The Therapist's Office
The next day, the therapist's office felt cold and impersonal. The faint scent of disinfectant stung Sasha's nose. The city's noise was muffled behind thick windows, trapping her in a strange bubble of silence.
She didn't want to be there. But there was no choice.The dreams were growing stronger.More vivid. More terrifying. Every night.
The therapist—a middle-aged man with glasses and a neatly trimmed beard—watched her closely from behind his desk.
"How are you feeling today, Sasha?" he asked, his voice calm but firm.
Sasha didn't answer right away. She shrugged, staring at her clasped hands. How could she explain that what she dreamed was becoming reality?
"I've been having dreams again..." she whispered.
The therapist nodded, encouraging her to go on.
"They're... different," she hesitated, searching for the right words. "I see places. Explosions. People dying. They're not just nightmares. They feel real."
The therapist leaned forward, interest flickering in his eyes.
"Have you tried writing them down? Keeping a journal?"
Sasha nodded. She had started writing them in a journal—but the more she wrote, the more disturbed she felt. The dreams seemed to predict attacks that hadn't happened yet.
Sasha's Journal
That afternoon, after the session, Sasha locked herself in her room.She pulled out the journal belonging to the real Sasha—the one who had lived in this body before her.
Something compelled her to keep reading.To find answers between those foreign pages.
The journal held memories that weren't hers. The first entry spoke of a boy named Ates—the first love of the old Sasha. As she read, Sasha learned how desperately that version of her had loved him. But he had only used her.
Empty promises. Broken dates. A relationship built on lies.
Page after page revealed a selfish man who appeared only when it suited him.
A mix of disgust and sadness washed over Sasha.Those feelings no longer defined her—but she couldn't ignore the emotional scars Ates had left behind.
The Encounter with Ates
When she returned to school after a week off, she saw him.Ates stood in the middle of the courtyard—like nothing had changed.
He approached with his usual arrogant smile.
"Sasha, how are you?" he said casually. "I heard about your... suicide attempt. Is it true?"
The words hit her like a slap.But Sasha was no longer the same. She stared at him with contempt, unfazed.
"Keep your voice down," she said coldly.
Ates didn't even listen. His gaze wandered to other girls passing by.Sasha felt a knot of anger twist in her stomach, remembering the words from the journal: "I write to you and you don't reply... I go to see you."Lies. All of it had been a game.
But now—she wouldn't play anymore.
Close Your Eyes
Sasha didn't remember much—but her body reacted instinctively.
Though the old Sasha's journal had painted Ates with romantic longing, the man before her was something else entirely.
Ates radiated apathy. Coldness.Every word from his mouth felt hollow.And now—Sasha could feel it.
"The journal described him as loving, with promises of eternal devotion. But this Ates... is different. His aura—this strange, murky color around him—fills me with distrust. There is nothing behind those eyes. Only a hungry ego and a sick craving."
She was starting to see auras now—something she'd never noticed before.The energy pouring from him unsettled her deeply.
Ates wasn't interested in who she was now.He only sought to manipulate her again.
But Sasha was no longer the same.
She distanced herself from him at university.She didn't confront him—but avoided any unnecessary contact.And felt a strange relief in severing that connection.
Somehow, her instincts screamed: he would only bring her harm.
Premonition
Shortly after distancing herself from Ates—Sasha had a new dream.
She jolted awake at 3 a.m.—gasping.Her body drenched in cold sweat.
The dream had been brutal. More real than any before.
Crowds surged through the streets—first moving slowly, then with desperate urgency. A sea of humans pushed forward—chased by an invisible fear.
In the center of it all—train tracks.No trains. Just an empty corridor of steel—like a path toward something unknown.
She tried to keep walking—but turned her head—and froze.
They were there.
Four monks.Faces hidden beneath dark hoods.Three wore brown robes.They stood side by side, hands folded—motionless—like they belonged to another world.
Sasha shivered.She tried to speak.To ask.
One of the monks turned his head toward her.Slow. Deliberate.
"Why can you see us?" his eyes seemed to say.
Panic gripped her. She backed away.
Around her—the world decayed.Shopping centers were wide open—abandoned.No employees. No order.People looted, fought—like wild animals.
As she hesitated near an entrance, a white-robed priest appeared.He said nothing—but began to walk quickly.
Sasha followed. Running after him—he climbed dark stairs.She reached the top—and he was gone.
She looked around.
Underground.Humanity was living below the surface.Bullet trains zipped through endless tunnels.
Above—nothing.The sky—a war zone.Missiles streaked like deadly fireworks. Fighter jets roared overhead.
Then she saw it.
On a barren mountain peak—a scene that chilled her to the bone.
An ex-president of the United States.A man who had already held power.A man who should never return.
And yet—there he stood.Tall. Cold. Smiling.
Beside him—a priest held a Bible wrapped in a black rosary.
The priest raised his hand.The president mirrored the gesture.
More missiles launched.
"It's him," Sasha thought. "He's coming back. And the world will burn."
She wanted to scream—but no sound came.Her body trembled.
"This is not a dream," whispered a voice deep within her mind."It is what's coming."