Teeth for Dreams

Heavy rain swallowed the city, blurring the neon signs into long, glowing streaks. Myra tugged her collar tighter around her neck and quickened her pace as she rounded the corner. She cursed softly. No umbrella—again.

It had been a long, long day at the office. For the past few of months, she’d worked her fingers to the bone, pushing through late nights and weekends for a promotion she was so adamant she’d earn. Only, someone else had gotten it instead. Cassie. Louder. Prettier. Someone who knew how to laugh at the right times and speak the right words.

She didn't even know why she bothered in the first place.

Myra slowed, catching her reflection in the darkened window of an empty storefront. The glass offered nothing more than a hazy image of her puffy eyes, splotchy tan skin, and the unfinished construction inside. She sighed, turning to head home.

But as she took another step, the wind howled, and the sky split open with a sharp crack of thunder.

"Myra."

The voice was soft, a velvet caress, yet unmistakably clear, even amidst the storm. Her head whipped around, and she frowned. The alley was empty. Though strange, it was not as odd as the sight before her.

A warm light flickered from within the store, casting a comforting glow behind thick magenta curtains.

Hadn't it been empty moments ago?

Stepping closer, she read the gold lettering on the window: This For That. An Emporium.

Myra rubbed her swollen eyes. It had to be her exhaustion settling in. She must have imagined the closed business.

The wind pressed against her, sending shivers down her soaked body, and curiosity won. She pushed the door to step inside.

It opened with a soft chime.

The shop was small, with shelves and shelves stacked high with oddities: a row of children’s dolls, wigs in all colors and styles, broken mirrors, cracked teacups, old cassette tapes, and random photographs in rusted frames. It was a chaotic collection, like someone had haphazardly gathered up random belongings and placed them on display.

Myra took a few tentative steps deeper into the store, inhaling the strong scent of cinnamon and dusty books. A faint hum drifted from somewhere further in.

“Don’t be shy.”

Myra startled at the sound of the honeyed voice.

“You’re soaked through. Please, come in. And don’t mind the mess.”

“Sorry, it’s late. You must be closing.” She glanced at the grandfather clock behind the counter, the hands reading 9:44 PM.

“Not at all,” the voice replied. “I open when needed.”

From the shadows emerged a young man cradling a case of antique wristwatches. He was tall and younger than she expected, with well-groomed hair and sharp features. A smile tugged the corners of his lips as he placed the case on a display table.

“What is this place?”

“A collection,” his eyes gleamed, “of oddities. Memories. Small trades for even bigger treasures.”

He strode over to Myra, slipping his hands into the pant pockets of his crimson suit.

“Tell me what you’re looking for,” he tilted his head, his grin widening. “People don’t end up here by accident. You must’ve been drawn to something.”

“Nothing. I was just passing by…,” she trailed off, her eyes wandering to the trinkets on the shelf.

The man studied her with quiet interest.

He hummed, as though considering something. “I see you’re upset—”

“Excuse me?”

“You stay late at work. The lights are off when you leave. Your lunch breaks have turned into spreadsheets and inboxes. Yet still, your dreams were crushed. Handed to someone else. Am I wrong?”

She swallowed. “How do you know that?”

He gestured from her head to toe. “I pay attention, that’s all.” He smiled again, and for some odd reason, she felt a strange comfort in his certainty. “There is another position at the company, though, isn’t there? One you could still apply for.”

Myra’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know all of this?”

“Lucky guess,” he said casually, and she laughed despite herself.

The gentleman leaned in. “Tell me, Myra. What do you want? What do you dream of?”

She hesitated. Her heart stuttered. Success, beauty, admiration. She wanted everything. Though, she’d never dared to say such foolishness aloud.

The man smiled anyway, as if he’d known her answer all along without a single word from her.

“Bring me something tomorrow,” he said softly, brushing a wet curl away from her eyes. “Something small. A baby tooth, maybe. I can help you.”

She scoffed. “My baby tooth? How would that help?”

“We lose them when we grow up,” the gentleman shrugged. “And every step of growing requires a bit of letting go.”

Myra thought it was ridiculous. She almost didn’t. But the next morning, she found the tin box in her bathroom drawer. Inside was a single baby tooth, no bigger than a pearl. The one she lost while running around a playground.

