Today I saw a dream—
one that hurt a little,
and smiled a little too.
I saw us sitting together in class,
like before.
I remember a classmate once said
he had shown his poem
to the entire class.
Later I learned
that classmate had written poems
in her diary—
but only the first phase was there.
Her poem had three phases.
My diary has three phases too.
So I gave her my diary,
hoping she would write
the missing phases—
hoping we would open
those pages together.
After a while,
I realized she had read my diary.
I teased her and asked,
"Why did you read it?"
She said nothing much—
only that she liked it.
I wanted to tell her more,
to explain everything,
but I stayed quiet.
I even told myself
that maybe my classmate
shouldn't know how much I write,
or what I write.
Because what I write
comes from places
I don't always know how to explain.
Still, I felt happy
that she had read it—
that someone had seen
my words.
Then I remembered
our junior days.
I was the head monitor,
she was the class monitor.
We went to the staff room together,
side by side.
Back then,
we didn't need reasons
to walk together.
We didn't ask why.
We just did.
Maybe that's what dreams do—
they take us back
to moments that felt simple,
to connections that didn't need names,
to a time when being together
was enough.
And maybe that's why
this dream stayed with me—
quietly,
long after I woke up.
The day I started liking him, I stopped bringing my dairy to class with me.
I left it at home because I was scared someone might read it.
He used to come to our class for monitoring or sports competitions.
There used to be discussions about him everywhere.
Suddenly, my notebook felt like a burden to me.
One day, I was sitting on the side bench and wanted to read my diary.
I thought I would open it after class, but before that, I felt very sleepy and closed my eyes.
Then I saw a dream.
But it didn't feel good.
Even after waking up, I kept thinking about that dream.
I started wondering—what if something like this happens in real life too?
That thought scared me.
But I am happy about one thing—
I expressed my feelings through my diary.
And now I feel that I don't need to put extra effort anymore.
Now everything depends on destiny—
Whether I will ever get him or not.
At evening I opened
our old group chat.
For a moment,
it felt like all of us
were still there—
happy, equal,
no attitudes,
no egos.
Back then,
I was the happiest.
I wanted nothing more
than to see everyone together,
laughing the same way.
Those silly little things—
laughing over nothing,
fighting playfully,
teasing the toppers in the group—
all of it felt warm,
effortless,
real.
But slowly,
we drifted apart.
Life got busy.
The chatbox that once
never stopped talking
now feels quiet,
almost unfamiliar.
Some people left the group
after getting admission.
I wanted to stay,
to laugh with everyone again,
to revive those old chats—
but I know
it's not possible anymore.
Sometimes I feel
I don't want to be here at all—
not because I hate life,
but because things became complicated.
Maybe because my results weren't good.
Maybe because life stopped being simple.
Still, when I look back,
I smile.
Because once upon a time,
we were all just there—
together—
and that was enough.