No More Daydreams

1.

The day I drafted the divorce agreement, Asher Riley suddenly went viral, topping the trending list on social media. His photos flooded everyone's feeds, and my own was filled with them.

But Asher didn't even glance at them. He rolled up the papers and smacked me in the face with them.

"Layla, when I said you're dumb, you really are dumb."

Maybe it was because he had been up all night filming a show, but Asher's eyes had a bit of redness around the edges.

"What? I'm just worried that your status as a married man might affect your career in the entertainment industry!" I rubbed his head sympathetically.

"I write songs, not sell my body." Asher threw his jacket onto the sofa as he walked, adding, "Besides, I don't mind the divorce. What I'm worried about is that some people might get cold feet and back out when things get tough."

That made me realize – getting divorced right now would put me under too much public scrutiny. It definitely wasn't the best timing.

But honestly, being with Asher wasn't right either.

A while ago, Asher's mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Her only wish was to see Asher settle down and start a family.

Our families had lived across from each other for years. Asher and I were assigned partners in high school for several classes, so we knew each other well.

The most absurd part was, because we didn't get along naturally, we were always arguing. During study sessions, we'd bicker so much that we'd get caught by the teacher.

What was even more ridiculous was that our advisory teacher started to suspect that we were dating. She separated us and informed both our parents.

Some of the conversation went like this:

Advisory Teacher: "Asher is a good kid, but he started dating too early. Let him focus on school first, and he can date seriously when he gets to university."

Asher's mother: "I think Layla is great. I'm very happy with her."

The teacher awkwardly adjusted her glasses and turned to my dad. "Girls shouldn't start dating too young. Mr. Sanderson, you should really talk to her."

My dad: "A boy like Asher will probably be snatched up in college, so it's better to start early."

...

This conversation was overheard by some classmates who spread it around the school like wildfire. When Asher found out, he'd just finished playing basketball, his damp hair sticking to his forehead and his brow furrowed.

He wiped the sweat from his face with his shirt, small droplets of sweat trickling down his throat and soaking the collar.

He towered in front of my desk, the typical teenage energy practically radiating off him.

I looked up at him with a half-smile. "Layla, a forced marriage is never a good idea."

I rolled my eyes and tossed a notebook at his face. "Don't worry, I wouldn't marry you, no matter what."

...

Just five months ago, during a heavy rainstorm, Asher showed up at my door, soaked to the bone, his eyes red and face dripping wet. He was panting, and through his breathlessness, he said, "Hi, I'm Asher Riley, marry me."

I was utterly confused, unsure how to react.

Before I could say anything, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me out the door.

"It's urgent, we'll talk on the way." And before I could process, he slammed the door behind us.

In the car, Asher explained everything from start to finish, and before I knew it, we were an official couple.

But Asher's mom wasn't dumb. The very next day, she pushed us to get our marriage license.

As for my parents, they had already made up their minds about Asher. Without hesitation, they shoved the family records into his pocket.

After his mother passed away, Asher became a shadow of himself.

He practically lived in the studio, working 24/7. For those couple of months, he hadn't stepped foot outside.

By chance, Asher's college friend, Jackson Slade, was directing a reality show and was struggling to find enough funding and mentors. He reached out to Asher.

At first, Asher was reluctant. He thought of himself as just a songwriter, not someone who should get involved in something like that.

But Jackson was persistent, and I added my own pleas. Asher was at home all day, and we were all about to go crazy. So eventually, he agreed.

Little did I know, that one conversation would tie us together for life.

2.

After Asher's mother's funeral, I should have moved out of his place, but he was in such a state of despair that I couldn't bring myself to leave.

I was worried he might do something reckless, so I stayed by his side, watching over him.

Fortunately, once he got busy again, he fell back into his workaholic routine, and I realized it was time for me to go.

Just as I was pulling my suitcase to the door, my phone rang. It was Asher.

"Layla, come pick me up at the studio."

"But I'm just about to – "

"Remember, you're the one who convinced me to come here, so aren't you at least a little responsible?" His voice sounded unusually hoarse.

A sudden sense of unease washed over me. "Okay, I'll be right there. Just send me the address."

To my surprise, the address he sent wasn't for the studio – it was for a nearby hotel.

He was waiting for me in the hotel's underground parking lot. He had his black cap pulled low over his face, and I immediately recognized his sharp jawline.

"Asher." I waved at him.

He quickly walked toward me, then seemed to collapse against me, his entire body weight pressing against mine. Even through the sweater, I could feel his skin burning with fever.

"Are you running a fever?" I struggled to help him into the car, my hand going to his forehead. It was terrifyingly hot, his cheeks flushed, his eyes slightly dazed...

"Should I take you to the hospital?" I bent down to buckle his seatbelt.

His warm breath brushed my ear, making my hair stir and sending a shiver down my spine. "No, take me home."

"But you're burning up."

I turned to look at him, realizing how close we were. When I moved back, his hand shot up to the back of my neck, pulling me toward him, and his lips pressed against mine.

There was no rough, passionate kiss – just the briefest of contact, just a breath between our lips, before he let me go. The veins in his neck stood out from the effort.

"I'm not sick," he said, voice low and strained. "Let's just go home."

He pushed me away and slammed the car door shut.

I stood there, palm open, sweating.

Not sick? Then what was that...

Once we got home, I opened the car door and saw that Asher's collar was bright red, his face pale.

After helping him inside, he quickly shook me off and staggered toward the master bedroom's bathroom.

I followed his unsteady steps and caught up to him. "Asher... do you... need help?"

Before I could say anything else, he suddenly pulled me into his arms, crashing against his solid chest. He cupped my chin, and his lips covered mine, kissing me slowly, as if he were drawing all the air from my lungs, sweeping me away like a storm.

My mind went blank, as if fireworks were exploding in my brain, the sound muffled, distant.

He pulled away from me, his eyes bloodshot, his hands gripping my shoulders, tightening and then releasing.

His heavy breath landed on my chest, suffocating me.

He let out a self-deprecating laugh. "What do you want me to help with?"

Before I could respond, the bathroom door slammed shut, and I heard it lock behind him.

Inside, there was the sound of water running, chaotic and long.

I grew anxious and, after a while, couldn't help but knock on the door. "Asher, are you okay? Asher?"

A shadow appeared behind the door, and I stumbled back, startled.

Asher emerged wrapped in a towel, his hair dripping with water. His eyes were still red, and his face and lips had lost all color.

He ignored me and went straight to the bed, falling onto it with his eyes shut.

"Asher, your hair's still wet. You'll catch a cold!" I rushed to him, trying to pull him back up.

He opened his eyes, glancing at me coldly, then silently flopped back onto the bed.

I sighed. "Come on, sit up. I'll dry your hair."

He turned his head toward me. "The hair dryer's in the bathroom."

3.

"I know." I pulled out a clean set of pajamas from the closet and tossed them to him. "Hurry up and put them on, don't catch a cold."

Asher raised an eyebrow slightly. "You're forgetting something. I still need underwear."

I almost tripped as I turned around, but managed to steady myself and headed back to the closet.