HEY READERS!

I’M REWRITING DELONIX BECAUSE IT WAS MY VERY FIRST BOOK AND IT HAD A LOT OF PLOT HOLES I NEVER NOTICED WHILE I WAS STILL LEARNING HOW TO WRITE. I ABSOLUTELY LOVE URBAN FANTASY, ESPECIALLY THE CLASSIC CLICHÉ THEMES THAT COME WITH IT.

UPDATES FOR THIS STORY WILL BE INCREDIBLY SLOW, BUT I REALLY HOPE YOU’LL STILL ENJOY IT. THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH ME! 💛

HAS ANYONE EVER HAD A DREAM THAT FEELS MORE LIKE A MEMORY?

The kind that clung to your skin long after waking, thick with a strange nostalgia for something you couldn’t quite grasp. The frustrating part of no being able to remember clearly but felt the ache that left behind.

That was me now.

The dream always began the same. I was younger—maybe eight or nine—lying in the grass with the sun warming my skin and the breeze whispering through the air. There was a scent, too. Sweet.  Honeysuckle and strawberry. The place was unrecognizable. It didn’t look like anywhere I’d ever been.

And still, something in my bones knew it. Like I belonged there.

"Red! Be careful!"

A voice, feminine and warm. It floated from somewhere behind me, but I barely registered it, too busy rolling through the grass, giggling as the blades tickled my arms. My fingers dug into the dirt, grounding me in that strange, perfect moment—until a sharp pain bloomed at the center of my forehead.

“Ouch!” I cried, clutching my head as tears burned behind my eyes. I looked around, confused. There were no trees, no poles, nothing in sight to hit.

“No, there isn’t,” someone answered beside me.

I whip around, startled. Standing there is a boy, older than me, maybe seventeen or eighteen. He’s watching me with an expression I can’t read—part amusement, part curiosity. He doesn’t look familiar, but something about him makes my stomach twist, like I should know him.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice small.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped forward and pressed two fingers gently to my forehead, where it still throbbed. His touch sent a cold shiver through me, though it wasn’t unpleasant.

“You hit your head on my back,” he murmured. His voice was soft, oddly soothing. “Are you hurt?”

But I barely heard the words. I couldn’t stop staring at his eyes—pale, piercing blue, the exact color of the sky just before it gave in to twilight.

Blue. My favorite color.

“Mine’s green,” he murmured, almost to himself, then added, “I mean, that’s my favorite color.”

A chill crept over my spine. I hadn’t said that out loud.

“No, you didn’t,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

My breath hitched. “How are you doing that? Are you a witch?”

That made him laugh. A quiet, low sound that vibrated through me. “I’m no witch, Little Red.”

“Little?” I frowned. “Excuse me, mister, I turn nine today.”

Another soft laugh. There was something warm in it, something that made my irritation melt just a little.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He opened his mouth.

The world flickered.

His voice dissolved into static. His figure blurred. I tried to hold on, desperate to keep him from vanishing—but it was too late.

Splash!

I bolted upright, gasping as cold water drenched my skin. My heart slammed against my ribs as I blinked the dream away, now replaced with harsh fluorescent light and the sound of laughter.

Above me stood the culprit—Aunt May—with an empty jug in her hands and zero remorse on her face.

“What the hell, Aunt?” I sputtered, wiping water from my eyes.

“Quit your whining and get ready, young lady. It’s your first day of college.” She yanked the blanket off me with an unnecessary flourish.

I groaned, dragging myself upright. “Yay. Another death trap. Can’t wait to leap into one right after escaping another.”

Aunt May snorted, already halfway down the hall. “Oh, come on, Red. Maybe this time it’ll be different. Exciting, even.”

I narrowed my eyes.

The last time she used the word “exciting,” I ended up in the emergency room with a sprained wrist and a mouthful of glitter after she convinced me to try “birthday party cliff-jumping.” Yeah. Never again.

