“And where is that?”
“At the bus station. The night Sam died.”
“And do they end the same?” she asks.
I look down at my hands. “I haven’t gotten there yet…”
Yuki takes this in. “I see.”
“I know,” I say. I lean my head against the window glass. “I just wish I knew what they meant…”
Yuki stares into her tea in thought. “You know … when my grandma passed away a few years ago, I had dreams about her, too. And they were all a bit similar,” she says. “In one of them, I dropped her favorite teapot and tried to put the pieces back together before she came in. In another one, I remember hiding my test scores from her. But she always found out. I remember the look on her face and how sad I kept making her. I didn’t want to go back to sleep. I didn’t want to upset her all over again…”
“Did the dreams eventually stop?” I ask.
Yuki nods. “Once I finally told my mom. She said something that helped me understand what they meant.”
I lean forward. “What did she say?”
Yuki takes a sip of her tea. “She said that, sometimes, dreams mean the opposite of what they show us. That we shouldn’t understand them exactly as they are. It can mean something in our life is out of balance. Or maybe we’re holding in too much. Especially when we lose someone, dreams show us the opposite of what it is we need to find balance again.”
“And what was that for you?”
“It took me a while to figure it out…” Yuki says into her tea. “I guess, all my life, I was worried about disappointing her. I just needed to remember how much she loved me. That she always had, no matter what happened.” She looks at me. “Maybe you need to seek the opposite, too. Figure out how to bring balance into your life.”
I think about this. “And how do I do that? Find the opposite…”
“I’m not really sure,” Yuki says regretfully. “It’s different for everyone.”
I stare out the window again, unsure of myself.
Yuki touches my shoulder. “But sometimes they’re just dreams,” she says. “And they might mean nothing at all. So don’t worry too much, alright?”
“Maybe you’re right,” I say. “I just wish I could get a regular night’s sleep…”
Yuki looks away in thought. “You know, I might have something that could help,” she says, setting down her tea. “Come…”
I follow Yuki to the counter where she left her bag. She opens it, searching through the pockets. When she finds what she’s looking for, she turns around and places something in the palm of my hand.
“Here…”
“What’s this?” I say, turning it in my hand. “A crystal?”
Pristine white, pearly, and translucent, it almost glows from within, giving off its own light.
“It’s selenite,” Yuki says. “My mother gave it to me. It’s supposed to bring you luck and protection. It also wards away negative energy. Maybe it can protect you from bad dreams.”
I run my fingers over it. “How does it work?”
“You just carry it with you,” she says softly. “It’s named after the moon goddess, you know. You see”—she turns the crystal over in my hand, revealing its sides—“selenite is said to hold a drop of light that dates back to the beginning of the universe. People believe it’s connected to something outside of our world…”
I study the faces of the crystal. It feels warm in my hand, glinting back at me like moonlight. “You really believe in it?”
“I like to think it’s protected me,” Yuki says, nodding. “Now it’s yours, though. It’s also a bit fragile, so be careful.”
I hold the crystal close to me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“I hope this brings you some peace,” Yuki says. “I have a feeling you’ll need it.”
* * *
It’s still raining by the time Yuki leaves the store. I haven’t seen a customer in hours, so I decide to close the place up early. At home, I help my mom make dinner. There’s this Parmesan from a specialty store an hour away that she buys, and it pairs well with mushroom and spinach pasta. High-quality cheese is one of the few luxuries allowed in our household. My mom always says, “It’s an investment.” I never argue with her on this.
I set the table as my mother pulls the breadsticks from the air fryer. The news is playing in the living room with the sound muted. My mother likes to leave the TV on throughout the day. She says it makes the house feel less empty. Usually during dinner, my mother likes to share strange theories her students come up with in her classes. Like the one where we’re all living in a video game controlled by a twelve-year-old girl on her brother’s computer. But tonight is quieter than usual. Like we both have something on our minds. “You got a letter in the mail today,” she says after a while. “I left it on the counter.”