The gentleman was waiting when she arrived and placed the tooth in his pale palm.

“May I?” he asked, before strangely placing a kiss on it.

Her heart thrummed against her chest, and he smiled like she’d given him a gift rather than such an insignificant childhood token.

“Done,” he said and placed her tooth in an empty jar dedicated to her.

“What now?” Myra stared at the jar.

“Now, we wait.”

The next morning, Myra’s manager pulled her aside to deliver the news. The senior strategist position was offered to her without further discussion or any interview. Her inbox flooded with congratulatory messages, even from coworkers she had never spoken to.

“Cassie recommended you,” her manager announced. “Said you had the sharpest ideas of the entire team. It would be a waste to ignore your potential.”

Myra barely heard the rest. Cassie had never even looked her in the eye.

She returned to This for That after work, feeling somewhere between victorious and unreal. The man was lounging on a red velvet chaise, reading a book upside down. Locks of his tousled hair fell against his face as he lifted his head upon hearing the door’s chime.

“It worked,” she shook her head in disbelief.

The gentleman grinned. “Of course it did.”

“How did you do it?”

“I didn’t do anything. It was all you.”

“You must have done something,” she insisted.

Yet, he shook his head. “You wanted your dreams badly enough to make it come true.”

She sat beside him, her eyes wandering to the various items on the shelves. She had never been one to believe in magic before, but this seemed inconceivable. Too many thoughts clouded her mind for her to think clearly.

“You’re so beautiful, Myra. You’re glowing,” he hummed.

“You probably say that to every customer you have.”

“Only the ones brimming with potential.” His cold fingers grazed her cheek, and she turned to meet his gaze. “Can you imagine it, Myra? Your life, if all your dreams came true?”

Myra left the emporium, making a promise to return with more of her baby teeth.

Weeks passed, and her success only grew. She had what she wanted—promotions, recognition, awards. She nearly vibrated with energy, her glee so contagious and her smile impossible to hide. Her heart leapt, beating a rhythm she hadn't felt in years.

Myra and the gentleman made more trades, each exchange grander and more personal than the previous. A drawing from when she was nine. Her first academic trophy. Her first rejection letter. A necklace gifted by her late grandmother. The last voicemail from her estranged sister.

Each time, something in her life shifted. She became dazzling. People listened when she spoke. They turned to watch her walk past. She hadn’t shed a tear since that rainy night she stumbled upon the shop months ago.

Each time, the young man was always there to celebrate her, charming and attentive—a feeling that had once been so unfamiliar to her. He would pour her tea in mismatched china, hum to the tune of lullabies from an old radio, and they would talk for hours. He would made her laugh until she snorted and compliment her until the shade of her face matched the color of the chair he always sat in.

But gradually, something felt off. She couldn’t name it, but her nights were restless, her memory foggy, and her mind always hungry. There was an endless push to climb higher. To take more.

One evening, as she cradled a chipped mug, she glanced at the growing shelf, lined with trinkets of her past.

“It’s strange,” she said, sounding light. “Sometimes I forget what my grandma’s face looked like.”

The gentleman didn’t miss a beat. “You remember how she made you feel though, don’t you?”

Myra dipped her chin.

“Then it’s enough,” he said gently. “You’ve made space for better things.”

Months passed. The attention she had craved was now hers. She was desired. Heard.

Yet as she laid in bed, cocooned beneath her new silk sheets, she noticed her waking hours no longer radiated with the same energy. The excitement slowly dulled, and there was a strange emptiness that grew inside her with every step forward. She hardly now felt the joy of success or the warmth of accomplishment. She never felt truly full.

And although the world adored her, Myra’s reflection began to feel like that of someone else.

On the one year anniversary of stepping into This for That, it was storming outside. Myra pulled her cashmere sweater close to her body as she jogged from her parked car to the glowing emporium. The door swung open up with a familiar chime.

There he was, leaning against a towering shelf, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world.

Myra’s hands trembled. She was so close, teetering on the cusp of a global pitch that would change the trajectory of her career. She could already see herself on billboards, in morning network shows, and all across the country.

