Whether you want to or not. But the palace you return to is always slightly different from the place you left. That’s the rule. It can never be exactly the same.
— Haruki Murakami, Men Without Women.
I knew this street, recognized it the moment I smelled that scent. Those little white flowers blooming on the vines. I don’t think I ever spent any time finding what they were called. But that scent. It seemed to come from the entire vine, covering the air around as if in an aura of its own. So strong, so sweet, so… triggering.
I remembered the first time I was here. And just like that, I was actually there. Or should I say, I was then. Transported back through the years, taken back to the neighbourhood just as I remembered it was back then. The storefronts in the distance, the little kids playing in the sandpile they had put there for construction, the subdued chirping of the birds and her.
Yes, she was there too. I felt the light touch in my fingers, and heard the voice in my ears. Only, as I turned to look at her, she wasn’t there. I look this way and that, and find myself alone. But the fingers entwined with mine tell a different story. I am taken by an unshakable sense of incorrectness. Something was definitely wrong in all that I was seeing.
I called her name. Somehow it felt wrong on my tongue. As if I wanted to say something and spoke something entirely different. As if it was a sin to speak the word out loud that actually came out of my mouth, like Voldemort’s name, but a little more benign than that. The voices stopped suddenly, before I had a chance to locate the source. But I needed to find her, there was the compulsion too. I pulled out my phone from the pocket and opened her contact. Why? I don’t quite know, maybe that was a sensible thing to do. She picked up on the fourth ring.
Only now, it wasn’t her voice that spoke from the other side. It was someone else. “Hello!”
“Where are you?” I asked, trying to keep the slight panic in my voice from showing.
“Who are you?” She retorted.
“What do you mean who are you? Look, stop playing these games. Come back.”
“Amittras! Is that you?”
“Oh come on. Yes, of course it is me.”
“Where are you?”
“I am —” I begin, but cannot say the name of the place. I look around me. I am at a book fair. Tables and shelves stocked with books of all sizes and colors. Posters of up and coming authors and posters for outrageous discounts. “I am at the book fair.” I say, the neighbourhood with the fragrant flower vine gone from my mind.
“What book fair?”
“The one where we —” where we what? I try to remember. But my memory falters. There is nothing to remember here.
“Amittras? Are you having one of those episodes again?” I hear her asking over the call. But I notice her voice is no longer distorted like it always is over a phone line. And I also notice that her voice is different again. I am not speaking to the same person anymore. “Amittras, talk to me.” The voice is so close to me. I turn around.
I am on a couch in a tastefully designed hall. There’s a dark blue carpet on the floor, a mahogany table in front of me, and on a similar couch on the other side, she’s sitting. There’s something wrong with her too, I don’t remember her ever wearing a hairband. “Amittras? Are you having one of those episodes again? Right now?” She asks in her heavily accented voice.
“What? No. Who are you?” I ask her. I have never seen her my entire life. And yet, I don’t feel like I was forced to come here. I know I came here of my own decision.
“I am —” she begins. The scene changes again. I am back on the fragrant street, blanketed by the flowers’ heady aroma. This time I do see a girl with me. She, too, is wrong. And she’s holding my hand. I do not know her either. I jerk my hand away and take a few steps back. But that’s not enough.
“Nishi!” I scream out, calling her, trying to remember if this is the present, or one of my triggered memories or a cunning trick of both blending together. “Where are you?”
There’s no reply. I called her name again, “Nishi! They’re trying to take me away.” Still nothing. And all this time, as I try to run away, the girl with strange straight hair and scary long nails is following me, trying to take hold of my hand again. The farther I try to run from her, the faster she chases me. Until, I reach a fork in the road. I don’t know which way to turn, I don;t know which way would lead me to my Nishi.
“Please! Let me go. I don’t belong with you.” I plead with the woman behind me.
“You know you don’t want to.” She says. Her calm demeanour is unnerving. “Besides, you don’t even know which way to find her.”
“I know.” I say, more to challenge her than out of pure confidence. And when I turn away from her, back to the forked road, I know how to get out of this. I close my eyes and start walking. I don’t know which road I took, I don’t look back to see if I am still being followed. But I can feel that I am not. The other woman, she can’t follow me anymore on the route I have chosen.
When I open my eyes again, I am still walking, my surroundings are dark and I can’t see anything. The sounds around me lose their loudness until all I can hear is the rustling beneath my steps and my somewhat laboured breathing. This forest is awfully quiet, I think until I blink once more and I am no longer there.
I know this street, recognized it the moment that scent wafted into my nose. Those little flowers blooming on the vines. I don’t know what they are called and I do not care. But I remember the last time I was here. A sudden fear grips me for I might be stuck in this eternal loop forever, until I feel the gentle fingers grip mine tighter.
“Amittras! Are you having another of those episodes right now?” I hear her speak from beside me.
I see Nishi and also see the concern on her face. “No,” I tell her, “I feel like I was about to, but I didn’t.”
“Good, but you are alright, right?”
“Yes.”
“So, what did you want to show me here?”.
“Nothing really, but do you smell that? That pleasant smell.” I say, pointing to the vine growing on the wall, covered with little white flowers that I don’t the name of.
About this dream:
I am rather inclined to call it a nightmare than a dream. Mostly because how conflicted and scared it made me feel. What are your thoughts?
The Pilfered Diaries 
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