Salutatorian Crush

Clearly, I have unresolved issues from my past – but whatever they are, only I truly know. Unless someone ever figures out the mystery.

The dream was long, fragmented, but strangely cohesive. I kept waking throughout the night, only to fall back in and continue from where I left off.

It took place at a private school. I wasn’t a student – more like a former graduate invited back to support the top five students of the year. Before I even arrived, I was stranded at an airport, wandered a quiet town, bumped into Andy, and ran into people from my past who either ignored me or briefly acknowledged me.

Eventually, a kind man – someone who felt like both staff and alumni – drove me to the school in a golf cart. He wore a white t-shirt and moved like someone at ease in every corner of the grounds.

Of the five students, two stood out: Andy and a girl who made my chest tighten the moment I saw her. Heart pounding. Love at first sight. I hid it well, of course – I behaved as though everything was normal. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

For context: yes, the girl was probably between 17 and 22. I don’t know my own age in the dream – could’ve been 25, could’ve been 43. But in dreams, age doesn’t carry weight unless it’s the focus. Here, it wasn’t. Dreams move by feeling, not consequence.

Preparations began for a major event – a graduation, a performance, something involving a full stadium. There were bands, a stage, a ceremony. I didn’t know my role, but I was treated as an honoured guest. I wore the school uniform – slightly unbuttoned at the top – and felt like some anime rebel. I even had hair.

I remember sitting near the stage with Andy, legs kicked up, watching the setup unfold. But my thoughts were entirely on her.

Later, the top five students were escorted into white vans surrounded by black cars. I rode in one of the trailing vehicles. Oddly, everything became invisible – I could see the passengers, floating mid-air, as if the vehicles had vanished.

I kept watching her – admiring her silhouette, her long hair, her figure – until another girl sat behind her and blocked my view. I felt irrationally annoyed.

At the next intersection, everything changed. There was a crash – loud, sudden. The escort had been hit. I rushed out. Three vans, overturned. People screamed. Others searched through wreckage. I saw Andy and Brandon being helped by strangers, eyes closed but breathing.

I was calm on the outside, but inside, frantic. Until I felt a tap on my shoulder.

She stood there, hands behind her back, completely unhurt. My relief was overwhelming, but I hid it again. We talked – I can’t recall the words, but the feeling was warm, flirtatious, real.

At the stadium, the five students were under a large curtain onstage, bent on all fours. It wasn’t strange in the dream – just part of some backstage prep. When it was over, she backed out from under the curtain, her dress rising slightly. I reached over, gently pulled it down, even adjusted her red thong with minimal contact. She smirked at me. Thanked me.

In the final moments of the dream, I hugged her. She looked up at me with beautiful eyes – a blend of Virginia’s figure, Chloe’s cheekiness, and Amber’s softness. Specifically, it reminded me of that photo I saw yesterday – Amber in black eye paint, wild and feminine all at once.

I often have high school dreams – but not always rooted in real-life events. Sometimes, everyone is in their 30s or 50s. Sometimes, it’s a gothic town or a factory. The core isn’t the setting. It’s the feeling. And this time, the feeling reminded me just how much I miss the dynamic of being in love with a Chinese woman.

Every culture brings something unique. But there’s something about the rhythm of that dynamic – soft, sharp, layered in unspoken glances – that I deeply, achingly crave.