She Dreamt of a Burning House — Then Watched It Burn

She Dreamt of a Burning House — Then Watched It Burn

Her name was Areeba.

Nine years old. Soft-spoken. Always drawing things she didn’t understand — flames, staircases, cracked ceilings. Her mother thought she had an overactive imagination.

It started on a Thursday night.

She woke up screaming.

> “Ammi! The house is burning! The walls are falling! You were inside!”



Her mother held her close.

> “It’s just a dream, beta.”



But it wasn’t.

Because the dream came again.
And again.
Every single night.


---

Same scene:

The sky turns orange.

The roof catches fire first.

Her father’s voice screams from the basement.

Her baby brother cries.

Areeba watches from outside — helpless.


Each time, she wakes up shivering, drenched in sweat.

And each time, they dismiss her.


---

She stopped eating.

Stopped playing.

Only stared at walls — waiting.

One night, she told her grandmother:

> “Nani, if I draw it… will you believe me?”



The old woman nodded kindly.

Areeba drew the house exactly.
Then circled one room with red.

> “That’s where it begins.”



Her nani stared.

Because the room she circled was the old storage room — filled with old wires, newspapers, and kerosene bottles.


---

Still, the parents didn’t act.

> “Are we supposed to believe a child’s dream?”
“She’s just scared.”
“It’s in her head.”




---

Then came the Friday night.

Stormy. Loud winds. Power outage.

Areeba woke again — this time, not from sleep.

From heat.

And screams.

The house… was burning.

Exactly like the dream.

The roof first.
Then the old storage room.
Then the entire second floor.

Her screams pierced louder than the fire alarm.


---

They barely escaped.

Her baby brother was rescued through a window.
The father suffered burns on his arms.
The mother collapsed from smoke.

Areeba stood outside — barefoot, crying —
not because she was shocked…
but because she had seen it so many times.


---

The next morning, a fire inspector arrived.

> “Cause?”



He paused.

> “Looks like a spark from the storage room. Old wires. Something flammable caught fire.”



He looked at Areeba.

She looked back.

Then said softly:

> “It waited until Friday.”




---

After that day, Areeba never dreamed of fire again.

But she began dreaming of water.

Floods.

Ceilings collapsing.

And she draws them again.

One by one.

Room by room.


---

Because now… she doesn’t warn to be believed.

She warns… because the dreams always come true.