Encounterlogs
Nehas Odd Encounter Sr Rogier 241111
In a quaint yet regal Edwardian bedroom, Neha finds herself once again swept into the turbulent currents of her dreams, unable to awaken. This time, her dreams transport her into an idyllic setting, where the warmth of a summer's day and the comfort of a richly draped sari set the scene for a journey she is about to embark on. Guided by a path lined with stones, Neha is presented with a choice between a portrait of her smiling family, her indispensable stethoscope, and a bowl of henna promising good fortune. Opting for the family portrait, she experiences a profound moment of reunion and affirmation from her parents and brothers, a stark contrast to the feelings of inadequacy and exclusion that plagued her reality. As she clutches the portrait close, the warmth of her family's embrace fills her with a mix of emotions, from love and approval to a lingering sense of emptiness.
As Neha ventures further along the dream's path, she encounters Taj, a figure tied to her by an apparent matrimonial bond and linked to mythical connections, including a descendant of Arjuna and the magnificent elephant, Airaveta. In this dream realm, her family's dynamics transform, showcasing an idealized version of love, success, and familial bonds. However, despite Taj's warm engagement with her and her family, proposing luxurious plans and expressing familial affection, Neha feels a disconnect. The dream offers her everything she thought she desired: love, success, and familial bonds. Yet, as she interacts with Taj and witnesses her family's newfound pride and affection, Neha confronts an unsettling void, questioning the very nature of happiness and fulfillment. The vivid dream, brimming with symbols of love, success, and familial unity, leaves Neha grappling with a profound sense of longing and introspection, pondering when genuine happiness will fill the emptiness that lingers within.
(Neha's odd encounter(SRRogier):SRRogier)
[Sun Nov 10 2024]
In a regal, Edwardian bedroom
Brimming with historical charm and elegance, this expansive bedroom has high ceilings and large, sash windows that allow the natural light to pour in to the spacious bedroom. The interior lighting is soft and warm, emanating from strategically placed lamps with fringed and beaded shades as well as a central chandelier of brass and crystal that serves as an absolutely stunning focal point. Embellished with Damask-patterned wallpaper in shades of burgundy and gold across the walls' upper halves, it is beautifully complemented by the richness of dark wood wainscoting below. Matching hardwood flooring is highly polished, enhancing the herringbone pattern and its natural grain, and a few antique, Persian rugs with intricate designs tie in with the room's colour scheme.
It is night, about 44F(6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target has been singled out by a dream stalker who's invading their dreams. They cannot be woken, but their allies may be able to go into their dreams after them to help them fight off the invader and survive the nightmare.
)
As is quickly becoming tradition, Neha fails to make another week without getting fucked with in her sleep. Not that she knows it yet, of course, but nonetheless she's going to be late for her shift again. This time, though, the doctor remains comfortably abed, sheets tucked in nice and snug to ward off the eerie, icy storm brewing out in Haven proper. There's more going on out there, though, and as Taj traces the last of a few Sanskrit characters on the floor on the other side of town, Neha's dreams shift and change.
Soft, spongy grass crushes gently under Neha's bare feet, springing back up unharmed in the wake of her footsteps. It's a warm, clear day, Summer or Spring, but without any pollen to tickle her nose or any buzzing insects too near. She's dressed in a rich, thickly-draping sari of muted pinks and oranges, though she doesn't feel its weight, nor do all the layers become stifling under the estival sun.
She's walking, following a path in the grass marked out by stones nestled into the earth in a winding line. Whatever awaits her at her destination escapes conscious thought, as does her reason for setting out in the first place. There's just the path, the grass, and a nice summer's day. And... the beeping of her alarm clock, sourceless and hard to recognise. It can't pull her from her dream, no matter how late she might be to work. In due time, she cannot even recall it having rung out in the first place.
Before long, a stone slab takes the place of a few of the waystones, with a few objects placed upon it. A family portrait of herself, her brothers and her parents, all gathered together for a Diwali celebration, all happy and smiling. Had this ever actually happened? It's hard to pick through her memories at the moment. Next to that, a stethoscope. /Her/ stethoscope. Even if she wasn't a cardiologist, of course she had one. They were iconic, weren't they? And next to that, a bowl of henna with a pair of paper cones prepared to apply it. There's something appealing about the henna, more than usual - some ingredient or perfume that promises good fortune.
