I woke to sunlight.
Not the cracked white glare of neon. Not the sickly blue wash of billboard screens.
Real sunlight, slow and golden, pooling across the grass.
The air was thick with it, the scent of jasmine, heavy and sweet, wrapping around me like a blanket pulled from some forgotten childhood dream.
She was there, sitting under a tree with blossoms dusting her hair, smiling like she'd been waiting for me forever.
When she stood and crossed the field, her feet made no sound against the earth. Her hand found mine, warm, familiar, certain.
"I'm happy you're here," she said.
I tried to answer, but the words caught somewhere between memory and dream.
Maybe I didn't need words anymore.
I followed her toward the water's edge, where the river caught the sky and the sky caught the river, and the whole world blurred into something soft and endless.
No rain.
No rust.
No city.
Just jasmine on the wind and a hand that would never let go.
It wasn't real.
But it was ours, forever.
YOU ARE READING
Closed Loop
Short StoryIn a future where technology can simulate emotion and fabricate the past, one man falls into a memory he didn't live, but can't live without. Closed Loop explores synthetic intimacy, identity, and the blurred line between real and remembered.
