"I am not just writing a blog, I am building a dream world and in dreams, every colour, feeling, and heartbeat matters."✨
🌙 Written in My Skin 🌙
(Dream entry no 1)
I remember the light that day, dim, soft, and somehow golden, the kind that blurs the edges of things until you can’t tell where reality ends and magic begins.
A future teller sat across from me, her eyes steady and knowing, fingers tracing invisible stories across my skin. She held my hand gently, but her touch felt heavy, like she was holding a secret I wasn’t ready to hear.
“There,” she murmured, pointing near my thumb. “An X. That’s rare.”
Her nail followed another line near my little finger. “And only one line here… it means one relationship, then an arranged marriage.”
The words felt both distant and too close — echoing through me like ripples in still water. For a second, everything went quiet. Then the silence cracked.
I blinked and suddenly, I was back at my breakfast table, the sound of clinking cups and my family’s chatter filling the air. The smell of toast, the scrape of chairs, my mother’s voice overlapping with my father’s. Reality came crashing back, loud and chaotic, like someone had turned up the volume of life itself.
Later, we were lounging on the sofa, half-asleep in the calm after breakfast, when my mom pulled out a fancy invitation card. She smiled — that knowing, mischievous smile she always gets when she has news.
“He likes you,” she said simply.
I frowned. “Who?”
She showed me his profile — handsome, creative, a singer and an actor, his eyes carrying the kind of confidence that makes you want to look away. There was something about his expression, calm, maybe too calm. Something dominant hid behind that smile.
Still, curiosity whispered louder than fear. I agreed to meet him.
The next morning, I left with my best friend. We took the train, the city blurring past the windows like streaks of memory. The rhythmic hum of the tracks became my heartbeat. I was nervous, though I didn’t know why.
As I stepped off the train, a small child appeared out of nowhere. He couldn’t have been older than 10 years. His eyes, dark, curious, too old for his face, met mine. Without a word, he held out a tiny book, bound in shades of red, purple, and black.
“It’s for him,” he said softly.
I froze. A strange chill crept up my spine. How could this child know who I was meeting?
I looked around to ask more, but the boy was gone, swallowed by the crowd, leaving behind only the weight of that little book in my hands.
The cover was textured, almost like it was alive. I opened it carefully. Each page was thick, unusually thick, and on each page there was just one line a sentence, a fragment, written in looping script.
The first line was hauntingly familiar, like lyrics from a song I used to hum in my sleep. I couldn’t read further. My instincts told me not to.
My best friend tugged my sleeve, breaking my trance. “Come on,” she said.
I slipped the book into my pocket, making a mental note to give it to him later.
We arrived at the gates of his home, if you could call it that. It wasn’t a house, it was a kingdom. The gates stood tall, carved with mystical creatures that felt oddly recognisable, as if I’d seen them before in another lifetime. The air was thick with incense and music. Inside, there was a market, alive with colour and laughter, and I realised that all of this was his. His empire.
A woman approached us. Elegant, graceful, yet mysterious, she seemed to float rather than walk. She smiled warmly, the kind of smile that feels rehearsed yet genuine.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said, taking my hands in hers. “I’m his mother.”
Her words were soft but carried a certain weight. “You’re the only girl he chose, out of a hundred.”
My mind went blank for a second. The only one? My stomach fluttered with excitement, fear and something else I couldn’t name.
She led me through the grand hallway, lined with portraits of people I didn’t recognize but somehow felt connected to. As we crossed one of the larger rooms, I saw him.
He stood by the window, light falling across his face. His gaze locked onto mine instantly, as if he had been waiting. His eyes were deep and dark, and familiar, unsettlingly so. My breath caught.
He didn’t look away. Not once.
His mother whispered something to him, and I caught the faint sound of his chuckle, low and warm. Then she excused herself, leaving us in a silence that felt louder than sound.
He walked toward me, every step deliberate. When he was close enough that I could hear his breath, he leaned in slightly and whispered, “I’ll hunt you down if you ever run away.”
Goosebumps spread down my arms. My heart thudded. There was something terrifyingly calm about him, something that made me want to step back — yet another part of me wanted to melt right there, to ask why his voice felt like déjà vu.
He smirked and turned to leave.
I don’t know what took over me then. I ran after him, calling out his name before I even realized I knew it. He stopped, turned, eyes glinting.
“This,” I said, taking the small book from my pocket, “is for you.”
He tilted his head, smiling faintly. “From you?”
“Don’t be flattered,” I replied quickly. “It’s from a kid.”
I pressed the book into his hand before he could say another word and walked away.
Moments later, his mother returned, her expression unreadable but kind. “Come,” she said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
She led me down another hallway, this one glowing with soft golden light, until we entered a room that took my breath away. Racks of dresses, shimmering in every colour imaginable, silks, velvets, fabrics that whispered when they moved.
“These,” she said proudly, “are the ones I’ve chosen for you.”
For me?
I smiled awkwardly, unsure what to say. She went on, describing each dress in detail. What colours suited my “aura,” and what shapes matched my spirit. I nodded politely, overwhelmed.
Finally, I chose a white dress with delicate purple designs, simple yet full of meaning.
“I wear white because I feel nothing yet,” I told her softly. “Everyone here is new to me, but purple means I’m open — ready to adapt, to understand.”
Her eyes softened. She nodded approvingly. “You have wisdom,” she said.
The maids came in silently, their faces calm, their movements synchronised. Not one of them spoke as they helped me change. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, though it was sacred. Like they knew words would break whatever spell the moment held.
When they finished, I turned to the mirror. The girl staring back didn’t look like me; she looked like someone who belonged in this place, this story.
And yet, deep inside, a small voice whispered that I didn’t.
That I was still standing in two worlds, the one where my mother smiled over breakfast, and the one where a stranger’s eyes burned through me like fire.
Somewhere between reality and dream, something was pulling me closer to him…
A shiver ran down my spine as I felt a presence behind me. Not the maids. Not his mother. Someone was watching.
I couldn’t see who it was, and yet the feeling lingered, pressing against me, leaving no room to breathe. Something, or someone, was waiting.
AN/
What happens when I finally meet his family, or what’s inside the rest of the little book? - To know, read the next part ;)
XOXO until next time!
