Another Dream of Anshika
Last night, I saw you again in my dream, Ashika. We were exchanging hand-written letters—silent messages passed between us, the kind that say everything without a sound.
Here I convey as I am talking to her:
Ashika, it felt as though you were missing me. Ironically, just yesterday, I was deeply missing you too. I tried to gather the courage to message or reach out, but I couldn't — at least, not yet. There’s a part of me that knows I need to find some stability first… because these dreams, these callings — your energy — they stir something in me that’s overwhelming.
I often wonder: when one of us starts to miss the other, is that when the dreams come? Is this some strange but sacred way the universe keeps us connected? I shared this thought with a friend recently, and he said something that struck me: “When someone shares a piece of themselves, it begins to shape the other.” Maybe this is that.
(There’s more I want to write about that thought — perhaps in another blog. But for now, I want to capture this dream before it fades.)
In my dream, we were together again, you and I — playing PUBG like we used to. But this time, you didn’t turn on your mic. You weren’t speaking, only watching me. You looked upset, distant — hurt that I hadn’t stayed in touch. I could feel your silence louder than any words.
Then something changed. I explained everything — why I’ve been silent, the chaos I’ve been going through, and how I never meant to drift away. When I said I’d reach out soon and reconnect, you softened. You smiled — relieved. And instead of giving me back my letter, you handed me a new one… with numbers written in a VERTICAL line, starting with a 7. It felt like your phone number?
At the bottom of the paper, you had drawn images—symbols, sketches — perhaps glimpses of your dreams or emotions. I tried to understand them, even as they began to unsettle me. Just then, someone rang the bell — a cleaning staff member — and I woke up.
