Danielle Gabriel had everything a girl could ask for,wealth, doting parents, a comfortable life, and a future full of possibilities. As their only child, she was their miracle, arriving after fifteen years of prayers and patience. But Danielle never let privilege make her complacent. At twenty-two, fresh out of college, she worked at a bustling coffee shop, not because she had to, but because she dreamed of owning one herself. She wanted to learn the business from the ground up.
The café, nestled in the heart of the city, had a steady stream of customers, but on that Tuesday morning, one customer stood out.
She was wiping down the counter when he walked in—tall, well-dressed, and with an air of quiet authority. His black sunglasses hid his eyes, but she felt them scanning the room. When he raised two fingers to signal for service, she quickly tied her apron, grabbed her notepad, and approached.
"Good morning, sir. What can I get for you?"
"Black coffee. No cream, no sugar."
His voice was deep, controlled. She nodded and turned to prepare his order, but as she walked back toward him, disaster struck. Her foot caught on the edge of a rug, and before she could stop herself, the steaming cup of coffee slipped from her hands.
It splashed right onto his pristine white shirt.
"Oh my God! I am so sorry!" She gasped, grabbing napkins and frantically trying to dab the liquid off his clothes.
He stiffened, and that’s when she saw it—a black gun, tucked between his waist and his trousers. My hands froze mid-motion. Our eyes met.
For a second, the air between them crackled with tension. Then, just as quickly, he pulled his shirt down, turned on his heel, and walked straight out of the café.
She didn’t move. Her heart hammered in her chest. Who was he? Why was he carrying a gun?
That night, she told her parents about the incident over dinner. They were just as unsettled as she was but assured her it was probably nothing. Maybe he was a cop. Or security.
But her gut told her otherwise.
Later that night, she woke up to loud knocks at her door. Her room was dark except for the soft glow of her bedside lamp. Half-asleep, she rubbed her eyes and stumbled toward the door. She peeped through the peephole.
No one was there.
"Who's there?" She called out, her voice shaking slightly.
Silence.
She backed away slowly, every nerve in her body on high alert. She didn’t turn off her light that night.
And then, the dream came.
It was so vivid, so real. She was back in the café. The man from earlier stood before her, but this time, his sunglasses were off. His eyes were sharp, piercing. He pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it directly at her.
"Please, don’t!" She screamed.
The gun fired.
She woke up gasping, drenched in sweat. Her mother rushed in, gathering her in her arms as she sobbed into her shoulder.
"It was just a dream," her father reassured her. "You’re safe."
But the feeling of dread wouldn’t leave her.
Three days later, the nightmare became reality.
It was just past noon when Danielle was helping her boss take stock of the café’s supplies. The bell above the entrance chimed, and she instinctively turned to greet the customer.
Her stomach dropped.
A man in a black jacket, black jeans, and a cap walked in. Black gloves covered his hands. She recognized him instantly, he was the man from her dream.
Everything about him screamed danger.
As he moved toward them, her breath hitched. She took a slow step backward, inching toward the back exit. But before she could react further, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun.
A single shot rang out.
Pain exploded in her arm, she crumpled to the floor.
The man bolted out of the café before anyone could stop him. Her boss shouted for help while customers screamed. Blood trickled down her arm as she struggled to stay conscious.
The next few hours were a blur. An ambulance arrived and took her to hospital. In no time both parents were at the hospital, her mother cried helplessly for her child and her father was raging.
She survived. The bullet had lodged in her arm but missed anything vital.
The next day, the police came with news that chilled her to the bone. Her boss had found an ID card dropped by the shooter, leading to his arrest. But the real shock came when they told her who had hired him.
Lora and Andrew—two of her coworkers.
She had never suspected them. She thought they were friends. But jealousy ran deeper than she realized. She had only been working at the café for a few months, yet she was the boss’s favorite and she already received a promotion. They hated her for it. Hated her enough to have her killed.
Danielle couldn't believe it.
As she sat in that hospital bed, her father’s words echoed in her mind. "They won’t go scot-free."
And she knew he meant it.
She had nearly died. But somehow, some way, her dream had warned her. If she hadn’t been so on edge, if she hadn’t recognized the man in time, maybe she wouldn’t have survived at all.
Maybe some dreams really do come true.
And maybe, just maybe, they save lives too.
**Image is mine.
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