She is from 2004.

I had a strange dream.


I was suddenly in London when a tour bus pulled over. I got in and saw a girl I was very fond of in my past. I called her name and she smiled at me, I smiled too and sat behind her. Then the bus started to move. She never really talked much, so I didn't know what to say to her again.

The bus stopped by an ancient-looking castle that the tour guide said had something to do with wizards, or mages or something. It didn't matter, I got off with a few people.

I turned around and was disappointed to realize that she remained in the bus.

I continued walking, through the entrance and into the castle.

Then I saw her again, in a different shirt, a slightly different hairstyle.

I felt excited so I ran to her.

"You're here!"

She smiled in reply.

"But you were in the bus, so perhaps you are not the 2010 you, but the 2009 you, or are you the 2008 you?"

She shook her head, still smiling. Enigmatic as usual.

"You idiot, you had no idea how much I had loved you." I said, pulling her into an embrace while she laughed.

I let her go and she skipped away into the shadows.

I woke up half-dazed, remnants of the dream still lingering within my mind. A state between sleeping and being awake, when logic flowed in. When the real me continued the thoughts of the dream-me.

I realized she was neither from 2008 nor 2009. Not even 2007 since I had not seen her since 2006.

It could have been the 2005 her, who broke my heart numerous times. Or she was probably from 2004, when I loved her most. Her hair was fairer then though.

Completely awake moments later. I wondered why I would dream of her again. Maybe the intensive screenplay writing I've done the night before had done strange things to my mind.

In recent days she had popped up in some conversations I had with people, when I gave a dramatic account of my humble beginnings in filmmaking.

"Years ago, I was very fond of a girl, but nothing happened. I was devastated. Not too long after that I started trying to make films. To assuage the perpetual sorrow in my heart, I asked myself this question: 'if I were to choose between my love for her being requited, and making a great film that remains in history, what will I choose?'."

It was always the latter.