I can still remember it, crystal clear.That was my birthday. My 18th birthday. I went to a cafe after celebrating at my house. I was there with my friends. It was raining when we reached. We—three of us. The city was dark, the neon lights from the club were coming through the windows of the cafe. Those friends left early—more like it was my decision to stay late there. I stayed. No one was there except me in the cafe. Sitting with a heavy heart in a corner, staring at those lights while it rained outside—just like having a heavy rock on your chest. I was thinking about yesterday. She left, telling me that I would be better without her. Just a day before my birthday. It felt like true love didn’t exist anymore.The reason? I don’t. The lights went off—only in the cafe. Surprised, I stood up, went outside, tried to cross the road. Got hit by a car. It was black. All black. Not even a trace of a dot of light. Today I woke up, finding myself alone in the cafe. Same time. Same lights. Same feeling. Everything shattered by an accident—how is it possible? Did it even happen?It felt like a bad dream. The day—I checked it. It was the same date. I went outside. Everything was peaceful. Not a single human being was there. Everything seemed like a dream. I saw her in the distance, standing alone in the dress I gifted her. Smiling at me. It was nothing but only the two of us. The cafe, the club—they didn’t exist anymore. It was blank. Only grass, to the horizon. The night. The sky was full of stars staring at us. She came to me. Said nothing.Holding my hand, she started walking. Her face. That touch.Everything seemed unreal. We walked on the grass. The wind, her presence, the stars—still, I felt empty inside.She stopped, looked at me.I understood—she wanted to say something. She said,“I never left. I’m in your heart. It is your heart talking to you.You can never find me, or yourself again, if you come back.” She was fading slowly. Is this a dream?Am I dead?Do I exist anymore? She fades away. The voices start echoing around me—her voice, my parents' voice, everything.
. . . .