To my surprise, Goran agreed—said Arvid could use a positive male role model. His mother barely had time for him, and the boy had become quiet lately.
So I started going over twice a week.
At first, it was just reading and math. Then it was board games. Then stories. Then “Shufflesnooze.” I taught it to him exactly the way Matija made it up.
He remembered every part.
“It’s like I already knew it,” he said once.
One afternoon, he showed me a drawing he made. It was a crude sketch—stick figures—but one was labeled “me,” and the other said “yellow couch guy.”
He’d drawn the exact yellow couch from my living room. Same cushions. Same rip on the side.
I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
I started dreaming again too. Dreams I hadn’t had in years. I saw Matija as he used to be, but older now, like how he’d look if he were still alive. In the dreams, he always smiled and said, “Don’t be afraid.”
One day, Arvid asked, “Did you lose someone?”