Instinctively, in the way a dreamer knows the rules of his own dream, she feels that she can take only one of these things with her as she walks her path.
Neha wouldn't mind being fucked with in her sleep so much if it was always this pleasant. Warm, clear days like this are her very favorite, after all, and she hardly ever gets the time to properly enjoy the sunshine and sit under its warmth and perhaps even take a nap. Pinks and oranges may not quite be her favored colors - she's partial to yellows and browns - but this does suit her too, and she adjusts the pallu upon her shoulder to make it drape just right. For what? Who knows.
Grass tickles her feet - are there shoes? - as she walks her way along the path, a smile on her face - how could there not be, when she's free of stress and free of responsibilities, for the time being? There's no sound of an alarm clock, of course. She doesn't have anything to do, surely. She wouldn't be here if that's the case. But, anyway, she's /here/ and that's what matters, and Neha finds her way to the slab in due time, blinking at the objects she finds upon it.
It's a surprise to see the portrait upon there. She doesn't even have a picture of her family back home in Haven. The stethoscope, of course, she never goes without. You never know when you might need it. Plus, it just makes people treat her differently, if she looks like she belongs, like she has a purpose of being there. The henna... isn't something she has a lot of experience with. Of course she's had it applied to her hands, mostly for weddings. She didn't have any sisters to help her with it though, none of that familial bonding moments. Her mother lacked a lot of warmth, the primary proponent when it came to treating her brothers better, always, because--
Well, that didn't matter anymore, did it? Neha's eyes go back to the portrait. They linger for a long moment, wistfully, even as her hand goes to the stethoscope, pausing a scant inch away. They /do/ look so happy. She's smiling. They look like a family, like people who enjoy being together, like-...
Neha's hand twitches above the stethoscope, then changes course and goes for the portrait, claiming it for herself.
The portrait seems almost to bring itself to her breast as Neha embraces her whole, happy family in its little picture frame, kindling a warmth and love - and maybe some bitterness, subconsciously - in her chest. Then, as she turns to move forward along her path, a hand catches her by the shoulder. It's firm and warm and masculine - not in the ruggedly attractive way she might picture certain other hands, but a little doughy and kinda hairy and very, very paternal. Her father pulls her back and into his chest, turning her to wrap his arm tightly around her back as his free hand cradles her head against the warmth of his body.
"My little girl," he murmurs, choked up with warmth and affection. "Oh, beti, we are so proud of you."
At her father's side, her mother Anita smiles down at Neha, her face aglow with motherly love and pride. "We are /all/ proud of you, Neha" she smiles, gently correcting her husband. "Look at how far you have come. You are not just a doctor anymore, are you? Now you are running whole hospitals, flying on your private jet to save another life... I heard your brother trying to impress a new girlfriend by saying you are his sister just last week. Who could have expected you would be the first to marry?"
Which, of course, prompts Ajay over there to fold his arms over his chest. "There is nothing wrong with that, maa," he says. "I am proud to be her brother. And your network is your net worth! Connections are important." His eyes flick from Anita to Neha for half a moment, teasing out a secretive, brotherly smile from the corner of his mouth, meant only for her - a sibling's commiseration in the face of their mother's scolding and praise. Vijay, of course, clears his throat. He's still Vijay, after all, and likes to direct things as they're done. "Come on," he says, his voice all but indiscernible from his twin's. "We'll walk with you, choti behan. Don't worry; I won't let them crush you with all their hugs before you get where you need to go." He smiles, too, even if he's bossing people around. That's just who he is, right?
Oh. Well. This is new. Neha clutches the portrait close to her chest as she's pulled back into her father's embrace, her shoulders stiffening instinctively, as though unsure what she should be doing with herself. Has she ever felt this before?
