-: I :-

“I thought I should tell you, I keep having this dream…”

“What dream?” There was a rustle of clothes as he sat next to her with his palm flat on her back, rubbing soothing circles.

“It’s about the center of the star systems…” She bit her lips, her eyes b with unspoken emotion and her thumbs twiddling in uncertainty.

“Galactic cores? Why?” He looked slightly troubled - he was no master in this subject but he did know that she had immersed herself in it.

“I don’t know. I just… have them. I have this one particular dream…” Her lips trembled and she wondered if she was going to cry.

“Tell me.” He coaxed.

“About… standing in front of a huge galactic core and… feeling sad. I don’t know why, but I feel incredibly sad. It’s like… if I step into the core, I’m not going to be able to come back. The world I know will be gone forever… and it’ll be my last step… something like that.”

“Hmm. It’s interesting.”

“But sad.”

Aya woke with a gasp, clutching at the sheets between her fingers. She breathed heavily and her head throbbed. She let out a silent groan. This wasn’t good. She couldn’t count the number of nights she had woken up like this - gasping for breath, her voice raspy, her shirt soaked in sweat, and her nerves shaken up.

And there was always a smell in the room. A pleasant smell, one that she was familiar with; but she never could pinpoint what it was or where it was coming from.

She let out a shaky sigh as the room came into sharp focus, the moonlight filtering in through the skylight she had installed in her roof. She had insisted on taking up the attic as her room and it was a decision she didn’t regret. Her hair rustled as she turned to her right to look at the blinking LED lights of her bedside clock.

3:39 AM.

Always this time.

What was it about this time?

“I guess I could do with some water,” Swinging her legs over the bedside, she got up, throwing her bed sheets aside as she made her way to the kitchen. The stairs were old. The wood creaked. A wooden house that her parents had found when they had been house hunting. A wooden house that looked like it had come straight from the Joseon Era – and in fact it had, if what she had read on the brochures were right – and the renovation had not been easy, for a house this old. But her parents had liked it; she had liked it, so here they were – new inhabitants of a quiet residential area by a very quiet town.

The house was very old – built by a family in the Joseon Era. From what the real estate agent had said, the family had been skilled in the art of gardening. The house had an elaborate and beautiful garden in the front and back with an ancient cherry tree that stood testimony to the years passed by.  As Aya poured herself a glass of water, she slid open the kitchen door that led to the balcony outside. It was April and the cherry tree was in full bloom. The garden at the back faced a lake surrounded by mountains. There was a small stream that emptied into the lake, running by the side of the cherry tree. Rocks of varying sizes were placed in various carefully selected spots on the grass. Moonlight filtered in through the branches of the cherry tree and other trees and a gentle wind caressed Aya’s hair and clothes. Petals gently flew off the branches of the cherry tree and some were carried away to far and distant places while others floated down to the stream and flowed to the glittering lake.

It had been two months since she had arrived to this quiet town with her mother and father. They had decided that a change of place would be good for their lungs – the capital’s air pollution was harming more than you could see – and this had also been to Aya’s advantage. There was a University in this town that offered specialized courses in nuclear astrophysics that she wanted to enroll in.

Two months in this new place and Aya had oddly enough, begun to feel like it was home to her already. She didn’t know where she placed that feeling of familiarity – but it was an uncanny feeling and she wasn’t sure of whether she liked it or not. There were also the dreams. They had started only after she came here. They didn’t make sense to her but they were vivid. Vivid, colorful and b with emotion.

Not what dreams were supposed to be like.

Her feet padded down the side steps leading to the garden and took her to the stream. As she familiarized herself with her new surroundings each day, the stream had become a favorite of hers. Her father had taken an instant liking to maintaining and pruning the magnificent garden every morning and evening and her mother had revived an age old tradition from her Japanese lineage by making cherry blossom tea in the evenings. Aya though, after having settled into her room and house nicely, frequented the spot under the cherry tree, right above the stream where she would either read a book or browse on her phone.

She leaped over the stream and crouched down on the opposite side – where there were no branches to cast a shadow on the flowing water and stared, mesmerized. The fresh water sparkled in the moonlight, her ears soothed by the calming trickle and gurgling of the stream. If you looked carefully, you could see a variety of items in the stream – there were pebbles at the bottom, broken twigs and leaves that rushed to meet the mouth of the lake, small frogs by the sides croaking in the night, flower petals that touched the surface gently and were instantly carried away in a violent rush that contrasted their meeting with the water. There was the moss that covered the edges of the smooth rocks in the stream and the clarity with which you could see right to the very bottom. And bathed by the moonlight the stream only looked more beautiful than it did during the day.

Aya sighed as a strong breeze blew her hair back and a tornado of cherry blossom petals danced in the calming night. She looked up into the night sky. The moon was glorious – pristine and silvery – and she wondered if someday she would want to see the moon more than anything else.

“I wonder if after all, in life, only the small things matter. The small things make up the biggest and the big things are broken down into the small things in the end. After all that we live through – are we only going to remember the small things to cherish?”

Again, her nose caught a whiff of the smell that she had smelled earlier. It was all around her, yet didn’t come particularly from anything. Unprepared, a wave of nostalgia hit her and Aya didn’t notice the tear that joined the stream and flowed to the lake.