Samara

Three months later

Ayla is running through the most beautiful field I’ve ever seen.

‘Ayla, where are we? How did we shift?’ I ask her.

She’s quiet a moment. ‘I think we’re dreaming. This is ... real, but also ... not real.’

‘What does that mean?’ I ask her.

The air here feels so clean and crisp, the flowers are a perfect balance of scent without being cloying. The sun is shining on our back, and it feels warm but not too hot.

Ayla begins to slow, going from run, to jog, ...