It's not a question she has to linger upon for long, because her mother is speaking up in that voice that's only ever been used to criticize her - or so it's felt like in recent years, at least, when it became more and more obvious that Neha wasn't going to be as special as her brothers. But then, she'd never been as special, after all, had she? Her mother never let her forget it. Her brothers never let her forget it too, picking up on it early on when they'd been children and she'd been less beautiful, less clever, less charismatic, less... just less.
That doesn't matter so much anymore, does it? Surely, it doesn't. It mustn't. It's a memory from far, far away, and right now, Neha's got everything she's ever wanted. Approval. Love. The bond her brothers have always shared with each other and with their parents while she watched like an outsider. Slowly, very slowly, Neha's shoulders start to ease up from their tensing, and she leans against her father's chest, letting herself indulge in this moment for a second longer.
... wait.
"Marry?"
Maybe those things had all been the case... once. But now her parents embraced her, her brothers treated her as they did each other, and they all smiled with her. This was a warm, loving family in the wake of Neha's apparent success. And apparent marriage.
"You're right," Ajay complains, offering his mother a long-suffering look. "Gita and I were doing well, maa, but the marriage had to be called off. It was not her fault and not mine. I'm not giving up on marriage... I just need to find the right person."
To which, of course, Anita sniffs, but Ajay is her beloved son, so he does not get too much shit. As usual. Instead, she turns back to Neha, lowering her voice to confer with her daughter about the virtues of her husband.
"We were shocked when we got the invitations in the mail," she whispers in a hush. "After so long without real contact, my Neha was getting married? And after you left just because we wanted you to get married in the first place! But no, that Taj of yours... Surely this was the path you were supposed to follow all along. His money has been so helpful to us, beti. And now you are so successful... Maybe /you/ should run for President, next election! Or at least you could be part of the cabinet. The Secretary of Health, maybe..."
That's the most gracious Neha's ever heard Ajay being - usually things are never his fault. She opens her mouth as though to say something, though no words find their way out, and then her mother is leaning over to whisper to her about her alleged husband.
"I-... I don't want to go into politics, maa," she tells her mother weakly, clutching the portrait even tighter to her chest, both of her hands gripping tightly at it as though it's the only thing keeping her grounded right now. Neha wasn't made for such a thing. All this praise, all this attention, all this-... all of this. This is what she had wanted. Maybe it's too late, after all? Maybe it's-
Neha only realizes her breathing's sped up when she's all but hyperventilating, and there's a quick shake of her head before she's pulling away from her father's embrace and her brothers' easy conversation and her mother's whispering to find her way along the path, bare feet against the grass as she steps away from the stone slab. The thought of switching out doesn't even occur to her this moment, even if the stethoscope and the henna still remain there. "Taj," she calls out. Where is Taj?
Taj is further along the path, of course. She knows that instinctively, too - the dream says she's /supposed/ to know that. Bringing the portrait with her, it seems her family are content to follow along, with no visible change in mood from her having extracted herself. She's a busy, successful director of several hospitals, or so they've said. They're ready to just follow where she leads, now. Her father in particular seems eager to follow along with Neha, preferring to walk beside rather than behind - but of course, it /is/ still Ashok Pandit, Lawyer Extraordinaire. He's always been ambitious, and the connections Taj brought to more prestigious work put as girlish a skip in his step as it might any other Bollywood heroine.
If there's a whole Bollywood dance sequence waiting for her, Neha wants out of this dream. Of course, she doesn't realize it's a dream yet, but nothing will jar her to wakefulness as a Bollywood dance sequence would. Please let there not be one, dream gods.
Neha walks along the path, the hem of her sari not tripping her the slightest bit even if it's long enough to. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes scan the horizon for her alleged-husband - are they married already? She lifts her hand to her hairline to check for sindoor. Do her fingers come back red?
Her father might have some trouble keeping up. He's out of shape, too much time spent in the office and not enough time spent remaining fit, but Neha doesn't wait. This time, for just this once, her family has to be the one who must keep up with her. "Taj," she calls out again. Somewhere around here... any second now...
