Twelve hours of Forever: Part-1 The Whispering Dream

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Fathima woke up drenched in sweat, her throat parched, her breath ragged with panic, and her mind was singly focused on the terrible ordeal she had just gone through.

A dream, however peculiar or daunting, could not have loosened her spirits, however it was the mystery around her dreams from the past week that seemed to unnerve Fathima. Every night, in the tranquility of her sleep, she dreamt of a man- wise in age and serene in disposition- who foretold her future… an event, a fair warning. Though she initially brushed it off as a mere coincidence, the repetition had begun to scare her and today, her fright had reached her Zenith for the man had possibly foretold her death- “The end of this life for her”- to be precise with his words.

She glanced at the scar on her arm from her accident last week- yet another instance of her dream manifesting itself into reality. Icy shackles of fear gripped her and suffocated her, prompting her to gasp for breath.

This continued for some moments before she finally managed to get a hold of herself. It was just a dream, she reminded herself, just a figment of her imagination, augmented by nothing but mere series of coincidences.

“But” her heart skipped a beat “what if her death is also a coincidence… akin to the finale arch to a chronology”

A tear tripped down her cheek. All of a sudden, all her problems seemed insignificant, all of her material possessions seemed futile, unable to shield her against the inevitable that she could face so terribly young. All that remained was a tangled web of relationships which seemed irrelevant to her just the day before. She wished to spend her last moment, wrapped in this web which she always craved to escape- oh the frailty of humans!

Letting out a gasp of acceptance, she lifted herself out of the bed and got ready to make her, what might be, her last day worth living. Maybe she would continue to live, maybe not… all she knew is that this day was all she could have and she had to make the most of it.

From the dusty corners of her wardrobe, she took out her most prized possession—an off-shoulder gown, an artistic piece of apparel tailored just for her figure. She looked at herself in the mirror, a smile topping her glittering self. She paired the dress with a pair of Christian Louboutins, which she saved for the most iconic events of her life... just like this one.

For a moment, the fear of death evaporated from her mind, and a sense of freedom creeped into it as she gawked at her reflection, smiling covertly against these uncanny thoughts.

Needless to say, she was the highlight on the streets, a center of attraction and a delight for the eyes of the passerbys. Fathima, her stomach growling from hunger, couldn’t care less about those glances of desire against hers to get to her favorite café for a quick breakfast. It had been ages since she had gone to one, primarily owing to her frugality but it all seemed all for vain in the end. What use is of that money that doesn’t serve you in your life? Perhaps money makes a better servant than a master.

Leisurely Fathima sipped through her coffee, her gaze affixed upon the curious horde of people rushing through their lives. A day prior, she had been the same… rushing through every moment in chase of the very next one but now the futility of it gnawed at her and now she pitied them, envied them for the moments they had to spare.

From the uptown to the fleeting bazaars, her steps were laced with a peculiar emptiness- one that came after experiencing a flood of conflicting emotions. Her heart seemed to crumble under this teeming desolation. She needed someone to hold on to and cry to... yet fate had never been so kind to her.

But then something changed… a gaze followed by a series of mindless steps took her to the entrance of a familiar place- a graveyard. With a sunken heart, she dared to step inside, searching for that one discernible inscription among these silent monuments to the once-living. The irony sometimes baffled Fathima who despite knowing it, found solace here.

She walked almost a mechanical pace till she reached a tombstone- it was her father’s. The roses from last week had dried up waiting for her to return. It was her father who, after the early demise of her mother, had raised her into the woman she was today. He was her foremost well-wisher, her confidant and the inspiration to her brilliance. Once believed to be inseparable, the duo had been ripped apart by Fathima’s work-holism and obsession to reach the zenith.

A tear escaped from her eyes and fell onto the tombstone as an overwhelming flood of emotions took her. It was evident she loved her dad- her “baba” and now regretted every moment that she couldn’t spare for him owing to her knack for material success which, at the end, didn’t even matter. With none to mourn her, none to hold her hand and with none bestowed with her charity, it seemed her life left no legacy behind. The thought shattered her to her core.

“I am sorry Baba…” She bawled amidst a myriad flood of tears, each carrying untold stories.

Under her breath she just wished for another life, a life that could make the end seem like embracing content, the satisfaction of leaving behind memories and the legacy with whom those memories were crafted.

But was all lost yet? She glanced at the watch and smiled- it was still barely 12, the entire day was yet to be lived.

-To Be Continued.

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