A Lucid Dream

A New Addition to the Family

In a small village called Rukhon, the Adamov family lived—Ahmad and Maya. One beautiful day, they welcomed a son. It happened early in the morning on July 15, 1959. They named him Ruslan.

After some time, the parents realized with horror that their son was blind. At first, no one noticed—his gaze was just like that of any other newborn. Days turned into weeks, the boy grew, but he did not react to light or follow movements.

"Why does he always stare at one spot?" Maya asked anxiously.

One day, a terrible realization gripped her heart.

"He… he's blind…" she whispered.

No one could comfort her. She wept, holding the baby close to her chest, while his motionless eyes remained serious and full of mystery.

At first, Ahmad and Maya were deeply distressed, but over time, they came to terms with it. Ahmad worked from morning till night, while Maya left her job to take care of their son.

Ruslan quickly learned to recognize his parents by their footsteps, voices, and subtle signs only he could perceive. He was active and curious, but over time, his blindness left its mark on him. Gradually, he became more withdrawn, often sitting in a corner with a frozen expression, as if listening intently to something.

His hearing and sense of touch developed extraordinarily. The world that others saw with their eyes, Ruslan experienced through sounds and touch. He could feel the vibrations of footsteps, detect the slightest changes in people's voices, and understand a person’s mood just by the way they breathed.

When Ruslan turned six, he was sent to a school for the blind. There, he was very different from his peers. He had a unique gift—he could sense people. Not just their presence, but their essence: he could almost unmistakably determine whether a person was kind or cruel. His favorite presence to sense was his mother’s—it always filled him with warmth and peace.

Ruslan had few friends, except for a girl named Rimma, who lived in the house across the street. A sincere friendship connected them, growing stronger with each passing year.

You Can't Escape Fate

When Ruslan turned seven, his family was struck by a terrible tragedy.

That evening, nothing foreshadowed disaster. The Adamov family went for a walk in a small park near their home. They strolled, holding hands, enjoying the warm evening. Upon returning, Ahmad and Maya entered their son's room to wish him goodnight. Ahmad gently hugged Ruslan and told him how much he loved him. Then, the parents went to bed.

Morning came.

Maya woke up feeling happy and was about to go downstairs to prepare breakfast. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, but then her gaze fell on Ahmad. He lay unnaturally still, eerily quiet. Her heart pounded as she touched his shoulder—it was as cold as marble.

"Ahmad!" she screamed, shaking him desperately. But he did not move.

The realization hit her like an avalanche. She screamed—a cry of pain, fear, and despair.

Ruslan was not fully awake yet, but he heard the strange, gut-wrenching sound. He sat up in bed, listening. The screams came from his parents' bedroom. His heart began to race. Stumbling, he rushed out of his room and felt his way to his mother.

"Mama, what happened? Why are you screaming?" he asked in a trembling voice.

Maya didn’t want to traumatize her son, but the truth could not be hidden. She embraced Ruslan and whispered through her tears:

"Papa is gone… He will never come back…"

After the funeral, they returned to an empty home. Maya went up to her room to be alone. Ruslan stepped outside, listening to the sounds of the world, trying to process what had happened.

Life had changed forever. Fate could not be avoided, the past could not be undone. After all, life itself was like a dream… a vivid dream that everyone experiences and navigates in their own way.

Ruslan walked out and sat on the doorstep of their house. His thoughts were heavy. How would they live without his father? What would happen to his mother? It was a burden too great for a child to bear.

Lost in thought, he suddenly sensed a warm, familiar energy. It was Rimma.

"Hello, my friend," she whispered.

"Hello, Rimma," Ruslan replied.

Rimma sat down beside him and said softly:

"My mom says your father went to heaven to ask God for happiness and love for you."

"My mom says the same thing," Ruslan sighed. "But why couldn’t he ask for that while staying with us?"

"I don’t know… But my mom says that sooner or later, everyone goes to heaven. Even our parents."

"Really? Why?" Ruslan asked, surprised.

"She says it’s beautiful there. Adults go first to build a new home, and then they come back to take their loved ones with them."

"So my father left to build a home for us?" Ruslan pondered.

"Of course! So don’t worry. As soon as he finishes, he will definitely come back for you," Rimma said, lowering her head sadly.

"What’s wrong? Are you okay?" Ruslan asked with concern.

"Yes… It’s just that if you leave, I’ll miss you very much."

"Me too," Ruslan was silent for a moment, then confidently added, "But don’t worry! I’ll visit you every day!"

"Really?!" Rimma exclaimed hopefully.

"Really."

They talked for a long time until Rimma’s mother called her home.

"I have to go now. Goodbye!" she said, getting up.

"Goodbye, see you soon."

After talking with his friend, Ruslan felt lighter. He stepped back into the house with a peaceful heart.

