I can never remember the dream I had. And yet…

   And yet the feeling that I’ve lost something stays with me for a long time after I wake up.

   I’m always searching… searching for something, or someone.”

   In Your Name, Taki and Mitsuha begin their story with a monologue that has haunted me ever since the first time I watched that film.

   Back then, at seventeen, the fantastical story about two people bound by an invisible thread of fate was what led me to believe even more in the dreams I had every week.

   I didn’t understand the reason behind them, but waking up with the sensation that I was searching for someone was real — not fantasy. Still, as time went on, I found myself hiding that feeling as I grew older. At first, the dreams were frequent, but before long the space between them began to widen.

   The last one I had, three months before travelling to Brazil, I was trapped inside a cave made of reddish earth. The air was warm, yet I wasn’t sweating. On the contrary, the breeze that slipped in through a crack ahead of me was refreshing, bringing a certain lightness to where I stood.

   In the corner to the right, near the exit, there was a piece of paper tied up with some sort of worn cord. And there, on that uneven yellowed surface, was a face drawn in pencil — I had no idea who it was, whether they were someone I knew in real life or not. Even so, my chest filled with a pure feeling, bringing with it the certainty that I did, in fact, know who that person was.

   Not only that, but I also felt an overwhelming need to go after him, to find him and hold him, no matter where he might be.

   But then I woke up.

   The dream dissolved and became nothing more than a memory, yet the feeling that a part of me was missing lingered. For hours. Days. Weeks.

   Perhaps I really was an idiot — or simply wasn’t thinking straight due to the sleep and physical exhaustion that had been weighing on me. Because there I was, lying in the hotel bed, that same feeling stirring unease in my chest once more.

   For several days now, something had been making my nights harder. No matter how tired I was, physically and mentally, sleep was beginning to feel like a genuine battle. Taking medication wasn’t an option. I didn’t want the trouble of telling Dr. Smith, my therapist, that there was a chance I might be starting to suffer from insomnia again.

   Even so, I had a sense that that night would be different. A voice at the back of my mind told me that a good night’s sleep was waiting for me, and because of that I was already prepared for bed — even looking forward to it.

   I had just come out of the shower, wearing my pyjama bottoms and a long-sleeved shirt I’d nicked from Liam, my brother, a few months earlier. I was already quite comfortable in bed, warm beneath the covers, when I picked up my phone. Phillip, on the other hand, had been asleep for some time. He’d been so tired that he’d chosen to have dinner in the room instead, and he hadn’t taken long to lie down once we’d finished eating.

   I shifted onto my side as I opened Instagram. The sheer number of notifications was something I’d never quite grown used to, and most of the time it made me too lazy to check them. When I was bored, I’d sometimes go through them one by one, trying to clear a few, but more often than not I simply skimmed them and paid more attention to recent tags or comments.

   Looking for Pedro’s profile had been one of the first things I did when I lay down, before the low-battery notification forced me out of bed. Unfortunately, I’d left my charger in the hotel van, and although I’d noticed that before dinner, I hadn’t bothered about it at the time. Still, I had no choice but to go and fetch it, since Phillip had already plugged his in before going to sleep and it was the only one I’d brought with me.

   While speaking to the staff at reception, I ended up finding Pedro’s profile. Luckily, I remembered that Aly had posted a photo the day we went to BlueHouse and had tagged Pedro, which made it a bit easier to find him through her following list.

   Me:

   Okay, ignore what I said.

   I typed that message to Pedro after sitting down in an armchair I’d found near the lift on my floor. Tired as I was, I still wanted to apologise for disappearing like that.

   

   He’d been kind enough to take us to BlueHouse and to keep me company earlier while everyone else was asleep. The least I could’ve done was say a proper goodbye and maybe offer him an autograph or something. Considering Pedro was apparently a fan, I assumed that would’ve been something he’d appreciate, wouldn’t it?

   Me:

   What were you watching?

   Pedro:

   Nothing special, just some random videos.

   Me:

   The random ones are the best.