Thankfully, no one busts into any uncharacteristic musical numbers, sparing both the believability of the dream and also Neha's mental health. No one seems to be running out of puff, though - not dad bod Ashok, nor Neha herself. Similarly to how her rustic brown-and-yellow sari seems almost weightless, despite its heavy drapes, none of the family appear encumbered in the slightest as they pass waystone after waystone. There's no sindoor along her hairline, though, for whatever reason. Perhaps to avoid wearing it in a medical setting, perhaps simply not practicing that tradition, or whatever other reason.
Eventually, she does see something in the distance, rising higher and higher into the horizon as she approaches. It is an enormous albino elephant with seven heads, sat down in the sunny grass to rest. Getting closer and closer - as things like distance and speed are not so strictly governed in the dream - she spies Taj, reclining against the colossal elephant's side as he strums a western guitar. He hasn't noticed Neha or her family approaching, yet - and he doesn't appear to have heard any of her calls.
Neha might have to check up on her dad - has he been working out and eating well, finally, after she left home? That would be quite surprising. This doesn't seem like the time for it though, when she's got so much on her mind and only a singular goal in her thoughts of finding Taj and trying to figure out what on earth is going on here. She follows the pull she can feel, to the destination she knows she's meant to go to, the portrait cradled in her arms all along the way, and finds herself in sight of the massive elephant.
Neha's breath catches in her throat, and her heart thrums louder in her chest, and she slows down her pace to approach Taj, eyes flickering between him and the elephant, back and forth.
"Taj," Finally, she can say that in a normal, not-yelling volume, now that he's /here/ in front of her. Neha finds herself by the man's side, her eyes wide. "You are..." she begins, then pauses, unsure, her tongue darting across her lips, her gaze flickering over to the elephant once again. The questions she wants to ask are too many. The one that leaves her is: "Are you Indra?"
Taj grins widely as Neha approaches, setting down his guitar and rising to his feet to greet her. The question makes him laugh, even as he shakes his head in the negative.
"No," he says, stepping in to take one of her hands in his, if she'll let him. "I'm descended from Arjuna, who was fathered by Indra," he clarifies, "And Airaveta was the one who guided me to claim my bloodline." He reaches up to lay his hand on the great elephant king's side, turning his eyes up to the noble creature with a mixture of fondness and longing - not anything licentious, but as if he might have missed the elephant very much.
He turns to the Pandit family, then, lightly embracing Neha's mother by the shoulders, then her father (who is as out-of-shape as she remembers him) before he shakes hands with her brothers. "It is good to see you all again. We should have to do lunch soon on one of the company's yachts. Vijay, you finished getting your skipper's license, yes? I could convince them to let you handle things, once we're out on the water." He slips an arm around Neha's waist, standing side by side with her, and leans down as if to press a kiss to the top of her head - it would seem he believes they're married, too.
"He is..." Neha doesn't finish that sentence, just biting her lip for a lack of adjectives. She's a doctor, not a writer. He's majestic, though, and beautiful, and otherworldly, a sight she'd never imagined she'd see for herself, a look into the world that isn't really meant for her. This whole thing is - a picture of an idyllic life she's never dared to dream would be hers one day.
She watches as Taj embraces her father, her mother, her brothers, /her/, his hand slipping around her waist, skin against skin, the wood of the portrait frame beneath her hand digging into her fingers. There's talk of yachts and skipping and money and Taj's leaning down to kiss the top of her head as though she's something precious, and-
And... what? Neha waits for it to make her happy. She has all she wants now. She has love. Approval. Wealth. Fame. Her family. All there is left is for her heart to catch up, to figure it out, to stop feeling as though instead of being filled with love, it's turning into a sinkhole inside of her that makes her feel empty inside.
When does she start being happy?
