That isn’t dreaming, my grandma used to say. That’s your soul getting into trouble.

I was what my parents called a restless sleeper. My grandma knew better, though. It’s like she was there when I closed my eyes and drifted off. When I would wake up, she’d make me wash my hands, just like she did, first thing every morning.

She’d click her tongue while she scrubbed my hands raw, shaking off the water and raking them dry with a towel.

You’re the wandering type, she’d say sometimes. Your soul makes your body wander, makes you get lost. Then she would watch me closely as I ran off to my room to get dressed for the day. Even after I closed the door, I could hear her scolding me: You stop that wandering, Boychik! Or one day, you won’t make it home!

That’s when my dreams turned to nightmares.

My grandma was nearly blind when she died, but she saw me clearer than anyone ever has.

Until I met Aaron.