Another dream i had

August 6th, 2025
Late morning, somewhere between sleep and memory

I saw him again.

It started in that strange, knowing way dreams sometimes do—where I already knew something terrible had happened, or was about to. Baba was sick. Really sick. The kind of sick where you brace yourself for a phone call or a final breath. But he didn’t die. Not in this dream.

He survived. And it felt like the whole house had been holding its breath with him.

It was around 11 a.m. when I finally woke up in the dream—late, lazy, almost guilty. The house was quiet in that odd way that makes you feel like you’ve missed something. I walked into Baba’s room, expecting to find him resting or weak—but he was there, standing, dressed in the brightest white suit I’ve ever seen. Like it had been stitched from light itself.

He was getting ready for work, which was strange. He always used to leave by 9 a.m. sharp, never later. Routine was sacred to him. But there he was—late and glowing—and somehow, I didn’t question it.

I just… hugged him. From behind, quietly, like I used to when I was little and still trying to memorize what his presence felt like. Solid. Warm. Real.

He laughed. That laugh that always made me feel safe before I understood the word for it.

“Leenaya uth gaya?” he said, as if he’d just been waiting for me to come find him.

I told him he’d called me, but I hadn’t picked up because my phone was on Do Not Disturb.

And maybe that’s what this whole thing is. Maybe I’ve been on Do Not Disturb for a while now. Not just my phone—me. Avoiding the ache, dodging the silence, filling my days with noise so I wouldn’t have to feel how much I miss him.

But in this dream, I felt it. I wanted to answer. I wanted to stay in that room with him, ask him why he was late, help him fix his collar, tell him not to overwork himself. I wanted to stay.

But then I woke up.

Not just in the dream—actually. My mother’s voice pulled me out of that world like it always does. And now I’m here again, in the real world, writing this down so I don’t forget.

He didn’t say anything profound. He didn’t give me signs or answers or final words.

He just laughed.
He just called my name.
And in that moment—I think he was okay.
And maybe... maybe so was I.

— Aleena