Lately, Ethan had been writing a lot. Ideas would come to him in bursts either while he was walking outside or early in the morning before sunrise, times when his mind was not yet embroiled in the practicalities of life. Maya was familiar with this side of him. She had always admired his passionate, almost compulsive streak that pulled him into his own world. When he was deep in it, he was so focused that everything else seemed to fall away. She envied his discipline and dedication.
That wasn’t the only thing she felt. Sometimes, when he disappeared into his creative fog, she became invisible, alone, excluded. She remembered one day recently. Ethan had been typing on the computer for hours. She came to the doorway and leaned against the frame. She waited, hoping he would look up, say something, notice her. But he never did. It made her wonder about this force in him that was stronger, it seemed, than the pull of her presence.
They had talked about it before, many times. Their conversations usually followed the same pattern: Maya would tell Ethan she felt neglected, he would apologize, promising to be more mindful of her needs. For a little while, things would improve. He would make an effort to step away from his writing, spend time with her. But it wouldn’t last, drivenness was part of his nature, which she couldn’t change.
She often wondered why it was this way, why even people who love each other deeply could fall out of sync. Was it simply human nature? The inevitable differences in personalities, each shaped by unique experiences, pasts, and coping mechanisms? Perhaps it was the countless ways individuals perceive things and connect with one another. Maybe relationships were always this complex, a constant tug-of-war between individuality and togetherness.
Despite these frustrations, Maya and Ethan had something she hadn’t experienced in past relationships, the ability to talk things through, even when it was hard. When emotions flared, when Maya’s voice grew tight or Ethan stormed out of the room, they always circled back when they were calmer and clearer, until they resolved the conflict between them.
Ethan claimed this was their strength, though in unguarded moments, he questioned it. In the back of his mind, he asked himself if his need for isolation was a selfish indulgence that might one day push Maya too far. But he couldn’t turn it off; the urge to write burned too brightly. And Maya challenged him, nudging him toward the balance he knew he needed to regulate his workaholic habit he inherited from his father.
Maya had her own struggles to deal with. Ethan didn’t see how much effort it took for her to face the undercurrents swirling in her mind. They mirrored her own inner chaos, demons that haunted her most fiercely at night. That was when the nightmares came, gripping her by the throat and stealing her breath. She’d wake up gasping, drowning in the abyss of her own mind. She felt fractured, unraveled into a helpless state that she couldn’t control.
***
Tonight was one of those nights. It was just three o’clock in the morning when Maya woke from a troubling dream, a nightmare that still clung to her as if she were wrapped in too-tight clothes. Her heart raced, her chest constricted, breathing in shallow bursts. She was covered in sweat, her hands trembled. The images from her dream refused to leave, pressing in on her even as she opened her eyes.
She sat up suddenly, as if clarity had clicked on like a light in a dark room. She didn’t immediately search for Ethan. The emptiness on his side of the bed didn’t bother her this time. Instead, she stared at the shadows shifting across the wall, fragments of the dream replaying in her mind. She tried to piece them together as if they were a jigsaw puzzle. The fear, the running, the chase, it felt so real, so visceral.
For years, she had blamed her feelings of disconnection on Ethan’s absence, on the long hours he poured into his writing, leaving her to navigate her loneliness alone. But now… now the dream seemed to want to convey something important. It wasn’t about Ethan at all. It was about her. About the parts of herself she had been avoiding.
Maya swung her legs off the bed, standing on unsteady feet, wandered toward the kitchen. The cool tiles grounded her, their smoothness and chill pulling her back into the present. She filled a glass with water and stared out the window, watching the only tree in the backyard swaying in the night breeze.
In her dream, she had been chased. The fear was paralyzing as she ran endlessly, desperate to save herself from the looming danger just beyond her vision. She didn’t dare look back, certain it would swallow her whole. But at one moment, she stopped running. She froze, surrendering to her faith. She turned, her heart pounding, bracing for the worst. But to her utter surprise, the faceless threat dissolved. There was nothing there. No monster.
She walked toward Ethan’s office to share this puzzling dream. When she opened the door, the fan noise of his computer greeted her. The glow of the screen lit his face, his expression intense with a deep focus to something he loved doing.
Ethan had been lost in his writing, caught up in a character’s inner world. But even as he wrote, a part of him remained attuned to the house, the presence of Maya nearby. The sound of the door opening pulled him out of his flow. He glanced at her, immediately noticing the paleness of her face. He paused, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard. Then he completely turned in his chair, away from what he was doing, concern in his eyes. “Maya, what’s wrong?”
“I had a dream,” she said stepping into the room.
He rose, approaching her, curious. “What kind of dream?”
“A puzzling one.” She hesitated before sitting down with him on the couch, their usual spot for serious talks.
“I was running from something,” she explained. “I don’t know what, but it felt terrifying, like it would swallow me whole if it caught me. And then, I stopped running. I turned around and looked at it. And the moment I did, whatever was chasing me vanished.”
Ethan was gazing at her intently, listening to every word. When she finished, he leaned back. “Dreams are like that,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “They’re a different state of consciousness, you know? A state where the mind’s usual defenses are down, and something deeper, some might even call it our higher self, has the chance to emerge. I’ve read about this kind of thing. Some people think our dreams are where we’re pushed to grow, to shift out of old patterns into something new. They let us see things we’re not ready to face when we’re awake.”
She listened closely, her expression tightening as she pressed her hands to her stomach, as if trying to steady the storm inside her. “That’s exactly what it felt like,” she said. “Like my dream was showing me how much of my life I’ve spent letting fear control me. Fear of being alone, of not being enough, of needing someone to save me.” She paused, her voice steadier now. “But I’m tired of running. I don’t need to be afraid anymore or depend on someone else to make me feel right.”
