I hadn't been able to write for a few days. I was unwell—my body weak, my mind tired, and the nights endlessly long. But now that I'm slowly feeling better, I return to this space—my dream diary—with a hopeful heart and a curious mind.
To all my readers: how are you? I truly want to know. Please write to me in the comments, share a little of your world, your dreams, your nights, or even your pain. Maybe, in this shared space, we can find comfort together.
Last night, after what felt like the first full rest in days, I fell into a deep sleep. Yet when I awoke, only a sliver of the dream remained with me. A flicker of memory, a fragile echo, yet so intense it moved me to tears.
This dream... this other world... it felt like reality. And though I have never been in love in real life, never dated anyone, and have never had a hand to hold in this waking world, I keep meeting him in my dreams. The same man. Again and again. I don't know his name, but my soul recognizes him every time.
The Dream
I was lying in a vast open meadow, soft grass beneath me and a gentle breeze brushing my skin. The sky above was painted in soft purples and golds—an eternal sunset. And I wasn't alone.
I was resting my head on the broad, strong shoulders of him. The man who appears in my dreams so often now. His presence was calming, like I belonged there. Like the broken pieces inside me weren't broken at all when he was near.
I looked up at him and asked, almost in a whisper, "Why am I like this?"
He didn't say a word. He simply smiled—a smile that spoke volumes, full of warmth and silent understanding—and leaned in to press a light kiss on my forehead. That single kiss felt like a shield against every storm I had ever weathered. It didn't need words. His silence told me, You are enough. You are loved.
We stood up, holding hands. His fingers gently wrapped around mine, firm and reassuring. We walked down a long, winding road that cut through the meadow. The world around us resembled India—the people, the air, the language. But something was different. The people didn't have the kindness of home. They had judgment in their eyes.
A group of men and women stared at us as we walked hand-in-hand. Their faces twisted in disapproval. Their murmurs turned into loud insults. They accused us of shaming tradition, of spoiling the morals of the young.
"Look at them!" one woman shouted. "Holding hands in public! This is why the world is falling apart!"
Their glares burned. My heart started to race. Still, I didn't let go of his hand. He squeezed mine gently. But then the crowd grew louder, angrier.
Some men picked up sticks and began to chase us. We ran. We ran through narrow streets, past closed doors and silent witnesses. No one came to help. No one tried to stop them.
They caught him. They dragged him down. I screamed. I cried. I tried to pull him away, but there were too many. They started beating him, their faces cold and cruel.
He turned to me with blood trickling from his forehead, and with a strained voice, he said, "Run... please... for both of us."
"I won't leave you!" I shouted, my voice shaking.
"If you stay, we both die," he said.
I didn't want to go. But he pushed me back with trembling hands. "Live. Please live."
I ran. My legs moved like they had a will of their own. Tears blurred my vision. Behind me, I could hear the chaos—the sounds of fists, of fury, of pain. I wanted to turn around. I wanted to fight. But I was alone.
I ran until everything faded. Until there was only silence. And then...
I woke up.
My pillow was wet with tears. My hands were still trembling. And my heart? It felt like it had lived through something real.
I don't know who that man is. I don't know why he keeps appearing in my dreams. But I feel connected to him, deeply, in a way that defies logic.
Was it just a dream? Or some soul from another world, another time, trying to reach me?
Thought From The Author
Sometimes, I wonder—why does love find me only in dreams?
My real life is far from a fairytale. I live with silence, with hunger, with responsibilities too heavy for one soul to carry. No one holds my hand here. No one kisses my forehead when I cry.
But in dreams, someone does.
To all those reading: Have you ever met someone in your dream who felt more real than the people around you? Have you ever woken up missing a love that technically never existed?
If yes... then maybe, just maybe, we're all part of something greater. Something we don't yet understand.
Tell me in the comments if you've had a dream like this. And if you're still reading, thank you. Your time, your thoughts, your presence—it means the world to me.