"Mama, where are you?" he called out as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Maya was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear her son’s voice. Ruslan quietly opened the door to her room and called again:

"Mama!"

She flinched, as if waking from a deep sleep. Looking at her son, she stood up and walked toward him. Embracing him, she burst into tears once more. Now, she had no one left except Ruslan—the only reminder of her past happiness.

He looked so much like his father: tall, slender, with delicate, expressive features. His black, slightly wavy hair framed his fair skin, and his large dark eyes—despite his blindness—radiated warmth and kindness, just like Ahmad’s.

At that moment, Maya realized she had to live for her son. She made a firm decision: to devote herself to him and never bind her life to anyone else again.

Years passed. Seventeen years, to be exact. At twenty-four, Ruslan had grown into a handsome, noble young man, and Maya was immensely proud of him.

One day, Rimma invited him to her birthday party. He was delighted and asked his mother for advice on a gift. Maya knew that Ruslan had strong feelings for Rimma, so she decided to give him a family heirloom—a bracelet that had belonged to her grandmother.

Evening came. Ruslan dressed up and was ready to go to the celebration. Seeing him, Maya couldn’t hold back her tears.

"What’s wrong, Mama?" he asked, concerned.

"Nothing, my son… It’s just that right now, you look so much like your father," she said softly.

"Really? Tell me about him."

"He was a handsome and kind man," Maya said sadly. "But let’s not talk about the past… You’ll be late."

"Alright, Mama. Just promise me you won’t cry anymore," he asked.

"I promise," Maya replied with a gentle smile. "Now go on, hurry."

Already standing at the door, Ruslan turned back and said:

"I love you very much, Mama. Take care of yourself."

"I love you too, my son," Maya answered, but her heart tightened with worry.

Ruslan hurried out. They were waiting for him at Rimma’s house.

"Why are you late?" Rimma asked with mild reproach. "I was starting to think you weren’t coming."

"Sorry, I got held up a little."

"Well, come on, I’ll introduce you to my friends!"

Rimma introduced Ruslan to her guests, and at the end, she led him to her boyfriend—Ibrahim.

Ruslan was unpleasantly surprised. His mood darkened noticeably. He didn’t immediately process what Ibrahim was asking him and only remembered the gift when the question was repeated.

"Ah, yes, this is for you, Rimma—a small gift from my mother and me."

"What a beautiful bracelet! Ruslan, thank you so much for such a wonderful gift!" Rimma exclaimed enthusiastically and kissed him on the cheek.

The bracelet was shaped like a snake with an emerald eye.

A wave of jealousy swept over Ibrahim, and taking advantage of the moment when Rimma went to get dessert, he decided to humiliate Ruslan. Sticking out his foot, he made him stumble and fall.

"Oops, sorry, didn’t see you," he smirked, watching the embarrassed young man.

Ruslan turned pale, his lips trembling with hurt, but he said nothing. He simply got up and walked out. Inside, he burned with humiliation.

When Rimma returned, she immediately noticed that Ruslan was missing.

"Where’s Ruslan?" she asked Ibrahim.

"Looks like he left," he replied indifferently.

But Rimma didn’t believe him. A suspicion arose in her soul, and she firmly decided to find out what had happened.

Meanwhile, deeply wounded by Ibrahim’s actions, Ruslan returned home. He couldn’t shake the memory of his rival’s mocking voice. His soul ached, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he saw his mother.

Quietly climbing the stairs, he carefully opened the door to her room.

Inside, there was a deafening silence.

For the first time in his life, he felt no presence of his mother.

"Mama?" he called. Silence.

He stepped forward and called louder. But the only response was emptiness.

His heart clenched with a terrible premonition.

On trembling legs, he made his way to the bed, reached out his hands, and touched her hand…

Cold.

Just like his father’s on that fateful night.

Ruslan clung to his mother’s lifeless hand, refusing to believe what had happened.

"Mama… Mommy…," he whispered, shaking with sobs. "Mommy, don’t go…"

Soon, his strength left him, and a wild, piercing scream echoed through the house.

Neighbors rushed to the sound. Among them was Rimma. She froze at the doorstep, witnessing the heartbreaking scene—Ruslan, pressed against his mother’s body, crying silently.

Rimma was the first to approach him, gently stroking his hair.

"Ruslan, I’m here, I’m with you…," she whispered.

Ruslan barely turned his head toward her. His voice carried a childlike helplessness:

"Rimma… she left me. Now I’m completely alone…"

"No, don’t say that. You’re not alone. You have me, and I won’t leave you," Rimma said firmly, squeezing his hand.

He found it strange that her touch felt different—warmer, gentler.

She was no longer just a childhood friend.

In her, he felt something new, something familiar, something close.

By morning, exhausted from grief, Ruslan fell silent. The neighbors had long since left, but Rimma remained by his side.

By ten o’clock, the house filled with people—the preparations for the funeral had begun.

