— The Dream That Was Too Real
The alarm buzzed like it always did — loud, irritating, and just as unwanted as Monday mornings.
Rohan groaned and reached for his phone, pressing the snooze button before burying his face back in the pillow. He'd been dreaming — something strange, something that still lingered like a shadow at the edge of his thoughts.
It wasn't the usual kind of dream — not the random ones with flying cars or missed exams. This one had faces. Voices. Laughter. A soft echo of a girl's giggle that felt so real it almost hurt.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The sunlight spilled through the window, but it felt... different today. Like the world had changed just a little overnight, and only he could feel it.
Rohan tried to shake it off. "Just a weird dream," he muttered. But his chest felt tight, his mind racing with blurry images — a wedding scene, small hands holding garlands, an old house filled with laughter.
It made no sense.
He pulled on his T-shirt and headed downstairs for breakfast. The smell of parathas and tea drifted from the kitchen, comforting as always. His mother stood by the counter, flipping something on the tawa.
"Good morning," he said, forcing a smile.
"Good morning, beta," she replied, not looking up. "You look... lost. Everything okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said, sitting at the table. "Just had a weird dream."
His mother turned, wiping her hands on a towel. "Weird dream? About what?"
He hesitated, half laughing. "You'll think I'm crazy, Ma. I saw... a marriage."
She raised an eyebrow. "Marriage?"
"Yeah. Like, a full-on ceremony. But the strange thing — I was there. As a kid. And there was this girl... we were both wearing garlands, and everyone was laughing, cheering." He shook his head, chuckling nervously. "Crazy, right?"
For a second, his mother didn't reply. Then she smiled faintly, but it wasn't her usual smile. "Hmm... interesting."
"What?" Rohan asked, frowning.
"Nothing," she said quickly, turning back to the stove. But her hands moved slower now, almost distracted.
He leaned forward. "Ma, why do you look like that? Don't tell me there's some weird story behind this?"
She laughed softly, though her eyes didn't match her tone. "You remember your childhood properly, beta?"
"Of course. Why?"
"Everything?" she asked again, her voice quiet.
Rohan frowned. "I mean... mostly, yeah. School, friends, our old house in Patna. Why?"
His mother sighed, then turned off the stove and sat across from him. "You were seven years old when something happened. Something small but... special."
Rohan blinked. "Special like how?"
She smiled wistfully. "You wouldn't remember, but... we once had a small ceremony at your nana's place. A symbolic one."
"What kind of ceremony?"
His mother looked him in the eyes. "Your marriage."
Rohan froze mid-bite. "...What?"
"Not a real marriage," she said quickly. "Just a symbolic one. You were sick that year — very sick. Doctors couldn't explain it. Then one night, your nani had a dream. She saw a girl, and a priest telling her that to save your life, your 'destiny' must be tied to someone pure-hearted. She woke up crying. We were desperate, so we followed the ritual."
Rohan laughed, thinking it was a joke. "Wait — Ma, are you serious right now?"
She smiled sadly. "Yes. Your nana's old friend had a granddaughter — same age as you. The families agreed. You two exchanged flower garlands, and that was it. A small ritual in the garden. Everyone laughed, but the next day... your fever broke. You got better."
He just stared at her, stunned. "You're joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."
She reached into the drawer beside her and pulled out an old photo album — the faded kind with yellowed pages and corners peeling. She flipped through it, then stopped and turned the page around.
And there it was.
A small boy in a cream kurta, smiling nervously. Beside him — a little girl in a red frock, shyly holding a garland of marigolds. Their parents standing around, laughing, clapping.
"That's you," his mother whispered. "And her."
Rohan stared. The girl looked familiar — her eyes, her smile. He'd seen that face before, recently.
It hit him suddenly.
"Wait... is that... Ritika?"
His mother nodded. "Yes. Ritika Sharma. You used to play together all the time. Her father was your nana's closest friend."
Rohan ran a hand through his hair, completely lost. "Ma, this is insane. You're telling me I was... married to Ritika when I was seven?"
"Not really married," she said gently. "Just a ritual. But yes... that's what happened."
