The Night My Dream Spoke First
On September 19, I had a dream that shook me.
A black car came out of nowhere—
hit my son, my mother.
They lay bleeding, unconscious.
I ran, desperate, toward doctors and nurses nearby.
But they didn’t take it seriously.
I woke up breathless, heart pounding,
as if my body had already lived something
my waking mind hadn’t yet seen.
Then last night, it happened.
Not a black car, but a muddy road.
Our scooter slipped.
Me and my baby—
we hit the ground hard, right side first.
I remember the jolt, the fear,
the way my arms instinctively wrapped around him.
His helmet saved him.
That one small decision—so ordinary, so maternal—
became everything.
I keep thinking:
Was the dream a warning?
Or was it my soul rehearsing how to protect,
how to stay calm, how to act?
I didn’t freeze.
I didn’t panic.
I became the woman in the dream—
the one who runs, who lifts, who shields.
Only this time,
I didn’t need anyone to take me seriously.
I took myself seriously.
And my baby is safe.
- BINDYA R S.
