Episode 1: The bad dream.
He was walking, feeling his body moving as though he were walking, but he could not feel his feet touching the ground. He felt as though he were floating in the air, which made him quickly open his eyes.His eyes remained closed, then slowly opened, falling upon her face.
Something he could not understand touched his heart a place within him that had never been touched before.
He stared at her, wanting to memorize every detail of her face at once, but he couldn’t. He was looking at her, yet somehow, he wasn’t truly seeing her. All he wanted was for her to look at him, just once, so he could gaze into her eyes, but she refused to meet his.
So he parted his lips, intending to speak to her, hoping that perhaps Allah would make her look at him even if it was only once, even if it was for just a second.
But to his utter astonishment, instead of his familiar voice coming from his lips as it always did whenever he spoke, a cry escaped him.
A cry with the unmistakable sound of a newborn baby.In amazement, he lowered his gaze to his body. Only then did he understand why he had felt as though he were floating in the air why he could feel himself walking but could not feel his feet touching the ground.
He was a baby.
He was being held in the arms of the woman who had touched something deep within his heart. Only then did he realize that he was dreaming.
He was dreaming of his mother, something he had never done since coming into this world. The face he had been looking at but could not truly see was his mother’s face.
This left him even more confused. Once again, he gathered every bit of strength he had, determined to speak to her, hoping he could somehow make her look at him. But all his efforts ended in nothing more than the cry of a baby.Without looking at him, she placed a hand on him and gently rocked him, trying to soothe him. Her face carried an expression that looked like fear, panic, and worry, but there was absolutely no love on her face—not even the slightest trace of it.
“Why?”
He tried to ask her in his infant-like crying voice. This was the question he had always longed to ask his mother if Allah ever brought them together.
“Why don’t you love me? What did I do to you?”
Instead of answering him, he saw her pull the edge of the scarf she had been using to hold him and cover his face with it, until he could no longer see her either. He began to whimper and fuss like a baby, desperately wishing to see her face again. When he finally managed to free his face, he looked at their surroundings.
They were walking along the roadside, and judging by the darkness, it was probably night. The place was very dark, but he could make out trees passing by, suggesting that they were somewhere outside the city. He felt the cold seeping through his tiny body because he had nothing on except the scarf she had wrapped around him.
He spotted the headlights of a car approaching and felt a surge of excitement, thinking someone was coming to help them. But to his astonishment, she quickly hid behind a tree. Then she placed her hand over his mouth to keep his cries from being heard. His breathing began to falter when, without realizing it, she covered his nose as well. He struggled and tried to free himself, but she did not let go until the car had passed.
When she finally uncovered his mouth and nose, she didn’t even look at his face.
Exhaustion and discomfort overcame him, and he lay limp, trying to catch his breath while she continued walking.
Suddenly, he felt her stop.
He looked around at where they had stopped, and his heart began pounding violently.
He could never forget this place. It was where he had first called somewhere “home” in his life.
Nigerian National Orphanage.
It was the old gate, with the old building behind it. Slowly, he watched as she moved along the wall, trying to avoid the light from the lamps around the place, her hand still covering his mouth.
When she reached the entrance, she stopped. Without thinking twice, she crouched down and placed him on the ground.
The moment she put him down, he cried with all the strength he had. He knew what she was doing, but that wasn’t what troubled him most.
What broke him was the thought of being separated from her—the thought of losing the warmth of her body.
All he wanted at that moment was for her to look at him. Just once. Even for a single second. Somehow.
But she didn’t look at him.
She didn’t touch him.
She didn’t say goodbye.
In fact, she was too terrified that someone might see her. All she wanted was to leave as quickly as possible.
He felt her hand leave his body, and his heart went with it.
He cried harder than he had ever known he could cry. He was cold. He was afraid.
Then, through his cries, he heard footsteps approaching.
He immediately quieted down.
Slowly, her face appeared above him.
She was standing there, looking down at him.
A strange happiness filled his heart, something he had never felt before. So she did love him. Surely she did.
Surely she was about to say:
“Goodbye, my son. I love you so much. I am leaving you because I have no choice, not because my heart wants to. But I promise you, I will come back for you.”
Those were the words he had always told himself his mother must have said when she abandoned him.
But instead, he watched her crouch down and remove the scarf she had wrapped around him.
Without looking at him.
Without saying a single word.
She turned and ran into the trees.
He was left there in the bitter cold.
His heart burned with an unbearable ache. The twigs and rough ground scratched against his delicate skin. Only then did he notice that even his umbilical cord had not yet been cut—he had been abandoned before he had even been separated from his mother.
He cried.
A cry that could have pierced the heart of anyone who heard it.
Anyone except the woman who had left him there.
Anyone except the woman he had believed was the closest person to him.
The woman he had believed would love him more than anyone else.
His mother.
He woke up in terror.
It was the sound of a baby crying that had awakened him.
His own cry.
He sat upright, his entire body trembling. He could feel the cold seeping into his bones, exactly as he had felt it in the dream. He pulled his knees toward his chest and rested his head against them, slowly calling upon his Lord until a sense of calm began to settle over him.
Then he recited the supplication the Prophet had taught for when one experiences a bad dream.
This truly was a terrible dream.
He had never experienced anything like it before
a dream that felt so real, yet at the same time, he somehow knew it was only a dream.
He had never dreamed about his mother before.
He had never even imagined her like this.
In the dream, there had not been even the slightest trace of love on her face. Not even a little compassion for him.
Whenever thoughts of his parents came to him, he would console himself by believing that circumstances must have forced them apart. They loved him, but there had been nothing they could do, which was why they had abandoned him.
But this dream shattered that comforting belief.
He stood up and walked barefoot across the soft carpet in his bedroom, making his way to the bathroom. He washed his face, which felt hot as though he had a fever.
Then he found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror.
Slowly, he whispered,
“Amir, you had a dream. It wasn’t real.”
But another part of his heart whispered back,
“What if it wasn’t a dream? What if it was a memory?”
He quickly shook his head.
It couldn’t be a memory.
It had happened on the very day he was born. How could he possibly have a memory of something that happened on the day he was born?
He ran both hands over his face.
“This is crazy. It can’t be.”
Then he suddenly realized that he had been talking to himself.
He wiped the water from his face and hands with a towel before returning to his bedroom. He glanced at the clock.
Exactly one o’clock.
He turned off the AC, climbed back into bed, and lay down.
Maybe tomorrow he would go to the hospital and see Moon, let her examine his brain.
Maybe he was losing his mind.