He laughed again, shaking his head. "Wow. That's... wild."
His mother smiled softly. "It was just a childhood thing. But it's funny, isn't it, how you dreamt about it after all these years?"
He didn't answer. His mind was still spinning.
After breakfast, he went up to his room, pulled out his phone, and opened Snapchat. Ritika's story was still there — her smiling face, messy bun, coffee mug. She looked... exactly like that girl from the photo.
Without thinking, he texted her.
Rohan: Hey, weird question. Do you remember anything about... um, some childhood 'wedding' or something?
It took her only a few seconds to reply.
Ritika: 🤭 Ohhh so you finally remembered??
He blinked. "What—" he muttered aloud.
Rohan: Wait. So it's real?
Ritika: Ofc, dummy. You think your mom made that up?
Rohan: YOU KNEW??
Ritika: Obviously. You forgot, though. I thought you'd remember one day.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen. His heartbeat felt weirdly fast.
Rohan: Why didn't you tell me?
Ritika: Because you were too busy with your girlfriend back then 😏
Ritika: And honestly, it was just a childhood thing. No need to complicate your life.
He smiled faintly at her teasing tone but couldn't ignore the strange warmth rising in his chest.
Rohan: So what now, Mrs. Childhood Bride?
Ritika: Shut up 😤 Also... my school's on break. You should come over.
Rohan: Seriously?
Ritika: Yeah. Mom was just saying how long it's been since she saw you.
Ritika: Don't make excuses. Just come.
Rohan hesitated for a moment, then typed:
Rohan: Fine. I'll come this evening.
---
The day passed slower than usual. Every few hours, Rohan caught himself thinking about the photo, about that little girl in red, about how bizarre yet oddly comforting it felt.
He tried to laugh it off, but deep inside, something stirred — like a connection reawakening.
By evening, he packed a small bag, told his mom he was heading to Ritika's place, and left.
The road was quiet, the wind cool against his face as he rode his bike through the dusky streets.
When he reached Ritika's house, his heart did a small, stupid flip.
It had been years — but the house looked the same. The old mango tree, the gate with the faded paint, the little wind chime that still sang in the breeze.
He rang the bell.
The door opened, and Ritika's mother smiled in surprise.
"Rohan! Arrey beta, you've grown so much! Come in, come in!"
He grinned shyly. "Namaste, Aunty."
Inside, everything felt nostalgic — the smell of incense, the framed photos, the laughter echoing from the kitchen.
"Ritika's upstairs," Aunty said. "Go wake her up, she's been napping all afternoon."
He nodded, smiling. "Still the same lazyhead, huh?"
Upstairs, the room looked like a pastel dream — fairy lights, books, and that familiar mess of papers and cushions.
Ritika was curled up on her bed, half-asleep.
He smiled to himself, pulled a small chocolate bar from his pocket, and gently placed it beside her.
Then, just to tease, he whispered near her ear, "Boo."
She gasped and sat up instantly, hair all over her face. "What the— Rohan! You scared me!"
He laughed. "Good morning, Mrs. Childhood Bride."
She threw a pillow at him. "Stop calling me that!"
He ducked, laughing harder. "Fine, fine! But seriously, this is insane. I still can't believe it."
Ritika folded her arms. "Took you long enough to find out."
"I thought it was a dream," he said softly. "But it felt... real."
For a second, her teasing expression softened. "Maybe because it was real. You just forgot."
He didn't know what to say. So instead, he smiled and said, "So... can we pretend we're meeting for the first time again?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You mean... as strangers?"
"Yeah," he said, smiling faintly. "Hi, I'm Rohan."
She smiled back. "Hi, I'm Ritika. Apparently your wife."
They both laughed, the room filling with that easy, old warmth that never really fades — the kind that comes only when two hearts share a forgotten past.
And as night fell, they stayed up talking — about school, life, lost memories, and the strange way destiny sometimes ties people together long before they ever understand why.
When the clock struck 3 a.m., they were still awake — two souls caught between childhood memories and the beginnings of something neither of them could quite name.
---
"The Dream That Was Too Real" 🌙