text: For the nth time, she crumpled the piece of paper and aimed to throw it in to the bin at the far end of the room. It wasn’t just a dream, she knew it. It was real. As real as her whole existence. When it happened for the first time, she had to pinch herself thrice in order to wake herself up. And then the same dream again. And again. It kept happening for a week until she realized the figure she saw wasn’t a dream and pinching herself or shouting for help wasn’t going to work. She would snap back to reality only when this figure disappeared just as suddenly as it showed up. Every time in the dream, or what felt like a dream, she would see a small girl who looked a lot like her. Every time she would say the same thing, ‘tell me, Maisah. Tell me what to do’. Maisah didn’t know what she was supposed to tell her or what the little girl wanted to know so badly that she reached out to her every night. All she knew was that she had to tell her something only she knew. So, she took out a piece of paper and started writing down everything that was known to her, only. Several weeks had passed in attempts to figure out what this little girl wanted to know from her. Every night she would give her a letter and the little girl would read it thoroughly, look up at her and shake her head. Sometimes, Maisah thought that maybe she’s hallucinating or maybe she was going crazy. How could any of it be possible? But it had been several years now that she had been safely off her pills and her psychiatrist had told her she no longer needed to see him as her mental health had progressed over the years of therapy and medications. So why was this happening now? She opened a fresh paper of the notebook, picked up a pen and started writing everything she was trying to avoid going through for all these weeks. Maybe or most certainly, this was it. This was all the little girl in her dreams wanted to know. And once she gave it her, it would set both of them free. *** Dear young Maisah, I had almost forgotten what it was like to be you. The young version of myself. After all, it has been many years since I was in the same shoes as you. I don’t know if this is real, if you are actually real. But I haven’t felt anything as real as I have these past couple of weeks since I started seeing you. You always say the exact same words to me. Nothing more, nothing less. And this whole time I’ve been reluctant to find out the right thing to say to you, to help you figure out whatever it is you are desperate to know. But each time you shake your head with a despondent look, letting me know that I am failing at my attempts. Over the past couple of years, I have been to therapy. I have visited many places around the country, worked triple shifts, and I have tried everything I could to keep myself busy. Some days I would be successful in distracting myself and other days I would find myself having a mental breakdown at three in the morning. Life has been very tough on me but more than that I have been very tough on myself. And I don’t want you to make the same mistakes that I have. I want you to live the life I had only dreamed of living when I was in your place. I know that it has already happened to you which is why you are here. And even though your future self has healed from it, she still doesn’t have the courage to talk about it with anyone. So even when a part of me knew why you were here in the first place, I didn’t want to accept it and I tried giving you other things hoping you will be satisfied and leave. I know in your story, father is already dead. I can never forget that day. How I stood there beside his body, feeling like the culprit, feeling like a murderer. I was only thirteen years old, with a dead mother, a brother who had long run away leaving me alone with a drunk father who used to abuse my mother, not just mentally but physically as well. And when she had committed suicide after all the years of torture and suffering, I was left alone with the same man who made her do that. And so, he started torturing me in the same ways. I remember standing there by his body, for what felt like hours, not knowing what to do or where to go. I know the guilt you are feeling right now, for I have felt it for years and somewhere deep inside, still do. But I need you to know that whatever happened is not your fault. He made his choices and he ought to have a death like that, but you didn’t deserve to be the one who had to do it. Even if it was unintended. Unintentional. You want to know what I would’ve done if I was in your place again? I would’ve turn around and run. As fast as I could without turning back even once. I would’ve run and I’m telling you that you need to get away from that scene as fast and as far away as you can. No one is to be trusted around you. I know you feel like turning yourself in, just as I had done. Because for the first time, you retaliated and pushed him. Pushed him so hard he fell on the broken piece of the bottle of wine and bled to death. I need you to suppress those thoughts, pick up your important belongings and run. Far away. And when you reach a safe place, just look at yourself in the mirror or anything you could use to see your reflection and tell yourself that you are not a murderer. You are not the culprit of this story. None of it is your fault and you don’t deserve to suffer everything that I have. From there onward, you choose your own path, your own direction. I know you are alone and scared and you have never seen so much blood in your life before. But you weren’t the one who pushed him. He did this to himself. You were just defending yourself just like you should have a long time ago. And if you are having any second thoughts, remember that I have lived the life you are only thinking about right now and I know the better choice. You will lose everything you still have if you choose to stay there and turn yourself in for a crime you didn’t commit, for a place that was never your home and a man who couldn’t be a father to you for a single day of your life. I hope this letter changes things not just for you, but for me as well. I’ll be right here, on the other side of it all, waiting for you to, someday, show up and tell me about the life that I could never have. With love Maisah *** It had been several months now since she had seen the little Maisah. The night she wrote the letter and gave it to her was the last she had ever seen her. But something happened that night, something extraordinary. As soon as young Maisah finished reading the letter she looked up to her older self. There was an exchange in glances between the two for a moment and in each other's eyes, they saw the same agony, the same aching for a lifelong of love they could never receive even though, they had decades of time zone between them. And it connected them and built a strong intuition within them that they were going to see each other, yet again. Young Maisah nodded with teary eyes and disappeared, leaving her old self crying herself to sleep the whole night, but this time not out of pain or sorrow. But because she could feel that she had set herself free, twice.