I am sure of it, and it looks like I did not think of anything in my sleep last night, like a blank piece of paper. When we wake up in the morning, we always remember the dreams we had during our sleep. It has always been that way, as far back as I can trace back to our history. Each morning, we wake up with a dream of the following day: what we will do, who we will meet, and what will happen to us. Everything unfolds exactly as the dream has shown. It is magical as we can glimpse into our future, and with no uncertainty, we go through the day effortlessly. This frees us from any worries about what has to come, filling our lives with constant joy and contentment.

  But a day without a dream? That has never happened to anyone. Even if you do not get a full night's sleep, the manual mentions that people reported dreaming in the form of new memories, while others talked about daydreams too. However, it is unheard of for anyone to go a day without having any dreams at all.

  It seems like I am entirely incognizant to my future, which has filled me with misery and unhappiness. It is inconsistent with yesterday. I am sure that I dreamed something yesterday, but my brain could not remember it. But for today, I am certain that I have not dreamed at all, not even a fleeting glimpse. My mind feels blank, as if it has been trapped in a black hole and returned completely renewed.

  I look around, and my spine stiffens in response. Where am I?

  Only after taking a few steps, a sudden sense of familiarity strikes me. It is my parents’ house, but how can that be possible? I have not been here for a long time. I wander around, searching for my mom. Spotting my mother sitting in a chair, I struggle to frame a question to ask her.

  I stand beside her, forming a mild smile on my face.

  “I seem to have slept tight last night but I cannot remember how I got home”, I say evenly.

  “Yes, your school called so I left to fetch you.”, she says wearily, without moving her head in my direction.

  “Is everything alright? Usually, they don’t call guardians.”, I continue to ask.

  “Yes, it was regarding you visiting the counselling. Did you get the answers to your questions?”, she asks, this time looking straight into my eyes.

  Counseling. This word strikes a chord. Suddenly, I see a passing memory where I am visiting the Counselor’s Office. I ask them about the “Informants”. Then a conversation flows where I tell them, “My mind is having thoughts of its own during these few days, and they are unbearable. Moreover, it is difficult to confide in anyone about this since we are expected not to discuss unrelated matters.”. I even mention about my dad. After listening to me, the woman says, “Yes, we will solve everything, you don’t need to worry..worry..worry..worry”. The words echo and my head starts hurting.

  My mom asks me if I am alright, seeing me getting dizzy.

  “Yes, just a bit tired. Yesterday was a long day”, I try to change the topic.

  "Did you see me in your dream?" I ask her casually after some silence, trying not to alarm her.

  She does not answer. An unfamiliar tension courses down my spine, like a whisper chill searching for a place to settle. I do not want to wait for her response. I wash myself, wear my school dress again, and take the school bag.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Just as I greet her good bye to head forward, I hear a faint voice from behind, barely audible. Her fingers trembling under her own grip, as if her soul leans upon them, struggling to push a frail word into existence.

  "Yes, I did, you were upset about the race, and I made you some cake to make you feel better. So, it's okay to lose sometimes. But remember to find your way back", she struggles to curl up the corners of her mouth.

  I smile back. I wave her goodbye and leave for school. Her faint smile slowly disappears in the shadow.

  I do not know what else to do so I decide to do as yesterday in hope of resurrecting my memories. This is getting unbearable, first a day where I could not remember the dream and the following day where I did not have a dream.

  I cannot remember how I came home or how I got into bed last night. But I had a faint flash that Mom was there beside my bed. Although I was too tired, I seemed to have a sound sleep.

  I arrive late for the class. The lady teacher is already assigning the task. I quietly ask for permission to enter the class. She does not say anything, so I silently enter, and to my surprise, the seat beside Isabella is already taken. The class has started so in order to not disturb her, I pick the chair farther in the back of the class. There are two more empty chairs besides the one I pick to sit. In the rightmost corner by the window side, sits a curly-haired boy, oblivious to the class.

  The class goes pretty much the same as the previous day. There is no race today; they teach us the basic survival skills in the class only. We remain in the class for the day except for when the lunch bell beep. I jump out to eat as I have not eaten anything from the morning. I am starving, I peek over to collect my lunchbox but to my surprise, there are no lunchboxes containing my name. Even after waiting till last, I am the only one standing and everyone has proceeded to eat. I spot the curly haired boy sitting on a table beside a large group but I am the only one without food. I try to ask the staff, but my voice is unheard in their busy work. At last, the bell rings, and everyone forms a line to go back to classes.

  I do not speak all day, nor do I have the energy to. Izzy does not glance in my direction at all. The final bell ring and we form a line to go to our rooms. It has been a full day but still the memory of my dream is nowhere to be found.

  When we reach at the ground floor, I see the words Counsellor’s Office written on a door. It is the door from my memory. Does it hold the answer to my questions? I step out of the line, making my way towards the door. The memory surges back. I steady my breathing and grip the door handle, bracing myself. It is locked. I see the time on the clock outside. It says 7:14 p.m. I stand fixedly at the door, my legs refusing to move. A fleeting memory comes again. It is of my dad. His face feels deliberately obscured, stripped of detail, as if my mind refuses to fill it in. We are at a garden. I am small somewhere around five or six years old. I am climbing to a tree-house. “Come over here”, he says while directing to a canvas there.

  I hear my sweet voice saying, “What are we doing today in our Me time?”.

  “Portrait sketching. Draw your mom here.”, he says, holding a pencil.

  There are some books lying on one side. “Are you sure it is your mom?”, he playfully asks after I finish.

  “Hmm, looks like her”, I hold the canvas near, examining it.

  “You might have the sharpest memory but not the hands for it”. And he laughs, a sound so pure it almost hurts to remember. He is my father, the purest thing my memory has left me.

  A single tear drops from my right eye and then the other follows. I cry the sufferings away, indistinct to the passersby. The stars begin to crawl in, and only then do I realise how much time has passed with me standing here. The hallway holds air of tranquillity devoid of any living being.

  I arrive at my dorm hall. The smell of food still lingers in the air. They must have eaten and clean the dishes, the droplets still visible from the sink. I prepare something to eat for myself. It is the first meal of the day for me. After the meal, I head back to my room. I turn on the light, and a dreadful shock rips through me. I step out of the room to double check the nameplate at the door. There is none but I am pretty sure it was there this morning. All other rooms have it, just mine is gone. But that is not the only thing which is missing, the furniture, curtains, almirah, bed, everything is missing in my room. It is just a room with four walls, no sign of any dwelling here.