CHRONOFANTASM.

 THAT 45 MINUTE SCAM.

I  closed my eyes for 45,
or so I told myself.
But sleep had other plans,
it stretched, expanded, fooled me into three hours of nothing and everything.
And then dream.
There she was.
Not just any girl. Her.
She wasn’t dancing this time.
She was winning.
The Best Folk Dance Teacher in the country.
The President of India handing over that gold,
people clapping, cameras flashing,
the whole moment wrapped in some god-level energy.
And me?
Sitting there, camera in hand,
clicking pictures like my job was to remember.
Not the hero, not the protagonist 
just the guy behind the lens,
the witness to something bigger than himself.
But it was enough.
Because she was happy.
And somehow, that made me whole.
I don’t know what was more real 
the dream, or the way it made me feel.
Because in that second,
it wasn’t about trophies or titles.
It was just completion.
Then the phone rang.
Not in the hall of fame.
Not where history was being written.
Just beside me, in my room, in real life.
And I woke up.
Back to this world where dreams don’t come easy.
But even now, even awake,
I swear, the moment still lingers.

By: Vaibhav Upadhyay.


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