   I start off watching videos about cakes, and before I know it I’m watching how to build a model rocket.

   Pedro:

   Cakes?

   Me:

   Yeah… I can’t bake, so I watch other people doing it.

   The last time I’d ventured into baking, the result had turned out far more like charcoal than the lemon cake I’d been trying to make. And that was with Sofya — who, unlike me, was actually good at baking — helping me over a video call.

   

    I’m fairly sure me falling asleep halfway through the call had been the real cause of the disaster.

    Pedro:

    You should make a video teaching people how to bake one of those cakes.

   Me:

   How am I supposed to teach something I don’t know how to do? Haha.

   Besides, I’m not exactly good at recording videos, in case you hadn’t noticed.

   Pedro:

   Who said that?

   I remember a video you filmed yourself that went viral.

   Me:

   Which video?

   I don’t remember anything like that.

   Pedro:

   David Connor in: The Flying Cockroach.

   I’d known Pedro for two days and he was already taking the piss out of me. This was why you couldn’t give fans too much space…

   I’m not even afraid of cockroaches. What happened that day was taken completely out of context in the video. Evie, my sister, had said it was a venomous spider. Was I wrong to run from a supposed venomous spider?

   Me:

   No comments on that.

   At least I didn’t faint when I saw Phillip :)

    Pedro:

   Oi, that was a low blow.

   Me:

   Hahaha

   I’ll be right back.

   I got up from the armchair. It was far too cold to stay sitting there, and my phone was clinging to its last three percent of battery, so I headed down the corridor towards my room.

   I’d never been the sort of person to notice things like that, but why was there a painting right in the middle of the corridor? I mean, did anyone actually stop to look at it, or was it just there for decoration?

   I tried to ignore the thought and kept walking. I hadn’t taken many steps before I reached my door. I turned the handle, but it didn’t open. I frowned slightly and pushed it again, which did nothing.

  Bloody hell, I thought.

   I’d forgotten that the door locked automatically when it shut. I knocked on the wood.

   “Phillip?” I raised my voice slightly as I knocked again. “Phillip?”

   I don’t know why I bothered calling him. Phill slept in such a way that not even a nuclear bomb could wake him. Even knowing how deep a sleeper he was, I still tried ringing his mobile a few times, which was equally pointless.

   “Phillip!?”

   The door opposite mine opened, revealing a middle-aged man with a less than pleased expression. He said something I didn’t understand, then slammed his door shut. Even without understanding Portuguese, it was perfectly clear what he wanted: silence.

   Not wanting to disturb the other guests, I stood there quietly, cursing my lack of attention and my bad luck. I eventually walked back down the corridor towards the lift, turned left and headed to the other hallway where Aly’s room was.

   She didn’t take long to answer after I knocked.

   “What on earth is that?” I asked as soon as I saw her.

   Aly was wrapped in a blanket from head to toe, with something green on her face. Some sort of cream, perhaps.

   “What do you want?” she asked, blunt and direct.

   “Can I sleep here?” I asked, pulling my best abandoned-puppy face. “Phill’s asleep and I’ve locked myself out of the room.”

   She looked me up and down. Aly could judge someone down to their soul like no one else.

   “Absolutely not,” was all she said before shutting the door in my face.

   I’d have to apologise to her every day for the rest of my life to make her forget the time we’d shared a room and I’d left the door open… She was probably more annoyed about the dogs from the neighbouring room wandering in than about the door itself.

   With nowhere else to go, I returned to the armchair in the corridor, feeling like an idiot for leaving the keycard in my room. My phone vibrated in my hand.

   It was a new message:

   Pedro:

   I’m going to sleep. Or at least try.

   Good night.

   Sometimes the universe had a way of handing you a solution so quickly it was almost frightening.

   Me:

   Do you mind if I come over?

   Pedro:

   Come here?

   Now?

   Me:

   It’s urgent.

   Please?

   

   Pedro:

   Okay, you can come.

   He sent another message right after, but I couldn’t read it because my phone died. After two years, I supposed it really was time to replace it — preferably with one whose battery actually lasted.