Every morning, Arti woke up with a faint ache in her chest. A name hovered on her tongue, dissolving the moment she opened her eyes. So did the face. And so did some memory.
Across the city, Krish experienced the same hollow feeling. Every dawn, he found himself reaching out to an empty corner of the bed, as if expecting someone to be there, someone warm, someone familiar. But when he tried to recall who, he drew a blank.
And yet, every night when sleep embraced them, the truth unfolded. In their dreams, Arti and Krish met beneath a vast sky painted with swirling lavender clouds. Always the same place. Always the same moment. She would appear from one end of the horizon, and he from the other. Their steps would quicken, hearts thundering with recognition.
“Found you again,” Krish would say, smiling like he’d waited centuries.
Arti would laugh. “I always find you.”
In that dreamworld, they remembered everything–their jokes, their secrets, the tiny scar on his eyebrow, the way her hair blew in the wind. They belonged to each other as naturally as the sun and sunshine. But morning shattered the dream, and the memory also shattered with it.
Night after night, the same cycle continued.
One evening, exhausted by the strange emptiness she couldn’t explain, Arti fell asleep earlier than usual. This time her dream started differently. Krish wasn’t there. Instead, an old man draped in silver fog stood beneath an ancient tree whose roots glowed faintly.
Arti’s heartbeat quickened. “Who are you? Where’s Krish?”
The man’s gaze softened. “He’s not here today.”
“What do you mean?” asked Arti.
He motioned for Arti to sit beside the glowing roots.
“I am a Dreamkeeper,” he said. “I am the guardian of wandering souls. Your souls have wandered too far.”
Arti frowned. “We just dream about each other.”
“No.” The Dreamkeeper’s voice deepened, echoing like distant thunder. “You two have memories.”
She blinked, confused. “Remembering what?”
“Each other,” he said simply. “Across timelines.”
Arti felt a chill rise along her spine.
“You mean to say we’ve met before?”
“Many times. Loved many times. Lost each time. Your souls recognise one another. That is why in your dreams you are together. But your waking lives are not aligned.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You run east,” the Dreamkeeper said, “while he walks west. Choices shape timelines, and yours diverge. When paths split, souls forget, but your souls find each other in dreams.”
A tear slipped down Arti’s cheek. “Then how can we remember each other when we’re awake?”
The Dreamkeeper smiled. “By choosing the same path.”
“How?”
He shook his head. “That choice is yours. Not mine.”
Before she could ask more, the dream dissolved.
When Arti woke, the usual ache was sharper, deeper, like a wound reopened. For the first time, she sensed that someone specific was missing from her life. Across the city, Krish felt the same restlessness. A quiet voice inside him whispered ‘Go’, even though he had no idea where.
That evening, Arti skipped her usual route home and walked through an unfamiliar street lined with old bookstores and tea shops. She felt invisible threads tugging her forward.
Krish, without knowing why, took a different bus after work. His feet led him down the same narrow street, past the same glowing shop windows.
Arti paused outside a tiny teahouse with warm amber lights. She didn’t know why she had stopped, only that something inside called to her. At the same moment, Krish turned the corner.
When their eyes met, both froze.
Arti looked at his face, his eyes. She knew them. Not from the present, not from dreams but from lifetimes.
Krish felt his breath catch. “You!” he gasped.
“Do I know you?” Arti whispered, though her heart already knew the answer.
The air shimmered faintly around them.
And somewhere unseen, the Dreamkeeper smiled!
Neeti Parti
0 Comments