“One last trade.” Her voice was shaky. Unrecognizable, even to herself.

“Last?”

“This is it. After this, I won’t need anything else.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips slowly curling at the edges. “Do you believe that? After everything?”

He motioned to the shelves, to even more trinkets that had once belonged to her past. A broken friendship bracelet. Locks of her hair. Her father's old camera. More things—things she had given up without a second thought to feed her transformation. She had gained so much, but perhaps at the expense of so much more.

For the first time, she hesitated.

“Tell me, Myra. What do you want? What do you dream of?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent.

The question stirred something in her chest, a sense of familiarity that almost felt like déjà vu. What more did she need? She already had what she thought she'd wanted. Success. Beauty. Admiration.

And yet…

“I want…” Her voice faltered. She searched within herself, but all she could feel was a growing emptiness, a hollow that needed to be filled with something more.

“How badly do you want your dreams to come true?” he cooed. “You know I can help.”

Myra’s gaze shifted back to the shelves. She had given up so much already. Why did she want this so badly? Suddenly, she hardly remembered anymore. What was one more item anyway? She had followed his voice through every trade, and now she was so close to the top. It felt too late to stop. The longer she thought about it, the clearer it became.

“I need more. I want more,” she whispered.

The gentleman’s lips quirked into a smile, like he’d known she’d say that. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the book he always read and stepped toward her slowly, like a predator closing in on its prey, until he stood only inches away. His fingers brushed against her chin, lifting it so that her gaze met his.

“All the success, all the beauty, all the admiration. Everything your heart dreams of,” he said softly. “For a very small price. Your name.”

“My name?”

“Just your beautiful name.”

It was too tempting now. Too perfect.

She looked up. His eyes were filled with nothing but approval.

“Will this hurt?”

He smiled again, a shadow passing over his face. “It never hurts right away.”

And so, with one final shaky breath, Myra accepted the book from his grasp and signed her name beneath the others.

Days and weeks blurred as Myra glittered beneath her newfound fame. The gala to celebrate her recent business deal was held in a high-rise ballroom, decorated with gold curtains and crystal chandeliers. Her face appeared on the screens in every corner of the room, smiling in ads, newspapers, and silent montages of her rise.

Everyone wanted to touch her, to speak to her, to toast to her.

“You’ve done it,” people shouted in her ear.

She smiled and tilted her head just right for the cameras. She laughed on cue. She knew all the right words to say.

But when she slipped into the restroom and stared into the mirror, she blinked at the stranger staring back. A face that belonged to someone successful, someone who had it all. It was someone the world adored. But the girl she used to be—dreaming and full of wonder—was gone, and with her, so was everything that had once made life worth living.

She left the party without saying goodbye.

Myra rushed back to the alley, heels clacking against the pavement. She pushed through the door and the chime dinged as it always had.

The gentleman looked up from his book, unsurprised. He motioned for her to come nearer.

“I want to undo it. All of it. I want it back.”

“I can’t do that.” He closed his book.

“Why can’t you?”

He watched her with dark eyes that gleamed with quiet triumph. “You wanted more, didn’t you? You wanted everything. I always give people what they ask for. The question is, did you truly know what you were asking for?”

“No, no,” she crossed her arms, her voice monotone. “I listened to you. I don’t feel joy. I don’t feel anything. I don’t recognize myself anymore. There is nothing left of who I was.”

“I never forced you. It was you who gave me pieces of yourself so willingly.” He stood slowly from his chair, nodding to the shelf dedicated to her belongings. “You gave away the pieces that made joy possible. You trusted me to give you shortcuts. You wanted the glory without the climb. Beauty without the pain. But you cannot know joy without sorrow, or achievement without disappointment.”

Myra huffed, storming out the door.

“As I said, I open only when needed.” His soft voice called after her, warm and honeyed. “Thank you for stopping in to This for That.”

Now, Myra almost wanted to beg him. But when she looked back, she saw nothing.

This for That had vanished.

Everything—the shelves, the oddities, the red chaise, the gentleman, the pieces of past—had disappeared, replaced with an empty building.

There was only her reflection now in the glass window, and it just looked back at her with perfect, hollow eyes.