As Neha ventures further along the dream's path, she encounters Taj, a figure tied to her by an apparent matrimonial bond and linked to mythical connections, including a descendant of Arjuna and the magnificent elephant, Airaveta. In this dream realm, her family's dynamics transform, showcasing an idealized version of love, success, and familial bonds. However, despite Taj's warm engagement with her and her family, proposing luxurious plans and expressing familial affection, Neha feels a disconnect. The dream offers her everything she thought she desired: love, success, and familial bonds. Yet, as she interacts with Taj and witnesses her family's newfound pride and affection, Neha confronts an unsettling void, questioning the very nature of happiness and fulfillment. The vivid dream, brimming with symbols of love, success, and familial unity, leaves Neha grappling with a profound sense of longing and introspection, pondering when genuine happiness will fill the emptiness that lingers within.
(Neha's odd encounter(SRRogier):SRRogier)
[Sun Nov 10 2024]
In a regal, Edwardian bedroom
Brimming with historical charm and elegance, this expansive bedroom has high ceilings and large, sash windows that allow the natural light to pour in to the spacious bedroom. The interior lighting is soft and warm, emanating from strategically placed lamps with fringed and beaded shades as well as a central chandelier of brass and crystal that serves as an absolutely stunning focal point. Embellished with Damask-patterned wallpaper in shades of burgundy and gold across the walls' upper halves, it is beautifully complemented by the richness of dark wood wainscoting below. Matching hardwood flooring is highly polished, enhancing the herringbone pattern and its natural grain, and a few antique, Persian rugs with intricate designs tie in with the room's colour scheme.
It is night, about 44F(6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's raining outside. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target has been singled out by a dream stalker who's invading their dreams. They cannot be woken, but their allies may be able to go into their dreams after them to help them fight off the invader and survive the nightmare.
)
As is quickly becoming tradition, Neha fails to make another week without getting fucked with in her sleep. Not that she knows it yet, of course, but nonetheless she's going to be late for her shift again. This time, though, the doctor remains comfortably abed, sheets tucked in nice and snug to ward off the eerie, icy storm brewing out in Haven proper. There's more going on out there, though, and as Taj traces the last of a few Sanskrit characters on the floor on the other side of town, Neha's dreams shift and change.
Soft, spongy grass crushes gently under Neha's bare feet, springing back up unharmed in the wake of her footsteps. It's a warm, clear day, Summer or Spring, but without any pollen to tickle her nose or any buzzing insects too near. She's dressed in a rich, thickly-draping sari of muted pinks and oranges, though she doesn't feel its weight, nor do all the layers become stifling under the estival sun.
She's walking, following a path in the grass marked out by stones nestled into the earth in a winding line. Whatever awaits her at her destination escapes conscious thought, as does her reason for setting out in the first place. There's just the path, the grass, and a nice summer's day. And... the beeping of her alarm clock, sourceless and hard to recognise. It can't pull her from her dream, no matter how late she might be to work. In due time, she cannot even recall it having rung out in the first place.
Before long, a stone slab takes the place of a few of the waystones, with a few objects placed upon it. A family portrait of herself, her brothers and her parents, all gathered together for a Diwali celebration, all happy and smiling. Had this ever actually happened? It's hard to pick through her memories at the moment. Next to that, a stethoscope. /Her/ stethoscope. Even if she wasn't a cardiologist, of course she had one. They were iconic, weren't they? And next to that, a bowl of henna with a pair of paper cones prepared to apply it. There's something appealing about the henna, more than usual - some ingredient or perfume that promises good fortune.
Instinctively, in the way a dreamer knows the rules of his own dream, she feels that she can take only one of these things with her as she walks her path.
Neha wouldn't mind being fucked with in her sleep so much if it was always this pleasant. Warm, clear days like this are her very favorite, after all, and she hardly ever gets the time to properly enjoy the sunshine and sit under its warmth and perhaps even take a nap. Pinks and oranges may not quite be her favored colors - she's partial to yellows and browns - but this does suit her too, and she adjusts the pallu upon her shoulder to make it drape just right. For what? Who knows.
Grass tickles her feet - are there shoes? - as she walks her way along the path, a smile on her face - how could there not be, when she's free of stress and free of responsibilities, for the time being? There's no sound of an alarm clock, of course. She doesn't have anything to do, surely. She wouldn't be here if that's the case. But, anyway, she's /here/ and that's what matters, and Neha finds her way to the slab in due time, blinking at the objects she finds upon it.