She must’ve sensed my skepticism because she just cackled and vanished around the corner.

Muttering curses under my breath, I peeled off my soaked pajamas and shuffled toward the bathroom. Just as I was about to close the door, her voice floated back to me.

“Almost forgot.”

I turned, expecting another jug or maybe a prank. Instead, she surprised me. She pulled me into a hug—brief, but warm, her arms wrapping around me with an odd tightness.

“Happy birthday, Red,” she said softly, then disappeared down the hallway.

I stared at the empty doorway for a long moment before turning back to the mirror. Water dripped from my hair, soaking through my pajama shirt, but that wasn’t what caught my attention.

It was my face.

The expression staring back at me was the same one from the dream—wide-eyed, confused, searching for something just out of reach.

I’d had that dream too many times now. The same boy. The same place. That same strange ache of knowing him without knowing him. Every time, I tried to hold on—to memorize the details, to pull them into the waking world like pieces of a puzzle I wasn’t allowed to finish. But it never worked. The moment my eyes opened, he vanished like smoke between my fingers.

Who are you?

Why do I keep dreaming about you?

And why—despite everything—do I feel like I miss you?

Aunt May’s voice cut through the fog in my head. “Red, you’re running late!”

“Coming!” I called, shaking the thoughts away.

Right. Today was my nineteenth birthday.

I threw on my usual armor—hoodie, jeans, sneakers. Pulled my curls into a hasty ponytail. I didn’t need anything fancy. I just needed to get through the day.

The smell of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee greeted me at the bottom of the stairs. Aunt May stood in the kitchen, spatula in one hand, that warm, crinkled-eyed smile of hers lighting up the room.

“Thought we’d start the day with something special.” She said.

A grin tugged at my lips, and before I could stop myself, I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, squeezing tight.

“Aunt May, do you know why I love you?”

She hummed, pretending to think it over. “Because I’m the best?”

I laughed into her back. “Exactly.”

She’s the only constant in my life. The only thing I can remember for certain. Our paths crossed when I was ten, and ever since then, she’s tried everything to help me unlock the parts of my past that are missing. Doctors, specialists—they all failed. Eventually, she gave up, deciding it was a lost cause.

But I never stopped wondering.

And lately, the dreams had made it worse.

Aunt May studied me now from across the table, eyes sharp despite her warm smile. I knew exactly what she was about to say before the words even left her lips.

“So… did you see him?”

I nearly choked on my drink. “Aunt!”

“What? I’m just curious,” she replied, all wide-eyed innocence.

“You’re always curious.”

She grinned unapologetically. “And? Did you?”

I hesitated, my fingers toying with the edge of my fork. “Yeah.”

Her smile softened, the mischief in her eyes giving way to something quieter. “Same one?”

“Same one,” I said with a nod.

The boy with the blue eyes. The one who never spoke his name. The one who lingered in my mind longer than any real memory I had.

I didn’t know what was worse—never seeing his face clearly, or waking up each time with the aching feeling that I should have. That he mattered. That I’d lost something important.

The dreams had started the night I first watched The Vampire Diaries.

I was sixteen, curled up in bed under a pile of fleece blankets, the glow of my laptop screen flickering across the walls. Damon Salvatore had just smirked his way through another morally questionable monologue, and I’d let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending I wasn’t lowkey falling for the whole tall-dark-and-brooding vampire thing.

That night, I dreamt of him.

Not Damon. But the boy. The one with the voice like rain and eyes like the sky just before it surrendered to dusk.

And he’d never stopped showing up since.

His presence had always felt warm—familiar in a way that sent shivers down my spine.

I never saw his face clearly, not really. But his eyes? They were etched into my soul. A piercing blue that felt like memory, like I’d known them in another life. Maybe in another world.

At first, I told myself it was nothing. Just my subconscious blending too many late nights bingeing vampire shows and reading forbidden love stories. Of course I’d conjure up some dreamy, brooding boy with an unreadable gaze. That’s what lonely girls with vivid imaginations did.

