Pages Of My Diary

I am no stranger to the midnight cinema of bad dreams. Over the years, my subconscious has directed full-scale war epics, marooned me in gothic mansions with flickering chandeliers, and pitted me against creatures that looked like they had walked straight off a high-budget Hollywood set. I usually wake up from those with a racing pulse, sure, but mostly admiring the production value. Last night, however, my brain skipped the blockbuster CGI and went straight for psychological warfare. There were no zombies, no falling elevators, no shadowy figures lurking in the mist. Instead, I found myself sitting in the cramped, vinyl upholstered backseat of a battered auto rickshaw, hurtling through unfamiliar streets on the morning of a massive exam. Halfway through the journey, the cold, suffocating lightning bolt hit: I was completely unprepared. The formulas had vanished. The concepts were smoke. The panic was so visceral, so absurdly realistic, that actual tears welled up in my eyes as I clutched a notebook full of gibberish. To make matters worse, my driver appeared to have acquired his license through pure optimism. He took random turns with cheerful confidence, completely oblivious to where the exam centre actually was. In the waking world, salvation is a glowing blue line on Google Maps. In dream logic, mobile phones are just smooth bricks of useless plastic. Time was bleeding out. The clock was ticking toward failure. And the driver was humming a merry tune while driving in what seemed to be a very committed circle. Then, blessedly, my eyes snapped open. The ceiling of my bedroom was right where it belonged. The exam didn't exist today. I took a deep, shuddering breath, completely bathed in relief. Now, I consider myself a rational person. I don't read horoscopes, and I certainly don't subscribe to street corner superstitions. But an old folk belief suddenly tapped me on the shoulder: if you tell someone about a bad dream, it won't come true. So, consider this article an insurance policy. I am documenting the horror here purely to neutralize the cosmic threat. If the superstition holds any water, I have officially saved my future self from an unplanned catastrophe...