For the next few days, Mira tried her best to ignore the dreams.
Work became busier than usual, which helped distract her mind.
Emails piled up.
Meetings stretched longer than expected.
Deadlines refused to wait.
Normally, she would complain about the workload.
But this time, she was almost grateful for it.
Because every quiet moment gave her the same thought.
What if the dream happens again?
Three nights passed without anything unusual.
No strange studios.
No mysterious conversations.
No familiar voice appearing behind her.
Part of Mira felt relieved.
Another part felt strangely disappointed.
"See?" she told herself while brushing her teeth one night.
"It was just your brain being dramatic."
Satisfied with that explanation, she went to bed.
That night, the dream returned.
Mira opened her eyes and immediately recognized the place.
The rehearsal studio.
Bright lights.
Speakers stacked near the walls.
A microphone stand near the center of the room.
She groaned.
"Seriously?"
Her voice echoed slightly in the empty room.
"Okay, brain," she muttered.
"If you're going to keep doing this, we need rules."
She folded her arms and looked around confidently.
"Rule number one," she said out loud.
"If this is my dream, I should control it."
To test this, she raised her hand dramatically.
"Lights off."
Nothing happened.
The lights stayed exactly the same.
Mira frowned.
"Okay… maybe I need to focus harder."
She closed her eyes and concentrated.
"Lights off."
Still nothing.
She opened one eye slowly.
The room remained bright.
"That's rude," she said.
"Talking to yourself again?"
The familiar voice appeared behind her.
Mira sighed before even turning around.
"You have terrible timing."
When she faced him, he looked amused.
"Why?"
"I was conducting an experiment."
"On what?"
She gestured around the room.
"This dream."
He leaned casually against a table.
"And how's the experiment going?"
Mira pointed at the lights.
"Poorly."
He glanced at them.
"They seem fine to me."
"That's the problem," she said.
"If this is my dream, I should be able to control things."
He thought about that for a moment.
"Maybe you don't control everything."
"That's literally how dreams work."
"Is it?"
Mira paused.
"Well… usually."
He shrugged.
"Maybe this dream has different rules."
She stared at him suspiciously.
"You're way too comfortable here."
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because you're technically part of my imagination."
He laughed softly.
"Then your imagination is very confident."
Mira paced across the room again, thinking.
"If I can't control the environment…" she murmured.
"Then maybe I can control the people."
She suddenly turned to him.
"Jump."
He blinked.
"What?"
"Jump."
He crossed his arms.
"No."
Mira's eyes widened.
"You can't refuse. You're my dream character."
He smiled.
"Apparently not."
She pointed accusingly.
"That's not how this works."
"Maybe your brain forgot the instructions."
She groaned dramatically.
"This is the worst dream ever."
He chuckled.
After a few minutes, Mira sat down on the floor again.
"You know what's bothering me?" she said.
"What?"
"You remember things."
He nodded.
"Yes."
"That's not normal."
"Dreams aren't normal."
She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall.
For a moment they both sat in silence.
Then Mira spoke again.
"What if this isn't just a dream?"
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
He looked at her thoughtfully.
"Then what would it be?"
"I don't know," she admitted.
"A really weird psychological experience?"
"Or," he said quietly, "a place your mind created for conversations you can't have in real life."
Mira looked at him carefully.
"That sounds suspiciously deep."
"You asked."
She laughed softly.
"Fair."
Suddenly, the studio lights flickered again.
Mira immediately recognized what that meant.
"Oh no," she groaned.
"Not again."
The dream was starting to dissolve.
The room slowly blurred around her.
Before everything faded completely, she looked at him one last time.
"Next time," she said quickly, "I'm figuring out how this place works."
He smiled slightly.
"I'll be here."
Mira woke up again.
This time her alarm clock showed 4:02 AM.
She sat up slowly, her mind racing.
This dream was no longer random.
It had continuity.
Memory.
Conversation.
Rules.
And the strangest part?
Those rules didn't belong to her.
Mira leaned back against her pillow and stared at the ceiling.
One thought echoed in her mind louder than anything else.
If I'm not controlling the dream…
then who is?