Ruslan said nothing. He did not utter a word during the farewell or afterward. It was as if he was now not only blind but also deaf.

He didn’t hear the whispers behind his back. The entire village was shaken by Maya’s sudden death.

Only Rimma never took her eyes off him. She never left his side, as if afraid that he might disappear.

At the memorial, Ruslan neither ate nor drank anything. In the evening, Ibrahim unexpectedly arrived.

"I stopped by your house, but they told me you were here. My condolences, Ruslan," he said, then immediately turned to Rimma. "You look exhausted. Maybe we could take a walk?"

"Sorry, Ibrahim, but I can’t leave Ruslan alone," she whispered.

"Go, it’s okay," Ruslan suddenly said.

Rimma turned to him in surprise and exclaimed with relief:

"You spoke! I was so worried about you! But if you think I’m going to leave you, you’re wrong."

Ruslan gave a faint smile.

"Thank you, Rimma. For everything you’ve done for me. But go, you need to rest. And so do I…"

"Alright," Rimma agreed, "but on one condition—you have to eat something."

Ruslan nodded. He was eager to be alone.

The three of them had dinner together, during which Ibrahim apologized to Ruslan and expressed his condolences. Afterward, Ruslan obediently drank the calming herbal tea Rimma had prepared. Then, saying his goodbyes, he went up to his bedroom.

He couldn’t sleep for a long time. Thoughts of his mother, his loss, and his own fate tormented him. The more he thought, the clearer it became—without his parents, his life had lost all meaning. Besides, he was blind, helpless. Who needed him? What was his purpose? Why was he given so many trials?

A Lucid Dream

Midnight was approaching. Darkness thickened outside the window, and the house was silent, broken only by the steady ticking of the clock. Ruslan lay there, listening to the cold silence—cold, like his soul.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced his eyes. Ruslan screamed and collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony. The pain was so unbearable that he couldn’t even cry out anymore—he could only roll on the floor, clutching his head. Then, abruptly, everything went still. He gasped for breath, and with difficulty, he opened his eyes.

He froze.

He could see.

The room appeared before him in every detail. Ruslan looked around in confusion, unable to believe what was happening. Joy, fear, and disbelief swirled inside him. But then, dizziness struck, his body weakened, and he lost consciousness.

At dawn, Ruslan woke up in his bed. Everything was as it had been before. Darkness once again enveloped him. With bitterness, he realized that it had only been a dream. His attempts to recall the events of the previous night were interrupted by Rimma—she had come to check on him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked gently.

"Thank you, I’m fine. But you know, I had a strange dream…"

Ruslan described everything in detail. Rimma listened, her eyes wide, a shiver running down her spine.

"Ruslan, that’s impossible! You described your room in complete detail!" she exclaimed.

"Really?!" Ruslan was astonished.

"Yes! But you’ve never seen it before, have you?"

Ruslan sighed heavily and gave a wry smile.

"Of course not. I’ve been blind since birth."

"Exactly… So how could you see something you’ve never seen before?" Rimma whispered in bewilderment.

"Think—when did it happen?" she asked thoughtfully.

"Right after you and Ibrahim left," Ruslan replied.

Rimma fell into deep thought, then suddenly said:

"I want to figure this out. Do you mind if I come over at midnight?"

Ruslan nodded. He wanted to understand what was happening to him, too. He waited for the night with both anticipation and anxiety. But, without realizing it, he fell asleep—exhausted by everything that had happened.

He woke up as dusk was settling outside. Feeling hungry, he quickly ate a sandwich and went up to his parents' room. Pressing his cheek against his mother’s pillow, he tried to soothe the pain of his loss. Suddenly, a noise came from downstairs.

Ruslan tensed. Slowly, feeling his way, he made his way down to the living room.

"Who’s there?" he called out sharply.

"It’s me. Sorry if I scared you," a familiar voice replied. "I went to your room, but you weren’t there, so I came looking in the living room…"

"What time is it?" Ruslan asked.

"Eleven already."

"Really? I didn’t even notice how time flew by. Let’s go upstairs," he suggested.

"Let’s go," Rimma agreed.

Lately, Ruslan had been feeling an odd sense of unease in Rimma’s presence. Something about her made him restless, filled him with strange excitement, but he couldn’t understand what it was. Now, a slight chill ran through him. Trying to distract himself, he asked:

"How’s Ibrahim?"

"I don’t know. Actually, I don’t want to know," Rimma replied curtly.

"Did you two have a fight?"

"Let’s not talk about him… I don’t even want to think about him."

"So he hurt you?" Ruslan turned toward her.

Rimma hesitated, then finally admitted:

"I was disappointed in him. He turned out to be rude and short-tempered…"

She told him about their last meeting—how Ibrahim had lost his temper, spoken harshly, and never even apologized, never realized his fault.

