My Dream Man

 story titled "My Dream Man"

My Dream Man

Since I was a young girl, I always imagined what my dream man would be like. Not just his looks, but his soul, his voice, his walk — the way he would understand me even in silence.

His name? I don’t know yet. But in my heart, he already lives.

He is tall, not just in height, but in vision. His eyes shine like someone who’s been through pain but still chooses love. When he speaks, the world listens — not because he’s loud, but because his words are kind and wise.

He’s the kind of man who prays before decisions and dances when he’s happy, even if no one’s watching. He loves deeply — not only me, but the children we’ll have, our families, our culture. He doesn't show off, but his presence alone makes a room feel safer.

I met him once — in a dream. I was standing by the riverside in my village. The wind whispered my name, and I turned. He was there, in white, smiling like the sun had told him a secret. He didn’t say a word. He just held out his hand. And without fear, I followed.

In that dream, we built a life: simple, honest, joyful. We cooked together, laughed until our stomachs hurt, and even argued — but never slept angry. We danced to the rhythm of our hearts, not just music.

Then I woke up.

And though I haven’t met him in real life yet, I know he’s out there. Somewhere. My dream man is real — maybe late, but never lost.

And until the day our paths cross, I keep loving him in advance — through my prayers, my growth, and my hope.

Because I believe, someday soon, dreams do walk into real life.