The Dream That Keeps Coming Back
I don’t know when it started, but this dream—this same dream—keeps finding me. It comes silently, like an old memory slipping into my mind when I least expect it. And every time, it feels too real, too familiar—like a place I once knew but somehow lost along the way.
It always begins the same way. A soft, golden light seeps through the 卐-shaped patterned window, spilling into the quiet classroom. The dust in the air glows as the sunlight touches it. Shadows stretch across the wooden desks, and the air smells of chalk and old books warmed by the sun. A fan hums slowly, lazily, making just enough noise to remind me that time is still moving.
I sit there, lost in the moment—half my face in the light, half in the shadow.
And then, I see it—her shadow.
It falls across the desk beside me, so familiar yet so distant. My heart tightens even before my mind can react. Slowly, as if afraid to break the moment, I follow the shadow. And then, I turn.
I see her.
She’s sitting right beside me, just like she always did. The same neatly ironed light-and-dark blue school frock, the same twin braids tied with white ribbons. She looks exactly as she did back then, untouched by time. Her presence, her calmness—it makes everything feel right again.
She turns to me, and for a split second, our eyes meet. A small, effortless smile appears on her face—like she knows something I don’t, like she’s happy to see me, like nothing has changed.
I try to speak. I try to move, to reach out, to tell her something—anything. But I can’t. I have no voice, no hands, no body. It’s like I don’t exist—just a pair of eyes watching, feeling everything but unable to do anything. I try to scream, but there’s only silence.
The only thing that’s real is her.
And then, just like that, she starts to leave.
She stands up slowly, almost like the whole world is waiting for her to move. My chest tightens, but I can’t stop her. She walks toward the door.
And then—
Flicker.
The scene jumps. Now she’s outside, standing on the school ground, looking back at me. The setting sun paints the sky in orange and gold. I try to follow, but—
Flicker.
Now she’s on the road, walking toward her house. The streetlights flicker on, one by one, the sky turning darker.
Flicker.
She’s at her house, standing by the old iron gate, holding onto it gently. She turns her head slightly—almost as if she knows I’m there.
And suddenly, I’m there too. I don’t know how I got here, but I just wait. Just stand there, watching, hoping she will turn around. The sky darkens, the evening light fades into purple, the air loses its warmth. The street is empty. The temple closes. The world is silent.
And still, I wait.
Then, suddenly—
I wake up.
The same feeling. The same ache in my chest.
This dream keeps coming back, again and again. And every time, it reminds me of something I can’t quite hold onto.
Maybe some memories never fade. Maybe some people never really leave.
Maybe, just maybe, some dreams are meant to stay forever.
All of this feels like a game. I keep starting from the same place, like I’m respawning after losing, again and again. Maybe something needs to change for me to move forward, to enter the next level.
But should I stop here? Should I try to finally figure out where she is going?
I’ve tried. Every time, I think I have. But I have no voice to call her, no hands to hold her back. All I can do is watch.
Even now, after all these years, I still see her. I see her in pictures, in moments that no longer belong to me. But the dream never changes.
No matter how much she has changed, the dream still clings to the childhood Harshi—the girl who sat beside me, the girl who smiled in the golden evening light.
The dream refuses to let her grow up.
And maybe that’s the saddest part.
Reality moves forward, but the dream—
It just keeps going back in time.