*Almitra (16.03.2024)* It's 2:30 am. I have read a lot. I have done all that I love, and now I am in bed. Dogs are barking. I sit still and listen to them keenly. Why would one listen to dogs with so much concentration? In my mind, images of ghosts conjure up. Dogs howling at a group of ghosts, floating up, barely a foot above the ground. Dogs are not okay with the fact that these ghosts are not walking. They are not okay with the fact that they are not sufficiently clothed and are just grey smoke that can easily move between things. It's not okay. It's not normal. While I have just started to think about it, I see Almitra. You would wonder who is Almitra and how do I know her name? I see a lady in a cloak with some red embroidered flowers. She has braided her hair in a thousand braids. She has fine features and a prominent jaw line. She stands in front of my double bed - just in the centre. Her hands are folded, and she is leaning as if in obedience. I am startled but not afraid. She introduces herself, "I am Almitra, and I am from faraway lands and a time very long ago. You know me." The name rings a bell. Almitra? "Yes, your name is familiar, but I have never seen you." "You have not seen me, but you have known me from Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet. I remember you were admiring me as you started reading the book." "I am a little confused. Weren't you supposed to be a fictional character added to the book for an intriguing start?" She answers meekly, "I have been a fictional character for those who have not met me. However, Kahlil knew me, I visited him often and inspired him to write a little bit about me in his book of poetry." I have so many questions. A fictional character coming to meet me out of the blue? Did I read "The Prophet" with too much interest. Am I dreaming? Am I hallucinating? While I have these questions just beginning to form in my mind, Almitra answers them. "No, you are not dreaming. You are not hallucinating. I am here. I am here to meet you." "Why?"I almost ask spontaneously. She takes a moment, as if she is looking for the right words to explain to me why she is here. "I have a message for you. I have a message that you need to start writing." "Writing about what? I can barely write a text message these days. I no longer have that flair anymore. It went away long ago." "Is this what you're thinking? You're just imagining things because you're afraid." "Afraid of what? I am not afraid. See, I am not even afraid of you. You the ghost, Almitra!" "I am not scary, Ma'am. I am just from the past." I hesitate, but ask, "But what do you want me to write about? I think I fail to think of things that I can write about." "No, you are not failing. Just put your phone aside. Maybe just not doom scroll all the time." "How is that practical? What about the calls from the office? What about the whatsapp messages?" "You can pick up the calls and put the phone back. Make 7 pm the time to read whatsapp messages. Then read again at 9 pm. Keep the phone away in the meanwhile after checking your messages." "Okay. I guess. I will write. But what do you want me to write?" "Write your story! The story you have lived. The story you're living." "Wouldn't it be too dull to read?" "Only if you fail to be honest." "Open up your heart and write." So here I am, my laptop open, I am writing. Writing about Almitra. The braided woman who stood in front of my bed a few minutes ago. She has told me to write and write about my life. I have written. I have written this as the first story - a beginner's episode. After all, this recent episode of her appearing here is my life, too. So what happened to Almitra? She disappeared after telling me that I must start writing? Not even a goodbye, you would ask. No, not a goodbye. But she said she would return to check if I was writing. She will visit again. See Almitra I have written - I have written a little bit about my life and a little bit about you. Can I go back to sleep now? It's 4 am, already. Almitra is nowhere around. I shut the laptop lid and prepare to sleep. In my ears, Almitra's voice keeps ringing: "Open up your heart and write."