It's a surprise to see the portrait upon there. She doesn't even have a picture of her family back home in Haven. The stethoscope, of course, she never goes without. You never know when you might need it. Plus, it just makes people treat her differently, if she looks like she belongs, like she has a purpose of being there. The henna... isn't something she has a lot of experience with. Of course she's had it applied to her hands, mostly for weddings. She didn't have any sisters to help her with it though, none of that familial bonding moments. Her mother lacked a lot of warmth, the primary proponent when it came to treating her brothers better, always, because--
Well, that didn't matter anymore, did it? Neha's eyes go back to the portrait. They linger for a long moment, wistfully, even as her hand goes to the stethoscope, pausing a scant inch away. They /do/ look so happy. She's smiling. They look like a family, like people who enjoy being together, like-...
Neha's hand twitches above the stethoscope, then changes course and goes for the portrait, claiming it for herself.
The portrait seems almost to bring itself to her breast as Neha embraces her whole, happy family in its little picture frame, kindling a warmth and love - and maybe some bitterness, subconsciously - in her chest. Then, as she turns to move forward along her path, a hand catches her by the shoulder. It's firm and warm and masculine - not in the ruggedly attractive way she might picture certain other hands, but a little doughy and kinda hairy and very, very paternal. Her father pulls her back and into his chest, turning her to wrap his arm tightly around her back as his free hand cradles her head against the warmth of his body.
"My little girl," he murmurs, choked up with warmth and affection. "Oh, beti, we are so proud of you."
At her father's side, her mother Anita smiles down at Neha, her face aglow with motherly love and pride. "We are /all/ proud of you, Neha" she smiles, gently correcting her husband. "Look at how far you have come. You are not just a doctor anymore, are you? Now you are running whole hospitals, flying on your private jet to save another life... I heard your brother trying to impress a new girlfriend by saying you are his sister just last week. Who could have expected you would be the first to marry?"
Which, of course, prompts Ajay over there to fold his arms over his chest. "There is nothing wrong with that, maa," he says. "I am proud to be her brother. And your network is your net worth! Connections are important." His eyes flick from Anita to Neha for half a moment, teasing out a secretive, brotherly smile from the corner of his mouth, meant only for her - a sibling's commiseration in the face of their mother's scolding and praise. Vijay, of course, clears his throat. He's still Vijay, after all, and likes to direct things as they're done. "Come on," he says, his voice all but indiscernible from his twin's. "We'll walk with you, choti behan. Don't worry; I won't let them crush you with all their hugs before you get where you need to go." He smiles, too, even if he's bossing people around. That's just who he is, right?
Oh. Well. This is new. Neha clutches the portrait close to her chest as she's pulled back into her father's embrace, her shoulders stiffening instinctively, as though unsure what she should be doing with herself. Has she ever felt this before?
It's not a question she has to linger upon for long, because her mother is speaking up in that voice that's only ever been used to criticize her - or so it's felt like in recent years, at least, when it became more and more obvious that Neha wasn't going to be as special as her brothers. But then, she'd never been as special, after all, had she? Her mother never let her forget it. Her brothers never let her forget it too, picking up on it early on when they'd been children and she'd been less beautiful, less clever, less charismatic, less... just less.
That doesn't matter so much anymore, does it? Surely, it doesn't. It mustn't. It's a memory from far, far away, and right now, Neha's got everything she's ever wanted. Approval. Love. The bond her brothers have always shared with each other and with their parents while she watched like an outsider. Slowly, very slowly, Neha's shoulders start to ease up from their tensing, and she leans against her father's chest, letting herself indulge in this moment for a second longer.
... wait.
"Marry?"
Maybe those things had all been the case... once. But now her parents embraced her, her brothers treated her as they did each other, and they all smiled with her. This was a warm, loving family in the wake of Neha's apparent success. And apparent marriage.
"You're right," Ajay complains, offering his mother a long-suffering look. "Gita and I were doing well, maa, but the marriage had to be called off. It was not her fault and not mine. I'm not giving up on marriage... I just need to find the right person."
