The train lurched to a halt. The doors hissed open. The cold morning air rushed in, dissolving the rings of Saturn and the deck of the Solaris . Elias stepped onto the platform, adjusted his bag, and merged into the sea of commuters. He was back in the "real" world, but as he swiped his badge at the turnstile, he whispered a single word to the crew still lingering in the corners of his mind: What do my day dreams look like this mental health month?
He closed his eyes again. The Solaris was approaching the Great Blue Vortex. His crew—characters he’d built with intricate lore over years of commutes—waited for his command. There was Lyra, the navigator with bioluminescent tattoos, and Kael, the engineer who could fix a warp drive with a paperclip. They were more real to him than his coworkers. Day Dreams
Elias blinked, his fingers twitching as if still gripping the Solaris’s chrome helm. Daydreaming was his sanctuary, a way to escape difficult situations or the mundane repetition of his 9-to-5 life. Some might call it maladaptive daydreaming if it stole too many hours, but for Elias, it was a necessary bridge between who he was and who he wished to be —a version of himself that was brave, adventurous, and untethered. The train lurched to a halt
The rhythmic clack-clack of the train was a metronome for Elias’s thoughts. Outside, the gray suburbs of London blurred into a watercolor wash, but Elias wasn't seeing the rain-streaked glass. He was somewhere else entirely. Elias stepped onto the platform, adjusted his bag,
Elias smiled to himself, a small, private expression that often made strangers on the train glance away. He wasn't just killing time; he was stimulating his creativity . Recently, he’d started writing these visions down in a notes app, turning his "idle" thoughts into a sprawling fantasy epic.