Mister Dream Man

* Jana *

It was a blessing that the weather was fine. Flying back to the island where I was born had always depended on the mercy of the skies. When storms lashed or the winds turned violent, flights would get cancelled, leaving passengers stranded for days. I had half expected the same this time, but the skies had been clear, the air still, and the sun generous.

It had been over ten years. Ten long years since I last set foot here.

From my seat by the small window of the plane, I leaned forward and pressed my palm lightly against the glass as the wheels touched the runway with a soft thud. The view outside blurred slightly, more from the heat in my eyes than the window's surface. The land looked both foreign and familiar. There were buildings that hadn't been there before, but the shoreline still curled the same way. The airport had been expanded, perhaps renovated, but the air that greeted me once I stepped out, it was the same scent of salt, warmth, and faint blooming gardenias I remembered from childhood.

When the pilot announced that we could collect our hand-carry luggage and disembark, a wave of movement began around me. I followed the stream of passengers, responding to the crew's warm "Thank you for flying with us" with a small, polite nod. My voice wouldn't come, not yet. Everything inside me was still too full, full of nerves, of memory, of questions I didn't want answers to.

The airport had changed a bit, but navigating it wasn't hard. After claiming my luggage, I stepped outside, into the sun-dappled heat, and flagged down a taxi. My reservation was for a modest one-night stay at a four-star hotel not far from the airport, just a place to rest, to gather myself before heading to the real destination.

The drive was short, the streets lined with palm trees and newly painted storefronts. I tried not to stare too much, tried not to measure how much had changed, but it was impossible. The taxi driver was talkative, a middle-aged man with stories about how the island had flourished in the past decade.

"Thanks to the Dankworths," he said, gesturing vaguely at the growing skyline. "They pretty much own half the island now."

My chest tightened at the name. I murmured something noncommittal and kept my eyes fixed outside the window.

The hotel was quiet, its lobby cool and inviting. I didn't linger. I took a quick shower, changed into something light and comfortable, and let the silence of the room lull me into sleep. The bed was soft, the air conditioning humming gently in the background, and for the first time in a long time, I dreamed of home, before it all shattered.

By morning, I was awake before the sun fully rose. I had a light breakfast in the hotel café, my thoughts wandering even as I sipped coffee and picked at toast I couldn't taste. After checking out, I made my way to the car rental lot and selected a small, dark blue Honda, compact, discreet, something that would blend in as I maneuvered toward the town I had once called home.

The drive was long but strangely calming. An hour passed before the drizzle began. It was light at first, barely misting the windshield, but enough to blur the outlines of the trees and rooftops. I didn't mind. The gray skies felt appropriate.

The town had changed more than I expected.

The roads were wider now. The old sari-sari stores were replaced by glass-fronted cafés and banks. Shopping malls had popped up, sleek and modern, and the schools, my old school, had grown, their once-modest gates now gleaming with security panels and LED signs. And looming in almost every corner was a familiar logo. Dankworth & Co.

A pang echoed in my chest. Not just from seeing the name, but from what it represented. A name I had once spoken with affection, even awe. A name that had eventually turned into a weapon.

Lawrence Dankworth. Renz.

Even now, just thinking of him stirred too many things. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. Ten years hadn't dulled his name. He was the reason I was driven away, my family disgraced, banished, cut off from everything we'd built. And yet, along with the anger, the bitterness... something else lingered.

Admiration? Love? Or maybe just unfinished business.

I wondered if he was married now. He probably was. I could imagine Dianne beside him, tall and perfect, the same woman he defended back then with such fury, the woman who helped break my world apart.

If I remembered right, Renz would be thirty-two now. A man in his prime. Likely a father. Certainly a husband. And me? I had nothing but memories, and a hollow ache in my chest.

Two hours into the drive, I saw the sign.

"Welcome to Magnolia Resort."

The place had grown, larger, grander. The vines that once crept along the gate had been trimmed into perfection. The modern entrance gleamed beneath the light rain. I parked near the side, my heartbeat quickening as I stepped out.

The guard at the gate gave me a professional smile. "Welcome, Ma'am. How can we assist you today?"

I nodded politely, my voice caught in my throat. "Thank you."

The resort lobby was bright, cool with scented air, the kind that reminded you of spa oils and hibiscus. Two receptionists at the desk noticed me the moment I walked in. They straightened their postures and greeted me with practiced cheer.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. How may I help you for today?"

I took a breath, forcing myself to smile.

"I'm looking for a place to stay," I said, my voice soft, steady.

The receptionist's fingers paused briefly over her keyboard, her gaze flicking toward me with polite curiosity. I could almost hear the unspoken questions forming in her mind. I didn't blame her. People didn't just show up here without a reason, especially not alone, and definitely not without a reservation. Magnolia Resort wasn't just a vacation spot anymore. It had become a retreat for the elite, a symbol of quiet wealth, discretion, and carefully curated peace.

"We do have a few villas still available," she said after a beat, her voice bright and professional. "Would you prefer one near the cliffs or closer to the main amenities?"

I hesitated. The cliffs. That view.

My fingers clutched my bag tighter. That view had once been my favorite place in the world. We used to sneak out there when we were young. Hide from the world. Dream.

"By the cliffs," I said quietly.

She nodded and began typing. "You're in luck. Villa 3 is available, it has the best view this time of year. Oceanfront, private garden, and a heated plunge pool. Would you like to book it for a night? Or longer?"

I didn't know yet how long I'd stay. I didn't know if I'd even make it past tonight without unraveling. But something inside me said stay. Stay until it hurts a little less.

"A night for now," I murmured. "I'll extend if needed."

She smiled again, handed me a sleek keycard and a discreet map. "One of our staff will escort you to your villa shortly. Your luggage will follow. Welcome to Magnolia Resort, Ma'am."

The courtesy rang hollow in my ears, but I nodded, accepting the card. My steps felt heavier as I followed a young staff member out through the wide glass doors, into the soft hush of rain and wind and the scent of the sea.

It didn't take long to reach the villa. Tucked into a corner of the resort's cliffside property, it was exactly as I remembered, the outline of the old architecture still there beneath the luxury upgrades. The wooden posts had been replaced by steel and glass, but the wind still sang through the trees the same way.

Once alone, I closed the door behind me and exhaled deeply.

The villa was beautiful. Modern, but not sterile. Earth tones warmed the walls, and the windows stretched open to the sea. You could hear it here, always. Even through the drizzle, the crashing of waves was steady, calming.

I stepped to the balcony. The air was cold against my face, but I didn't care. The wind carried something else with it, a scent, a memory, a ghost.

And then it hit me, full force.

I gripped the railing, the metal slick beneath my fingers. My throat ached with the weight of it. I had thought I was ready to come back. But how could you ever be ready to face the ghosts of a life that was torn from you?

How could you be ready to face the man who tore it?

Because I knew it now. I hadn't just come back to see the place again. I came back for answers.