It all started with a dream.

  One warm, early morning, the sun had just started peeking through the curtains. The room was quiet, except for the rhythmic sound of the boy's breathing. But suddenly, he gasped awake, sitting straight up in his bed, his heart racing. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he glanced around the room, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream that had gripped him so tightly.

  "What's happening?" he whispered to himself, his hands trembling. "Who... was she?"

  The dream still felt so real, as if the girl he had seen was standing right in front of him. The vivid image haunted his mind, tugging at his heart in a way he couldn't explain.

  Without a second thought, he jumped out of bed, his feet hitting the floor with determination. He raced towards the wooden board leaning against the wall, where his art supplies sat, untouched for weeks. His hands fumbled as he grabbed a piece of charcoal, the sharp smell of the dust filling his nostrils. He set to work, his mind completely absorbed in recreating the girl from his dream.

  His mother, who had been busy in the kitchen, heard the sound of frantic scratching against the board and walked over with a concerned expression.

  "Alex? What are you doing?" she called out, her voice laced with concern.

  Alex didn’t even look up. His eyes were fixed on the board, his hand moving feverishly as if he were racing against time.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "I have to finish this," he murmured, barely audible.

  His mother’s heart tightened with worry. She stepped closer, her gaze falling on the sketch as she saw his intense concentration. The figure on the board was starting to take shape— a delicate girl with soft features and an otherworldly beauty, yet something about her made Alex’s fingers tremble as he drew.

  "Alex," his mother said again, gently placing her hand on his shoulder, "What’s going on? This isn’t like you. You’ve never spent hours on something like this."

  Alex flinched at her touch but didn’t pull away. His mind was too consumed with the image, the vision of the girl from his dream.

  "I—I don’t know, Mom. I saw her... she was in my dream. She... she needs to be here," he stammered, his voice quivering as if the dream had left an emotional scar he couldn’t erase. "She’s real, I know it. I have to make her real."

  His mother felt a surge of fear for her son. She had seen this kind of obsession before, and it often led to a dangerous place.

  "Alex," she said softly, "you have to stop. Whatever you saw in that dream... it’s just a dream. Come eat something. Come take a break. You’re exhausting yourself."

  But Alex didn’t hear her. His eyes never left the board, his hand moving faster as the charcoal began to fill in the details of the girl's face. He was so immersed that the world around him seemed to fade into nothing.

  By midday, his mother came back, bringing him a sandwich and a glass of water. She set them down beside him, but Alex didn’t even glance at them. His hand was steady, almost mechanically, as he worked to bring the girl to life. Shadows, details, expression—everything was there, as if the image itself had been born from his own soul.

  The day passed, and the room grew darker. His mother, helpless, sat in a chair nearby, her eyes never leaving him.

  "Alex," she said, her voice breaking with emotion, "You’ve been drawing all day. Don’t you see? You’ve stopped living in the real world."

  Alex finally paused, wiping the sweat from his brow, his face pale and exhausted. He looked at the girl he had created, the charcoal still smudged on his fingers. He felt a deep, unspoken connection to her, like she was more than just a drawing. She was someone he had to meet, someone he needed to understand.

  "I can’t stop, Mom," he whispered, his voice almost distant. "She’s real. She’s real to me."

  His mother sighed, her heart heavy with worry. She could see the depth of his emotions, the way his obsession had taken hold of him. She could only watch as her son was pulled deeper into a world that seemed to exist only in his mind.

  And so, Alex continued drawing, from morning to evening, consumed by the vision of the girl from his dream. The lines he drew weren’t just marks on paper; they were the bridge to something unknown, a place where reality and fantasy blurred together.