Page 1 of Someone Like You

H e didn’t know them — the happy couple laughing side by side by the stove.

The space was dimly lit, the orange glow of a crackling fireplace casting long shadows across the room, outlining the silhouettes of the man and the woman with a wobbly golden halo.

Their laughter filled the cinnamon-scented air — a deep rumble and a bubbly giggle mingled into an oddly heartwarming sound.

The postcard-like perfection of the scene was both surreal and mesmerising — irresistible .

He was disappointed that he couldn’t see it more clearly.

He never could. The dream was always blurry and, despite standing in the middle of it, he always felt like it was out of reach, in another reality.

Outside, glimpses of brown and grey poked out of the endless expanse of snow as the sky at the horizon faded into shades of purple and pink .

There was something peaceful about such surreal scenery, something that enhanced the warmth and the cosiness within the room and between the couple.

He wanted to belong here.

To this place.

To these people and what they had.

But he wasn’t allowed to get to them.

Every time he thought he was finally close enough to grasp a shred of their joy, he was jolted from the vision and back into his bed, as unfamiliar as the room around it.

Tired.

Sad.

Empty.

He hardly ever dreamed nowadays, but when he did, it was always them — the laughing couple out of his reach who made happiness look so easy and attainable.

And every time, when his eyes cracked open, any memory of them was gone, leaving behind a sense of incompletion he’d never been able to make sense of.