But it didn’t stop.

The dreams kept coming. Over and over, like chapters in a book I didn’t remember writing. Always the same eyes, the same quiet intensity. He rarely spoke, but when he did, his voice sank into me like a whisper from some forgotten lullaby—smooth, low, and steady enough to soothe a storm.

And even though I never saw his features, I could feel his gaze—how it lingered like he knew me. Like he recognized something in me before I ever understood it myself.

I wanted him to be real.

I wanted him to want me.

But I wasn’t the kind of girl who got noticed. I wasn’t tragic or mysterious or the magnetic center of some supernatural tale. I was the girl who kept her head down. Hoodie zipped. Hopes stuffed in the bottom drawer with old notebooks and broken headphones.

If he was real—and that was a dangerous “if”—he’d probably fall for the girls with star-glow in their smiles. The kind who walked into rooms and made the air pause. Not the ones who overanalyzed their own dreams like they meant something.

Still…
Deep down, beneath all my logic and self-deprecation, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t just a dream. That maybe he was waiting.

For me.

I snapped out of my thoughts as the hum of tires beneath the car grew louder and Aunt May’s voice cut through the silence.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

Her tone was light—teasing, even—but I caught the hesitation underneath. Like she wasn’t sure if it was still safe to joke about him anymore.

I kept my eyes on the road, playing it cool. “It’s not like that. I was just… thinking about something else.”

She hummed knowingly, but didn’t push.

Brushing her off, I asked, “Um, should I walk to my new hell, or are you actually going to drive me there?”

Aunt May sighed, her shoulders slumping in mock defeat. She knew exactly what I was doing—and why.

“Alright, alright! I’m driving you there, hun,” she said, grabbing her bag from the table and heading for the door.

“Okay, let’s go.” I shoved the last bite of pancake into my mouth, dumped my plate in the sink, and hurried after her.

But just as I reached for the doorknob, it hit me.

A jolt—sharp and electric—ripped through my fingers and shot straight up my arm. Not like a normal static zap from dry air or metal. This was different. Deeper. Like something inside me had short-circuited. I froze, hand hovering above the doorknob, breath caught in my throat.

The space beyond the door was still. Empty.

No frayed wires. No faulty bulbs. Nothing that could explain why my whole body had just flared like a live wire.

“Hey! You coming?” Aunt May’s voice called from outside.

I blinked, the world snapping back into place. The strange tingling still clung to my skin as I forced my hand forward and opened the door. I climbed into the passenger seat, shut the door behind me, and leaned back, trying to steady my breathing.

It was probably nothing.

I was overthinking again.

But my fingers still buzzed.

“You okay, sweetie?” Aunt May asked, her voice softer now, tinged with concern.

I straightened up in my seat and glanced over at her. “Yeah. I’m good.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You looked kind of… out of it back there.”

“Oh! No, it’s nothing. Just—” I paused, suddenly unsure whether saying it out loud would make it sound worse. “Right before I stepped outside, I felt this weird… shock. Like, actual electricity.”

I looked down at my lap, heart thudding in my ears. “It freaked me out for a second, but I’m fine now.”

Aunt May was quiet for a beat too long.

And when I finally dared to glance at her, her knuckles had tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

“I hope it’s not what I’m thinking,” she muttered, almost to herself.

My stomach twisted.

“What does that mean?” I asked—but before the words fully left my lips, the engine growled to life, swallowing the question whole.

Aunt May pulled out of the driveway faster than usual. Her grip stayed tight, her face now a shade paler, jaw set like she was bracing for something.

Something was wrong.

I could feel it in the way she didn’t meet my eyes. In the silence that stretched too long. In the way the air in the car felt suddenly heavier.

I wanted to press her, to force answers out of her, but I already knew how that would go. She’d deflect.
So I turned toward the window instead, letting the world smear past in streaks of green and gray.

But the feeling in my chest didn’t go away.