Whispered in the Quiet Hours
By Olivia Salter
Word Count: 916
When Anika's dreams are haunted by her late ex-boyfriend, she must confront unfinished business, unanswered questions, and a truth that could finally set her free—or leave her broken forever.
The fan rattled in lazy circles overhead, the sound filling the small apartment like a hollow heartbeat. Anika lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wasn’t coming, but she refused to open her phone. She couldn’t bear to scroll through curated versions of lives she didn’t care about.
Instead, her mind wandered, uninvited, to Jonah. It had been months since their breakup. His name was a wound she didn’t dare press, but tonight, the edges felt raw.
She closed her eyes and let the quiet take her.
She found herself standing in the park where they used to meet after class. The air smelled like cut grass and damp earth, and the bench—their bench—looked just as she remembered.
But Jonah wasn’t just a memory. He was sitting there, alive in the way dreams make the impossible seem ordinary.
“Hey, Ani,” he said, his lopsided grin unchanged.
Her breath caught. “Jonah?”
He tilted his head. “You don’t call anymore.”
It felt like a punch to the chest. “I… you left,” she managed, though the words felt clumsy.
Jonah’s expression softened, his smile fading. “I didn’t mean for it to be this way.”
She blinked, and the park dissolved, her room rushing back around her. The fan hummed its empty tune, and she sat up, clutching her chest.
It wasn’t just a dream. It felt too real.
The second night, Jonah was waiting for her.
“You look tired,” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter of the apartment they once shared.
“I am tired,” she shot back, folding her arms. “What is this? Why are you here?”
He spread his hands. “You tell me. It’s your dream.”
Her anger flared. “No, you don’t get to be cryptic and charming, Jonah. That’s not fair.”
His face flickered with regret, the kind that always came too late. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ani. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
She snorted. “The right thing? You ghosted me without so much as a goodbye.”
Jonah stepped closer, his expression pained. “I didn’t ghost you. I—” He hesitated, as if searching for the words. “I was scared. I thought I’d ruin you if I stayed.”
Her voice cracked. “And leaving didn’t?”
The dream unraveled, and Anika woke with her pillow damp from tears.
The next morning, Anika called Layla, gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Hey, Lay,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Have you talked to Jonah lately?”
There was a long pause, heavy with something unspoken.
“Ani…” Layla’s voice broke. “You don’t know?”
Anika’s stomach dropped. “Know what?”
“Jonah died three weeks ago. Car accident.” Layla’s words came slowly, as if they might hurt less that way. “He was on his way to see you.”
The world tilted, and Anika sank onto her couch. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” she whispered.
“I thought… I thought someone would’ve,” Layla said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
The call ended, but the words hung in the air. He was on his way to see you.
That night, she didn’t fight the dreams.
When Jonah appeared, she was ready.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she demanded, standing in the doorway of the bedroom where she found him waiting.
“I needed you to know,” Jonah said simply.
“Know what?”
“That I loved you,” he said, his voice thick. “I still do, I always have.”
Anika’s anger boiled over. “You don’t get to say that now. You don’t get to—haunt me with something you should’ve told me while you were alive.”
Jonah looked at her, his eyes full of something she couldn’t name. “I was coming to tell you, Ani. The night I died, I was finally ready to fix things.”
Her breath hitched. “You were coming to see me?”
He nodded, his voice trembling. “I wanted to make it right. But I didn’t get the chance.”
Tears streamed down her face. “So what now? You just show up in my dreams, say your piece, and leave me to pick up the pieces?”
Jonah stepped closer, his form shimmering. “No. I’m here so you can let me go. You’re stronger than you think, Ani. You don’t need me anymore.”
Her voice cracked. “I don’t know how to let you go.”
“You will,” Jonah said softly. He smiled, his image fading. “You always were the strong one.”
The sun was rising when Anika woke. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel like the air was pressing down on her chest.
Over the following days, she began to let go in small ways. She visited their park, sitting on their bench and allowing herself to cry. She packed up the box of his things, keeping only a Polaroid from her birthday—the one where they were laughing so hard they were blurry.
But something still lingered.
The twist came two weeks later when she opened her email.
At the top of her inbox was an unread message from Jonah, dated the day of the accident.
Her heart pounded as she opened it.
It wasn’t an apology or a confession of guilt. It was a single line: “You’ve always been my home.”
Anika stared at the screen, tears spilling over but not from grief.
For the first time, they felt like closure.
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