A Dream that Never Ends

It was a quiet, peaceful afternoon in Tral. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the village roads. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the earthy scent of the valley with it. I had wandered here before, but today something felt different — something heavy in the air, a weight I couldn't shake off. I found myself walking along the same road that passed through Saba's village, the place where our paths had crossed so many times before, back when our bond was strong.

But things had changed. We hadn’t spoken for months. There had been words, sharp and cutting, that drove us apart. Her behavior had become unpredictable, her words more hurtful with each passing day. I couldn’t understand why she’d pushed me away, why she had chosen to silence me. I could still feel her presence in my heart, a quiet ache that never seemed to heal, but the silence between us had grown louder with time.

As I walked along the road that afternoon, my thoughts were tangled, a mixture of longing, pain, and confusion. I didn’t expect to see her, not in this place, not like this. But suddenly, a motorcycle sped past me on the road. I didn’t think much of it at first, until a loud thud rang in my ears, and I turned around.

The motorcycle had struck her. Saba. It was her, lying motionless on the road, her body twisted in a way that made my heart freeze. I rushed to her side, the world around me blurring, my heartbeat loud in my ears. I knelt down, hands trembling as I checked for a pulse. There was nothing. She was gone.

A wave of disbelief washed over me. This couldn’t be real. It was a nightmare, a cruel one, but it couldn’t be true. But the lifelessness in her face, the absence of the light that used to shine so brightly in her eyes, told me everything I needed to know. She was gone.

Without thinking, I lifted her, my mind in chaos, and carried her to the nearest hospital. The doctors didn’t even need to check her. They confirmed what I already knew in my heart: she was dead on arrival. The tragedy was real, too real. The grief that swelled inside me threatened to swallow me whole, but I had to hold it in, to be strong, even if only for her.

News spread quickly. The people of the village arrived, murmuring in disbelief. They spoke of her parents, her family who had to be told about this devastating loss. I watched, numb, as they were informed, and they rushed to the hospital, their faces pale with shock and sorrow.

When we arrived at her home, the atmosphere was heavy with grief. There was a flurry of activity as her family prepared for the funeral. Her body was bathed with tenderness and care, a final act of love and respect. I stood there, watching as they wrapped her in her final shroud. But there was a moment, an unbearable silence, where everyone turned to me.

I could hear them, their whispers, their eyes all fixed on me. They were waiting for me to do it. To lead the funeral prayers. To dig her grave. It was as if time had frozen, and I was caught in this overwhelming responsibility that I never asked for, but somehow had to fulfill.

With trembling hands, I led the funeral prayers, my voice breaking with each word, each prayer for her soul. My heart wasn’t in it; it couldn’t be. The weight of the loss, the weight of her absence, crushed me from within. I prayed for forgiveness for her, for peace, for mercy, even though my own heart was filled with nothing but confusion and anguish.

Then came the most unbearable part — the digging of her grave. I had never imagined I would be the one to do this, to lower her into the earth. My hands, caked with dirt, shook as I carved the final resting place. I placed her fragile body into the grave, and the earth closed over her like the finality of my own broken heart. The world felt still, suffocating, as I offered my last prayers.

I closed the grave, my mind numb, my body weak. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I wept, as though all the tears in the world couldn’t wash away the agony that held me. And then, in the chaos of my grief, I collapsed. Everything around me blurred, and I fell into unconsciousness.

I woke up, heart pounding, gasping for breath. The dream was over, but the pain lingered. The sorrow, the grief, the feeling of helplessness — they had not left me. They had followed me into waking life. My thoughts were chaotic, my mind consumed with the image of Saba, her lifeless form, her absence. And though I knew it had only been a dream, the emotions felt all too real.

It felt as though this tragedy, this unspoken loss, was still with me. Even though I hadn’t heard from her in so long, even though the silence between us had become a chasm too wide to bridge, the dream had shaken me to my core. It was a reminder of how fragile life was, how quickly things could be lost, how deeply I still felt for her, despite everything.

The chaos in my heart only grew stronger, a tidal wave of emotion I couldn’t control. I wanted to reach out, to speak to her, to find answers for the rift that had torn us apart. But I knew, deep down, that the pain of this loss, even in a dream, was a burden I would carry forever.