A Dream Disappeared in winds

The night sky was vast and endless, speckled with countless stars, each twinkling like a distant dream waiting to be fulfilled. As I lay on the rooftop with my grandfather, listening to his stories, my mind soared beyond the limits of reality. Grandfather was a man of wisdom, a man who, as a child, had been able to predict events before they happened. Some called it intuition, while others believed he had a gift, an insight into the unseen threads of destiny. His stories, filled with wonder and mystery, became the foundation of my own dreams.

I dreamt of flying to space with him, exploring the galaxies, touching the stars, and uncovering the mysteries of the universe. The feeling of weightlessness, the breathtaking view of Earth from above, and the infinite possibilities of space travel consumed my imagination. Every night, as I closed my eyes, I found myself floating among the planets, guided by my grandfather’s words and my boundless curiosity.

The next morning, I woke up with a newfound determination. I wanted to be a scientist. At school, my mind was filled with ideas—rockets, space stations, black holes, and alien civilizations. My notebooks were filled with sketches of spacecraft, solar systems, and scientific formulas, though I barely understood them at the time. But there was one thing I knew for certain—science was my calling.

My drawings caught the attention of my teachers, but only in science subjects. While others saw them as mere scribbles, my science teacher, Mr. Rajan, saw something else—potential. He encouraged me to ask questions, to explore beyond textbooks, and to experiment with my ideas. His words fueled my passion, making my dream feel more tangible.

However, outside the realm of science, I was just another student struggling to fit in. During sports class, I was never the best player. I loved watching the ball soar through the air, imagining it as a comet streaking across the sky. But one day, as I stood on the field, lost in thought, a ball was thrown in my direction. I reacted instinctively, kicking it with all my strength. The ball flew high, too high, and struck the school wall with a loud thud. Everyone turned to look at me, some in awe, some in amusement. I stood there, stunned, my thoughts still lingering in space while reality had just given me a sharp reminder of where I truly was.

After the last class of the day, I found joy in simple things. I folded paper airplanes and sent them soaring through the air, imagining them as prototypes for future spacecraft. One particular airplane, crafted with precision, glided smoothly, catching the wind just right. I ran after it, my heart pounding with excitement. I wanted to catch it, to hold onto my dream just a little longer.

As I chased it down the road, a small stone lay in my path. My foot caught it, and I stumbled, falling hard onto the ground. A sharp pain shot through my knee, and tears welled up in my eyes. I looked around, but my airplane was gone, carried away by the breeze, lost in the vastness of the world. It felt like more than just a paper airplane had disappeared—it felt as if my dreams had slipped away as well.

Time moved forward, relentless and indifferent. The dreams I once nurtured began to fade, overtaken by responsibilities, expectations, and the demands of reality. The wonder of space, the ambition of becoming a scientist, the thrill of discovering the unknown—all of it seemed like distant echoes of a childhood fantasy.

I found myself trapped in the mundane cycle of life, where survival took precedence over aspirations. I studied what was expected of me, pursued a career that was practical rather than passionate, and settled into a routine that left little room for imagination. The stars that once called to me became just specks of light in the night sky—beautiful but unreachable.

Yet, on quiet nights, when the world was asleep, I would sit by my window and look up, searching for that feeling I had once known. The memories of my grandfather’s stories, the sketches in my notebook, the paper airplanes soaring through the wind—they were still a part of me, buried but not forgotten.

Perhaps dreams do not truly fade. Perhaps they only wait for the right moment to be reignited. And maybe, just maybe, one day, I will build a real airplane, not out of paper, but of steel and ambition, and finally, I will chase my dreams once more.