Something does not feel right. 

 

This thought claimed my consciousness as I struggled to open my eyes. The body I was in felt foreign to me. The skin I wore felt stitched to my flesh, my insides put together like random Lego pieces. I paused, as I brought my hand to my face, attempting to sweep my hair from my eyes. Unable to comprehend what I was looking at, I heard myself audibly gasp. Why does my hand look like that? My skin was aged, veiny, akin to my grandmother's, whom I had grown used to seeing as she brought me plates of home-cooked meals and when she oiled and braided my hair. I brought my other hand to my face and started to study them. Odd. With considerable difficulty, I swung my legs over the bed's edge, attempting to get up. Strange. I went to bed fine yesterday. After some struggle, I planted my feet on the ground, feeling the cold parquet on my soles. I padded over to the mirror. 

 

My brain could not register the woman staring back at me. She was me, no doubt. She had the same hooded eyes, and high cheekbones as me, the same features I had all my life, but she was old. Venerable. Much, much older than the 28-year-old version of me. This woman was no younger than 80 years old, with greyed hair messy from sleep, a small frame, stooped with age, and a tired look etched upon her wrinkled face. She stared back at me, my confusion mirrored on her face. My eyes scanned the reflection of the space around her and something dawned on me – I do not recognise this world. The reality I had known yesterday no longer seemed to exist in the one I was apparently living in today. 

 

Given my circumstances, the only familiar thing that I felt within me was the drop in my stomach and the panic rising in my throat. Having lived with anxiety most of my life, it would have been a miracle that this was the one thing that would have chosen to have disappeared at a time like this. Where was I? Why could I not remember anything? Where were my parents? Does Rana know where I am? Where is my phone? Questions swirled in my head. I swung around, looking for my handphone, a lifeline to the reality I was just living yesterday. Nope. It had magically disappeared. 

 

My spiralling was interrupted with footsteps and the sudden swinging of my bedroom door. A five-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girl came running in. "Atha! You're awake! Come down! We want to play!" They squealed as the jumped on my bed, before rushing into my arms. Apparently my body had a mind of its own now, because my arms were outstretched before I even realised it. Who were these children? "Kannungala, give me a few minutes. I will be down in a while. Go and eat your breakfast first," I hugged them tightly. Just as I was letting go, I heard another voice outside, calling the children down. I recognised that voice, yet a quick mental search brought up no clues of who that might have been. 

 

As I sat there pondering, my eyes eventually landed on a piece of folded paper that sat on my bedside table. Reaching over, my fingers turned the page open. Wait, isn't that my handwriting? I felt my heart rate pick up and my eyes go wide as I started reading. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The letter stops abruptly. I stare at it. Did I already live a whole lifetime? I still had so many unanswered questions. My heart ached. As I sat there, bewildered, my eyes travelled to a picture on the desk. It was a family photo. In the centre of it, I see myself sitting next to my husband, hands intertwined with his, smiling at the camera. There was no awkwardness or hesitation. It felt right. I looked happy. At peace. 

 

You have one day. Just one. Something clicked for me at that moment, and the fog lifted. Had I just been given an unlikely boon to experience what my future might look like, years from the current reality I knew? This was a projection. Could I have everything I wanted, just as I had dared to hope? If it was even possible!

 

Rising gingerly, I made a beeline for the washroom. Letting the warm water cascade down my body, I soak up the warmth, letting it ground me to the moment. Getting dressed, I headed down to the kitchen. My husband was at the counter, making us coffee.  Familiarity pulled at my heartstrings. We do have a future, Rana. It is real. Rana walks towards me and kisses me on the cheek. "You're up. Happy birthday, love. Did you sleep well?" He smiles down at me. I nod, looking up at him. "Atha! Come play with us!" My grandchildren come running up to me and pull me towards the hall. Rana watches and chuckles as I'm dragged away by them. "Be gentle! Don't pull too hard, children!" my daughter yells from the garden. 

 

As I play with my grandchildren, hearing their giggles and feeling the warmth of the morning air on my skin, I look around and soak in the world around me. This was precious, only because it was temporary. Be it a dream or tangible reality, it didn't matter. But, when I awake tomorrow, this timeline of existence would become a distant memory. Yet, it was the best gift I could have received. Perhaps someday I will discover why I was given this looking glass into the future. Perhaps I just needed to believe in a future I saw enough to live it eventually.