The Hug in a Dream

The sun was yet to rise, but the sky above Grandma’s village house glowed with warm shades of orange. The air felt festive, carrying the smell of sandalwood, ghee lamps, and jasmine flowers. pranika stood in the middle of the courtyard, her eyes scanning the colorful decorations draped along the pillars and the faint sounds of nadaswaram in the background.

It felt like a celebration — but she couldn’t tell what for.

She turned around to see her mother helping her grandmother near the puja area, arranging flowers with a calm smile. Everything felt familiar, yet oddly hazy. The people moved like shadows wrapped in silk and gold. She could feel them, hear their laughter, yet their faces blurred the moment she tried to focus.

As she stepped into the hall, someone whispered behind her, “It’s a wedding.”

“A wedding?” she repeated softly, but no one responded.

She walked deeper inside. Her father’s voice echoed somewhere in the background, laughing with relatives she couldn't name. The house was suddenly filled with colors—bright sarees, gold jewelry, turmeric and kumkum. Her heart beat a little faster.

Then it happened.

Someone gently tapped her shoulder and pointed to the inner hall. “That’s your husband,” they said.

Pranika turned, unsure of what to expect. In the soft golden light, standing a few steps above her on a raised platform, was a man dressed in traditional white and gold. He looked calm. Still. Peaceful.

She blinked, trying to memorize his face — but it was as though her dream refused to let her. His features blurred softly, like a watercolor in the rain. She could not name him. Could not recognize him. But somehow, his presence felt... right.

It was strange — the familiarity of a stranger.

Pranika’s feet moved on their own, climbing the steps slowly, one by one. With every step, her breath deepened. Her hands felt colder, her chest warmer.

When she reached him, she paused. Her voice came out low, almost like a secret.

“Can I get a hug?”

There was silence.

He looked around as if checking to see if anyone was watching — then smiled, a smile she could feel in her bones. Without a word, he opened his arms and pulled her close. Not too tight. Just enough to make her feel like she wouldn’t fall — not here, not now.

In that moment, everything else blurred: the music, the lights, the people, even time.

She could feel his warmth, the soft rise and fall of his breath. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Then, with a kind of gentleness she didn’t know dreams could hold, he kissed her forehead.

A long pause followed.

She stood there, still in his arms, as though the universe itself had taken a deep breath and chosen silence over noise, presence over explanation.

And yet... she couldn’t remember his name. She didn’t know who he was. Only his structure, the curve of his shoulders, the stillness in his eyes, the peace he carried.

It was like holding a memory of the future.

She wanted to ask him something — anything — but her lips wouldn’t move. The moment was slipping like sand through her fingers. She held tighter, hoping it would last.

But everything began to fade.

The sound of conch shells, the rustling of sarees, even the warmth of his arms.

She blinked.

The courtyard was empty.

No music. No relatives. No wedding.

Just the lingering scent of sandalwood and a single jasmine flower that had fallen on the ground beside her feet.

She woke up.

Eyes open. Heart pounding. Arms still crossed over her chest as though still holding someone who wasn’t there.

She sat up on the bed, staring into the dim early morning light streaming through her window. The dream had already started fading, but the feeling hadn't.

There was no face. No name. But her heart remembered him.

And for a moment, she wondered...

Was it just a dream — or a glimpse of something waiting for her beyond time

She didn’t remember his face, but her heart did — and somehow, that was enough

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