his chest.
Ian pulled her closer, his chin resting atop her head. "I know. It feels like a dream."
They lay like that for a while, wrapped in silence and each other, until the chirping of birds and the distant clang of pots from the village reminded them it was time to get up.
They dressed slowly, still stealing kisses and smiles in between. Avrielle tied her long, wavy hair into a loose braid, while Ian tried—and failed—to fix his tousled curls. She laughed as she came up behind him, helping him neaten it.
"You look like you fought the wind," she teased.
"I did. In my dreams."
Hand in hand, they stepped outside, where a new day awaited. The villagers greeted them with warm smiles and offerings—fresh fruit, honeyed bread, and flower garlands. Everyone treated them like royalty, and neither Ian nor Avrielle ever questioned why.
They were loved, after all. Celebrated. Meant to be.
Avrielle walked barefoot along the stone path leading to the river, where Ian had already rolled up his sleeves and dipped his feet into the cool water. He turned at the sound of her footsteps and stretched out his hand toward her.
She took it without hesitation, sitting beside him and letting her toes meet the stream.
"Do you ever wonder what life would've been like... if we hadn't ended up here?" she asked suddenly, gazing at the ripples.
Ian turned to her, his expression thoughtful. "Sometimes. But then I look at you, and I know I wouldn't trade this for anything."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. "You always say the right thing."
"That's because you're the only thing that feels right," he replied softly.
The day passed in slow, sweet motions—cooking together in their small clay-walled kitchen, stealing kisses over spice-scented pots, helping the villagers with chores. Ian carried baskets of grain while Avrielle laughed at the way the children tried to race him. She braided wildflowers into the little girls' hair while Ian carved wooden toys for them.
Every glance between them was filled with affection. Every touch, electric. Though their surroundings were humble, their hearts felt full.
As the sun began to dip, casting a golden haze across the village, Ian took Avrielle to a quiet meadow just beyond the trees. The grass swayed gently underfoot, and fireflies had begun to twinkle in the shadows.
He spread out a soft woven blanket, and they sat down together, the fading light warming their skin.
"I brought something," Ian said, reaching into his satchel. He pulled out a small journal, hand-bound with string. "I've been writing things down. Things I want to remember."
Avrielle blinked in surprise. "You kept a journal?"
He nodded, flipping it open. "Just little things. Like the way you wrinkle your nose when you're thinking. Or how you hum in your sleep. I never want to forget this."
She took the journal from his hands and read a few lines aloud:
"March 3rd – She combed my hair while I sulked about the burnt bread. I didn't tell her, but I liked the way she combed my hair more than the bread."
Her heart swelled. "Ian..."
He watched her with quiet adoration. "You make me want to remember everything."
She set the journal down and leaned in, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. The meadow faded away around them, the stars beginning to blink to life above their heads.
They lay back on the blanket, watching the sky in silence.
"Do you ever feel like... we've known each other forever?" she asked.
"I do," he whispered. "Like something brought us here for a reason."
Avrielle turned to face him, brushing her fingers along his jaw. "Then promise me something."
"Anything."
"No matter what happens… we stay like this. Together."
He took her hand, kissed her knuckles one by one. "I promise."
They didn't need anything else—no grand declarations, no logic or reason. In that moment, they believed in their love more than anything else.
As the stars grew brighter, they walked back to their hut, hand in hand, wrapped in the comfort of routine and the enchantment of their bond.
Inside, the room was quiet and warm, the scent of lavender lingering in the air from the sachets tucked beneath their pillows. Ian wrapped his arms around her from behind as she unbraided her hair, placing soft kisses on her neck.
"Let me hold you," he whispered.
She turned, letting him lift her into his arms, carrying her to the bed like he had done on the first night. They lay there, limbs entwined, hearts beating in a rhythm that only belonged to them.
As sleep claimed them, neither knew that this perfect, golden dream was not entirely their own.
But for now, it didn't matter.
In this place, they were husband and wife.
In love.
In peace.
In a dream they believed was real.