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MOTH TO A FLAME [High- school edition]

zusane
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Synopsis
"Look at me, Mihir, Am I not enough for you? Do you not love me anymore? Was everything a lie?", I trembled when I said these words while I held his hands. His eyes meet mine with concern. He said, "You are literally shaking right now, get hold of yourself, are u so much in love with me? Tell me?" I was speechless, I did not know what to say at that moment. Yes, I was completely, passionately, insanely , desperately, especially hopelessly in love with him. From the tip of my hair to the tip of my toenail knew this secret. I just could not say, and could never say, cause I knew my words could never explain the kind of love I was experiencing. "Jo bhi mai kehna chahun,barbaad karein alfaaz mere." [Whatever I want to say, spoil my words.] Ayla Asif, a nineteen year old, arts major student, gets these unusual yet real periodic dreams of her past lover. She strives to know why she went through such a phase every now and then. It's been an year since, she broke off from her ex partner Mihir. What could possibly go wrong between such a pure and promising couple?
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Chapter 1 - CHAPTER-01: INTO THE ABYSS

I floated freely, suspended in the weightless void that overcame my senses. The murky depths consumed me and silenced all but the most primal thoughts. A strange dizziness swept through me with the gentle sway of descent into the deep unknown. My physical form felt oddly ethereal— typically tethered to gravity, yet now transient as though capable of drifting off into nothingness. Silken strands of hair danced around me in fluid motion, a tender embrace by the watery world, while my abdomen coiled with urgency, each throb an insistent plea for breath.

My lungs begged for oxygen: an act that typically sustains life, yet I found myself feeling most alive in these moments of numbness— both physically and mentally. The contradiction was profound; I embraced the essence of vitality when surrounded by death. Emotions did not cloud me; it was liberating to be devoid of any sentiment. I felt only the calm encircling waters that held me gently in their cool caress— no other feeling, just water and me, floating in silence.

What was that? Would I ever be able to view the light once more? And moreover, was it even my desire to do so? In the pitch darkness of the water, struggling under enormous pressure and at the edge of life, I found an odd sense of existence. Why did I need to experience my blood slowing down and clotting inside me to feel alive? Had I ever truly lived before or were my senses so deadened that only this extreme situation could rouse them? What are feelings, really?

I could not understand in those dark, heavy waters. Time halted, interrupting the flux of sensations and thoughts. There was no feeling of descent, no disgust, no failure. Only stillness. And then my body shouted at me again for air. My head exploded into a bursting pain, my limbs gave way, and my mind seized up in a moment of panic, my body's last effort to survive this physical torture. I started clawing at the water, the water that so recently had only been calming. The depth's weight crushed me, I could feel 10 tons of pressure on my skull, like it would explode my brain into the water.

He's there. I feel it suddenly, dancing around me. The feeling is indescribable — akin to a soft breeze that carries with it the scent of countless memories. I sense that wave of heat which always surrounds me in his presence. It's not just any warmth; it's a warmth that seeps into my very bones, banishing the cold grasp that often lingers around my heart. I imagine his arms enfolding me in a protective embrace, cocoon-like, and I almost have this desire to be lost within them forever— such is their allure. His scent permeates my senses: a curious mix of recognizability and solace. And then there is his heartbeat— so near, so close that it seems to echo mine in perfect unison— offering an oddly peaceful reassurance, even in this moment of strangeness and uncertainty.

His voice reaches my ears as if it was an echo at the beginning and then seems remote and dull. It's not obvious, a murmur in the wind, yet for me it suffices. I woke up to nothing, just emptiness everywhere around me. Nevertheless, his voice would still reach me, calling upon me, leading me. What I wanted most was to heed that voice eternally without ever losing it. My heart pounds; my forehead is covered with cold sweat while I feel my body submerged into water.

 

Thus I chase that sound, urged on by fear of loss. The remaining oxygen in my lungs won't make me last long but I continue moving.

 

As I sink deeper into a watery grave of myself I can sense the life escaping from me but these resonating voices fill within me a strange drive propelling to move forth. The ocean floor is much farther away than what came across my mind earlier; darkness reigns there however the tone of that voice becomes more distinct and precise. It utters out my name with each syllable of urgency and love mixed therein. Further down I go until where the ocean floor is totally obscured by darkness down there which seems indefinite void: pitch blackness. Although blindfolded in this darkness, he still feels like a beacon for me.

All of a sudden, the voice ceases reverberating. My heart gets to my throat as panic sets in and I feel a cold grip on its walls. I hurriedly turn back looking for him before I see it; a dim light. He is the light, an incandescent shape piercing the darkness. I swim as fast as I can against the water's crushing weight. Every stroke becomes one more battle but his sight keeps me going on just to touch him, hold him even for the last time.