Rimma stood with her head lowered, even though she knew Ruslan couldn’t see her face. Then, slowly, she lifted her gaze to him—and froze.

Ruslan stood there, pale, his face twisted in pain. Suddenly, a wild, piercing scream tore from his chest. He clutched his head in his hands, his expression contorted in sheer agony.

Rimma stood paralyzed with fear. She had no idea what was happening.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Ruslan fell silent. Slowly, he turned to her… and looked straight into her eyes.

His gaze was no longer vacant. It held surprise. Wonder.

He could see.

For the first time, Ruslan saw his childhood friend. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, realizing that this was not a dream.

With a trembling voice, Rimma broke the silence:

"Ruslan, are you okay?"

"I can see! I can see you, Rimma! So it wasn’t just a dream!" he exclaimed, overwhelmed with emotion.

"Is it really true?" Rimma whispered, hugging him tightly, unable to hold back her tears.

Tears of joy.

Ruslan was immensely happy, yet at the same time, he felt a heavy weight inside him. His sight had returned so suddenly, turning his entire world upside down. How was he supposed to cope with this? What was he supposed to do now?

But the most painful thought was that he had never seen his parents while they were alive. He would have given anything for them to be here with him now. And yet, even if this gift had come at the cost of their lives, he would not have wanted it. This newfound happiness of seeing felt bittersweet. His thoughts were interrupted by Rimma’s voice:

"You know, I’m really hungry. Do you have anything to eat?"

"Of course," Ruslan smiled. "We could use a snack."

As they headed downstairs, he gazed around his house in amazement. He had lived here for years, but he was seeing it for the first time. Everything seemed incredibly fascinating. Walking down the hallway, he suddenly recoiled in shock—his own reflection stared back at him from a mirror. Stunned, he stared at it for a long time, unable to believe his eyes. Rimma laughed.

"Ruslan, it’s just a mirror. It reflects you. Look, here’s my reflection too. See?"

"This is incredible… The world is so much more wonderful than I ever imagined," he said in awe.

"Yes, and you have so many more discoveries ahead of you. But don’t worry, I’m here with you. Want me to give you a little tour of the house?" Rimma offered.

Ruslan nodded eagerly, finally tearing his eyes away from the mesmerizing mirror. Downstairs, he prepared sandwiches with familiar motions—but now, for the first time, he could see what he was doing. The colors, the shapes—everything amazed him. Then, a little embarrassed, he glanced back at Rimma. She was incredibly beautiful.

"Ruslan, stop staring at me like that," Rimma blushed.

"Sorry, it’s just… I’m seeing you for the first time. Before, I only knew your voice… You’re so beautiful… And you’ve been so kind to me… Thank you for everything," he whispered.

"Don’t thank me. You don’t have to," Rimma smiled. "We’re friends, and friends help each other. Right?"

"Of course," Ruslan replied warmly.

"By the way, thanks for the compliment," Rimma teased. "That was nice."

"And now you’re thanking me," Ruslan smirked.

"In my case, it’s only natural. So, are we going?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, of course."

"Then let’s go!"

They spent almost the entire night wandering around the house, exploring every little corner. Ruslan was experiencing emotions that only a blind person, suddenly able to see, could understand. At one point, Rimma noticed something.

"Ruslan, there isn’t a single family photo in your house…"

He thought for a moment, then said:

"Even though I’ve never seen a photograph before, I clearly remember taking pictures with my parents. That means they must be somewhere."

"I wonder where they could have gone? Where haven’t we looked yet?" Rimma pondered. Then her face lit up with realization. "Wait! We haven’t checked the attic! I’m sure we’ll find something there!"

"You think so?" Ruslan asked doubtfully.

"Yes! My parents’ attic is full of old things—that’s how most people store stuff. Maybe your mother kept something important up there too," she suggested.

They climbed upstairs. The attic was dark, dusty, and cold, with cobwebs hanging everywhere. It seemed like no one had set foot here in years. They stood in silence for a moment, taking it all in. Then Rimma, who had wisely brought candles, lit them. Ruslan was impressed by her quick thinking.

They began searching through the attic’s contents. Old chairs, boxes, paintings, and pieces of furniture were scattered all around. Suddenly, Rimma gasped excitedly.

"Look what I found!"

Ruslan hurried over. In front of them stood a large, worn-out chest.

"I wonder what’s inside?" Rimma asked curiously.

"Shall we open it?" she suggested.

Ruslan hesitated for a moment before nodding. A nervous excitement gripped his heart. Inside the chest, they found only two items—a single old book with a worn-out cover and a photo album. Noticing Ruslan’s state, Rimma boldly picked up the album and handed it to him. Ruslan took a shaky breath, his hands trembling.

Slowly, he opened it. He ran his fingers over the photographs, staring at the familiar faces of loved ones who were no longer there. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He could see them now. But it was too late.