Dreamed the runaway came back with new handwriting

I'm standing at the kitchen sink and the kid who ran away two summers ago just walks in like nothing happened, only he's holding a pen wrong — not the claw grip I taught him, but something looser, almost careless. He writes his name on the steam on the window and it's not his name, it's a word I don't recognize, and somehow I'm not worried about it at all. That's when I know it's a dream, because I'm not worried about anything.