 

No room for second thoughts, no lingering doubts or fear of pain or what comes after. The way does not seem so hard, he is that close now; only a little more distance away from each other and that bubble will burst open- we are here alone.

 

The sturdy waters carry me through at high speed until when I reach him at last. My hands stretch towards him yearning to have him in them again. The next moment am touching his body with my fingers, then he disappears like dust flashes dissolving into water. He was not actually there; it was only an image which appeared mercilessly false as soon as my hands touched it concealing nothing but illusions of love.

 

He is absent and this breaks my heart with sharp pain in it. Did he ever really come? Or was he just another figment of my desperate imagination?

I howl, my cries swallowed in the water. The pain unhinges me, a burning, gnawing ache. And then I come, gasping out of the dream, breathless, my face wet with tears, wild and as hot as steam. Sobbing like a baby, crying and crying, curled up and clutching what remains of the dream. A long-term memory of being cheated that comes in waves, a one-minute opus of emotion, a lust for him, a pain in my chest, hopeful and hungry. Bang goes another dream. Do I want him? Do I want the memory that I have now? It seems blurred, the reality and the interweaving dreams that I create or have thrust upon me. Was he ever there? Will I ever know? Perhaps my mind naturally drifted, begging for a man, and the words Over here, I'm over here, coupled with the state I was in, distracted and overwrought, pulled him out of the woods – or possibly invented him from the embers of loneliness, the dregs of heartache placing him there, really – right where I could see him, reach for him, claim him?

 

 It's dark and quiet, so different from the loud depths of my dream; I can still hear his voice, and feel his arms around me. There's still a space in me the shape of him, as vast as the ocean bed that I had fallen into. I collect myself up. No this is not me. I am not this brittle am I? It's been a year since all of it happened. Why am I still dreaming of him?

It's separation anxiety obviously. It's not the first time I was dreaming of him. But I snapped myself back to reality, reassuring myself that yes, today, he is not there, and shall never be again.

The next morning:

It's a beautiful morning in Pune, India. The sun is hitting me like nothing else in this world, bathing everything in a warm, golden light. I wake up with baggy eyes like any other college student, thanks to another late-night study session. I'm running late for college again. Am I surprised? Not at all. I grab my stuff and head out, assignments weighing heavily on my mind.

Oh, I should probably introduce myself. I'm Ayla Asif, a fresher at the National Institute of Fine Arts, the most prestigious fine-arts school around. Getting here wasn't easy – it took a lot of hard work, sleepless nights, and stress-filled days. Once you get into the college, you realize it's a bit of a circus. It's super competitive, and everyone is constantly judging your work. Art is subjective, so you never really know if you're doing great or missing the mark completely.

It's a real struggle, trust me. Every single day is a new adventure. I rush to the art court at 8:00 am sharp with all my art tools, which I like to think of as my weapons of creation. I survive on about 4 hours of sleep and a giant sipper of coffee. That's the routine here at NIFA. The halls are packed with students just like me – passionate, sleep-deprived, and driven. We hustle through our days, balancing classes, assignments, and personal projects.

Sometimes, the pressure feels like it's too much, like a heavy weight on my chest. But then I remember why I'm here. I think about the dreams and aspirations that brought me to this amazing place. The friendships I've made, the mentors who guide me, and the incredible art all around make it worth it. Every piece of work, every critique, every sleepless night is a step towards becoming the artist I want to be. In this journey, every moment, no matter how tough, is like a brushstroke on the canvas of my future.

Ugh, I practically sprinted to the bus stop and flung myself onto a seat, heart hammering. The usual 15-minute commute, my quiet time to zone out, was useless today. All I could think about was that stupid dream. Him again. The guy I parted with a year ago.

We lasted practically two years, but you know how it goes, things fizzled. We both agreed it was over and went our separate ways. Radio silence ever since. College life and a mountain of art projects kept him out of my head for most of the year. But lately, bam! He's been showing up in my dreams, uninvited and unwelcome. Like, seriously, dream world, enough already!

The bus rumbled through the Pune traffic, but I was a million miles away. These dreams were getting annoying, messing with my zen. College was tough enough with deadlines and critiques on my latest masterpiece. Unresolved feelings were the last thing I needed.

Hold on, was I really over him? The silence, something I'd gotten used to, felt weird now. A strange pull, a ghost of the fear of losing him, flickered inside me. Maybe I wasn't quite there yet, with the whole moving on thing. Maybe his dream appearances were a nudge – a reminder of what we had. Letting go completely felt…scary.

Another sigh escaped me. I needed to ditch these thoughts, stat. Focus on the here and now, my goals, my dreams. The bus lurched to a stop at NIFA. Grabbing my stuff, I straightened my shoulders. I was here for a reason, and nothing was going to stop me from crushing it. NIFA, here I come!