It had been a long time since I last wrote about my dreams, and for that, I sincerely apologize. Life had taken a different turn—I had been tirelessly searching for a job, striving to find some sense of stability. Though I haven't yet achieved success, that doesn't mean I've given up. Not at all. I believe it will come, eventually. I'm doing everything I can, giving it my all.
And now, slowly, one by one, I want to document all of my dreams—the ones that shook me, moved me, or whispered something eternal to my soul.
Let me begin with the dream I had on July 25, 2025.
That night, I woke up suddenly, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding against my chest like a drum in a funeral procession. I wasn't scared, not exactly. But something felt unfinished. Something called me back into that dream, as if a part of my soul was still stuck inside it, whispering, "Come back... it's not over yet."
So I closed my eyes again, trying hard to sleep, wishing desperately to return—to go back to that strange, vivid world that had felt more real than reality.
And somehow, I did.
I found myself walking alone on a narrow path winding up a steep mountain. The air was sharp and cool, and a faint fog clung to the trees like ghosts that had lost their way. I didn't know where I was going, but I kept walking, barefoot, my feet bruised by stones and thorns. The silence around me wasn't peaceful. It was heavy… like something was watching.
Suddenly, without warning, I felt a hard shove from behind.
"Aah!" I screamed, but there was no one to hear.
I tumbled down the mountain slope like a ragdoll, the sky spinning, my limbs flailing. And then—
Thwack!
A jagged tree branch tore into my abdomen, impaling me. Pain exploded through my body like wildfire. Blood began to pour out of the wound, warm and thick, staining the cold earth below me.
I lay there gasping, choking on pain, feeling every inch of my body scream.
I could smell the metallic scent of blood… and something else.
Rot. Hunger. Death.
Suddenly, wild creatures emerged from the forest—dark, twisted shadows with glowing eyes. They were neither human nor animal. Some crawled, some slithered. Some had fangs, others claws. They weren't just chasing—they were hunting.
Driven by sheer will, I yanked my body off the branch with a strangled cry, barely managing to stand. I tore a piece of cloth from my clothing and wrapped it around my wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Every step was agony, but I ran.
I ran through that haunted forest, stumbling, crying, gasping—until I found a half-broken hut, hidden behind thick vines.
I pushed the door open and collapsed inside.
The air smelled of old wood and forgotten prayers. It was dark, but there were a few supplies scattered inside—some old clothes, and, to my relief, food.
Shivering, I wrapped myself in the dusty clothes and opened the food. I was too hungry to care about the taste. But the moment I took a bite, something was wrong.
The food started crawling.
I looked down—and my hands were full of insects. Long, thick, grotesque creatures, wriggling and twisting in my palms and mouth. I gagged and spat them out, but it was too late. They had already begun crawling down my throat, into my body.
"No!" I screamed, clutching my stomach as pain erupted like a volcano inside me.
I collapsed, writhing, as the insects started eating me alive from the inside.
I could feel them beneath my skin. I could see them—bulging, moving, growing.
I screamed. I begged. I cried.
And then—
I died.
Or so I thought.
I opened my eyes again—but I was not in the hut anymore. I was lying on the ground, my body mangled, the open wound still fresh. My corpse was being devoured by the same insects that had consumed me alive. It was horrifying. And yet, I was... watching it.
From outside myself.
My soul stood still, detached, as I stared at my broken, lifeless form.
That's when I saw him.
A man approached—tall, radiant, wearing pure white clothes that glowed faintly in the darkness. His face was unlike anything I had seen before—beautiful, yes, but not in an earthly way. His skin shimmered like moonlight, and his eyes held galaxies of pain and peace both.
He knelt beside my dead body and touched my forehead.
Then he turned to me—to my soul.
"Come," he said softly.
I followed without hesitation.
We walked through a strange portal, or maybe it was just light. I couldn't tell. When we came out on the other side, I found myself standing in a vast, misty field. It wasn't Earth. But it wasn't Heaven either.
It was... something in between.
From that place, I could see a thousand lives—souls moving through joy, suffering, birth, and death. Each one radiated its own color, its own sound.
"This is the Place Between," the glowing man said.
"Between what?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"Between the world you came from... and the truth that lies beyond it."
He turned and looked at me, seriously this time.
"We watch everyone from here," he continued. "Every human. Every soul."
I looked around again, and it felt like a thousand invisible eyes were watching back.
"But why me?" I asked.
"Because you are a powerful soul," he replied. "And powerful souls… are tested more."
I felt a lump rise in my throat.
"Tested?" I whispered.
He nodded. "Yes. The pain you suffer is not punishment. It is preparation."
"Preparation for what?"
"For who you were always meant to become."
I didn't know what to say. My entire life flashed before my eyes—the rejections, the heartbreaks, the loneliness, the countless nights of questioning my worth.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
"But why does it have to hurt so much?" I asked.
He sighed, a sound filled with centuries of sorrow and love.
"Because the deeper your pain, the higher your calling. Most souls—" he pointed down at the Earth, "—they give themselves away to darkness. To comfort. To illusion. They choose temporary joy over eternal truth."
"And what happens to them?" I asked.
"They live like kings for one lifetime," he said. "But they lose themselves forever."
"And the ones who endure?" I whispered.
"They remember who they truly are," he said, his voice firm now. "They don't escape their suffering—they transcend it."
For a moment, the field around us changed. I saw versions of myself—some broken, some shining, some trapped, some free.
Each was a choice I hadn't made yet.
"But… what happens now?" I asked, voice quivering.
He gave a small, almost sad smile. "Now… you go back."
"Back?" I gasped. "Back there? After all that?"
"You haven't finished your journey," he said. "You were never meant to die today."
"I… I don't think I can do it again," I whispered. "I'm so tired."
He came closer and gently placed his hand on my heart.
"You are stronger than you think," he said. "And you are never truly alone."
I opened my mouth to ask more—but just then—
"Neeti! Wake up!" my mother's voice shouted in the distance.
Everything around me shattered like glass.
I woke up in my bed, sweating. My hands were clenched into fists. My whole body trembled.
"Maa…" I murmured, confused. "No… I need to go back. He was about to tell me more…"
But it was too late.
The dream was gone.
Only the feeling remained—that strange, overwhelming sense that my life had meaning, even if I didn't yet understand it. That my pain wasn't pointless. That my soul… was strong enough to endure anything.
Even if the world never recognized me, even if success still felt like a distant star—I knew something now, something I couldn't unknow.
I was being tested—not broken.
And I had to keep going.