She turned her head, meeting Ethan’s eyes for a moment before her gaze fell away, lost in thought. Silence wrapped around her. She felt the heaviness of years of anguish, years spent trying to outrun her past and fill the emptiness she carried with things outside herself.
The dream had stirred a memory she’d recently recovered during a deep meditation. It rose in her consciousness, vivid and startling. She had been three years old, and her father was leaving. She could still feel it: the ache in her chest as she watched him walk out the door. The sound of the door closing and her saying no stayed in her mind, buried. It was as if the decades between then and now had dissolved, the presence of the raw pain of separation still alive.
But it wasn’t just her father’s absence that had stayed with her. The fear of separation had shaped her entire life, driving her to seek out ways to numb the ache. She had spent years running from it, avoiding this intolerable pain at all costs. She was even willing to stay in relationships she knew were wrong for her, anything to keep emptiness at bay. And when no one was there, she’d lose herself in an imaginary world, weaving stories of a charming prince who would one day come and kiss her awake. Awake from loneliness. Awake from the nightmare her mind had made.
Even now, after all the self-work and books she’d read, Maya still felt the old fears resurface, the fear of being left behind, of not being enough, of losing her sense of safety when Ethan wasn’t there. His short absences hit her with disproportionate force, like a tornado, and the foundation of stability were gone with the wind.
But tonight, something had shifted. The dream had peeled back a layer she hadn’t been ready to face before, leaving her with great clarity. Finally, she wasn’t blaming Ethan, or anyone else, for what she felt inside her. The fear was still there, but now, she could see it for what it was, the light of illumination helped her to look at it without blinking.
Ethan’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Maya, you’ve always been stronger than you think.”
She understood that the way forward was to rely on her own inner resources, to find tranquility and peace within herself. She needed to accept her emotions without fleeing from them, to trust in herself, to have faith that she didn’t need anyone to rescue her. She was capable of being her own rescuer.
Through her qigong practice, she had learned about the nurturing energy field that surrounded all living things, a quiet strength she could connect with if she stayed open to it, to accept all sensations, both comfortable and uncomfortable, familiar and new, intense and subtle. The resonant voice of her teacher, Master Mingtong, was convincing. She felt the healing energy of chi inside of her and started to believe that she already had everything she needed within her.
She looked at Ethen before responding. “I know. This dream has taught me to stop running, to let myself be present with what scares me.” She paused, placing her hands on her stomach again, grounding herself. “I think I’ve been scared for so long that it became a habit, almost an addiction. I was so used to it. Used to you.”
“I don’t mind—”
“I know,” she interrupted him. “And I’m grateful. You’ve always been my safe haven. But I don’t want to rely on you like a crutch. I want to be strong on my own, so that when we are together, it’s not because I feel desperately lonely, but because I love you.”
“I love that,” Ethan said with sincerity. “And I love you. I want you to feel that way, always.”
Maya exhaled, a sense of lightness lifting her up. “There’s one thing, though. Sometimes, when you’re writing, I feel… disconnected from you. Like I’m here, and you’re off in a world I can’t touch.”
Ethan’s face fell slightly. “I know I get that way. It’s hard to explain… when I’m in it, everything else just fades out. But I don’t mean for it to feel like I’m shutting you out. You’re never far from my thoughts, even when I’m writing.”
“I know it’s not intentional, and I don’t want to make you feel guilty, Ethan. I’m not asking you to change what you love. I just want to feel included, even in a small way.”
Ethan smiled with relief, the creases in his forehead smoothing out. “Then let me share more of it with you, what I’m writing, what I’m thinking.”
She smiled back, warmth blooming in her chest. “I’d like that.”
Maya leaned her head on Ethan’s shoulder, a quiet comfort passing between them as they sat together.
***
Later that morning, Maya returned to her journal. She had started writing in it years ago as a way to process her feelings, though the habit had come and gone with the ebb and flow of her life. Now, it felt like the right moment to put her thoughts into words.
"Fear is a strange thing," she wrote. "For so long, it’s ruled my life, deciding who I should be and what I should do. It spread like roots through me, filling every empty space until it left me no room to breathe or grow. It whispered lies, sowed doubts, and took my joy hostage. Fear became a strategist, consuming my energy for its own survival. I see now that it only has power when I run from it. The more I sit with it, the smaller it becomes, less of a master, more of a shadow.”
She paused. The words felt true, but incomplete. She took a deep breath and let the pen move again.
"I’m learning that love can’t thrive where fear constricts. Healing the wounds of separation, the times I’ve felt unworthy, unseen, haven’t been quick or easy. Fear must be faced, not buried or pushed onto others. Only by experiencing it, by letting it flow through me, have I begun to loosen its hold. And the more I accept myself as I am, flaws and all, the less space fear has to grow. This acceptance has created room for something else entirely: fearless love."
When Ethan walked into the room a little while later, coffee cup in hand, he found her sitting by the window, bathed in the soft morning light. She looked up and smiled.
“Writing?” he asked, handing her the cup.
“Yeah,” she said, closing the journal and setting it aside.
He sat beside her, placing his hand on hers. For a moment, he said nothing, simply studying her face.
“You seem... lighter,” he said finally. “I can feel it.”
Maya smiled, turning to look out the window. “I think I am.”
Ethan glanced at the journal, then back at her. “The dream?”
She nodded. “It’s shaping everything.”
Together, they sat in silence, watching the new day begin. Outside, the world stirred to life, and Maya felt the same stirring within herself, a subtle but certain movement toward freedom. It felt real.
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