What If It Wasn’t a Dream

No message. No calls. Not for days. Not even a late-night Are you there? 

The silence between us had settled like dust on an old bookshelf, untouched, undisturbed. But the day came… 

her birthday.

And I was drowning in the want to speak, to send that one simple wish, to hear her voice say just one word back. I picked up my phone, typed Happy Birthday… and erased it. Because some part of me whispered, maybe she wants peace today. Maybe my words would feel like weight when all she wanted was light. So I put the phone beside me, and leaned back against the balcony rail watching the sky turn pale gold, talking to the wind like it could carry her name. She’s probably smiling in ways I haven’t seen in years.

And then my phone buzzed. Just one word: Hi.

And my heart, how does one teach it to beat normally after that?

I stared at the screen, reading that tiny word like it was a letter from a parallel universe. I replied, hands trembling more than I'd like to admit.

Hey… Happy Birthday. 

She said, Thank you. No emojis. No questions. No old warmth.

But then, after a moment:

I’m in Hyderabad today… 

Would you want to go out?

She wrote it simply, like she was asking for coffee, but I read it like an invitation from the stars.

Would I? I hadn’t worn excitement in months.

I replied,

Absolutely. Yes. Why not? It’s your day.

And just like that the story began.

We met near the old corner bookstore, where the city’s noise softened like a held breath. She was there before me, wearing a white kurta, quiet as moonlight. No dramatic greetings. Just a smile, a little tired, a little unsure, but enough to ruin me softly.

She said,

Let’s go to the temple first.

And I just nodded, because that’s what you do when someone you love asks for peace. The temple stood quiet, bathed in sunlight and bells. She closed her eyes and folded her hands, murmuring a prayer to the deity. I stood beside her, my hands cold, my eyes full, and I whispered my own prayer Whatever she just asked for… give it to her, even if I’m never a part of it.

We left the temple in silence, our shadows walking beside us like quiet friends. She looked at me then and asked, Hungry?

And so we found a place a little cafe with fairy lights tangled in the ceiling and the smell of cinnamon and something sweet. We sat across each other, sharing a plate like we always did in dreams I never told her about.

She spoke of her course, of how tiring life was, of her new hopes that lived far away from here. I just listened. Every word she said felt like sunlight through water glimmering, distant, and sacred.

Then we stepped outside, the evening now a canvas of oranges and blues, and we walked. Just a few streets. Side by side. Like we belonged in that frame. We talked about little things, about bigger fears, and then she asked,

What about you?

What do you want to do?

I laughed lightly, trying to hide the weight of what I really wanted. Then said,

I don’t know…
maybe just this again, a walk like this, someday in the future. You and me, these streets, a sky like this.

She paused. Looked at me. Serious. That kind of look that peels you open. I almost apologized for making it weird. But then she smiled not fully, just a corner of her lips. And said,

I don’t like walking much, actually. But maybe… next time, we’ll find a place to sit. And watch the sunset.

I didn’t reply. Because what do you say when someone answers the question
you didn’t ask out loud? We walked a little further, our shoulders close, our hearts pretending not to scream. And then she said,

Thank you for today.

I looked at her.
Thank you for remembering me.