Silly Dream

I had a strange, aching dream last night.

You were walking towards me, and you called me by the nickname you once gave me, “cuna.” The moment I heard it, something inside me cracked open. I smiled, soft and fragile, while my eyes filled with tears. God, how I missed you. How I missed the way my name sounded in your mouth.

You opened your arms and pulled me into you, holding me as if you, too, had been starving for my warmth. For a moment, it felt like the world paused—like you finally remembered what it felt like to lose me.

“I’m sorry... for hurting you, for abandoning you when all you needed was my love, my softness.”

And the tears spilled. Because that was all I ever wanted. A simple, sincere apology. An acknowledgment that I wasn’t crazy for breaking, that what you did actually wounded me.

I loosened the hug and cupped your face in my hands, my thumbs brushing your cheeks. I told you it was alright. That maybe you just needed more time to love me properly.

Then you looked at me with those eyes I used to drown in, and you said, “Let’s try again. This time we’ll make it work.”

But before the hope could settle, your phone rang. And suddenly the dream blurred at the edges. My vision twisted, the world spun, and panic clawed up my throat. I gripped your hand tightly. “Please… not again. Don’t leave me again.” I begged. I pleaded. But the sound of my voice disappeared into the haze, fading like everything else.

And then I woke up, with trembling hands and tears running down my cheeks—as if I had just relived every moment you walked away from me.

I couldn’t make you stay.

Not in reality, not even in my dreams.

Silly Husna.

Still sitting in the waiting room of a love that no longer exists.

Still hoping for an apology that will never be spoken,

and a promise that was never meant to be fulfilled.