To which, of course, Anita sniffs, but Ajay is her beloved son, so he does not get too much shit. As usual. Instead, she turns back to Neha, lowering her voice to confer with her daughter about the virtues of her husband.
"We were shocked when we got the invitations in the mail," she whispers in a hush. "After so long without real contact, my Neha was getting married? And after you left just because we wanted you to get married in the first place! But no, that Taj of yours... Surely this was the path you were supposed to follow all along. His money has been so helpful to us, beti. And now you are so successful... Maybe /you/ should run for President, next election! Or at least you could be part of the cabinet. The Secretary of Health, maybe..."
That's the most gracious Neha's ever heard Ajay being - usually things are never his fault. She opens her mouth as though to say something, though no words find their way out, and then her mother is leaning over to whisper to her about her alleged husband.
"I-... I don't want to go into politics, maa," she tells her mother weakly, clutching the portrait even tighter to her chest, both of her hands gripping tightly at it as though it's the only thing keeping her grounded right now. Neha wasn't made for such a thing. All this praise, all this attention, all this-... all of this. This is what she had wanted. Maybe it's too late, after all? Maybe it's-
Neha only realizes her breathing's sped up when she's all but hyperventilating, and there's a quick shake of her head before she's pulling away from her father's embrace and her brothers' easy conversation and her mother's whispering to find her way along the path, bare feet against the grass as she steps away from the stone slab. The thought of switching out doesn't even occur to her this moment, even if the stethoscope and the henna still remain there. "Taj," she calls out. Where is Taj?
Taj is further along the path, of course. She knows that instinctively, too - the dream says she's /supposed/ to know that. Bringing the portrait with her, it seems her family are content to follow along, with no visible change in mood from her having extracted herself. She's a busy, successful director of several hospitals, or so they've said. They're ready to just follow where she leads, now. Her father in particular seems eager to follow along with Neha, preferring to walk beside rather than behind - but of course, it /is/ still Ashok Pandit, Lawyer Extraordinaire. He's always been ambitious, and the connections Taj brought to more prestigious work put as girlish a skip in his step as it might any other Bollywood heroine.
If there's a whole Bollywood dance sequence waiting for her, Neha wants out of this dream. Of course, she doesn't realize it's a dream yet, but nothing will jar her to wakefulness as a Bollywood dance sequence would. Please let there not be one, dream gods.
Neha walks along the path, the hem of her sari not tripping her the slightest bit even if it's long enough to. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes scan the horizon for her alleged-husband - are they married already? She lifts her hand to her hairline to check for sindoor. Do her fingers come back red?
Her father might have some trouble keeping up. He's out of shape, too much time spent in the office and not enough time spent remaining fit, but Neha doesn't wait. This time, for just this once, her family has to be the one who must keep up with her. "Taj," she calls out again. Somewhere around here... any second now...
Thankfully, no one busts into any uncharacteristic musical numbers, sparing both the believability of the dream and also Neha's mental health. No one seems to be running out of puff, though - not dad bod Ashok, nor Neha herself. Similarly to how her rustic brown-and-yellow sari seems almost weightless, despite its heavy drapes, none of the family appear encumbered in the slightest as they pass waystone after waystone. There's no sindoor along her hairline, though, for whatever reason. Perhaps to avoid wearing it in a medical setting, perhaps simply not practicing that tradition, or whatever other reason.
Eventually, she does see something in the distance, rising higher and higher into the horizon as she approaches. It is an enormous albino elephant with seven heads, sat down in the sunny grass to rest. Getting closer and closer - as things like distance and speed are not so strictly governed in the dream - she spies Taj, reclining against the colossal elephant's side as he strums a western guitar. He hasn't noticed Neha or her family approaching, yet - and he doesn't appear to have heard any of her calls.
Neha might have to check up on her dad - has he been working out and eating well, finally, after she left home? That would be quite surprising. This doesn't seem like the time for it though, when she's got so much on her mind and only a singular goal in her thoughts of finding Taj and trying to figure out what on earth is going on here. She follows the pull she can feel, to the destination she knows she's meant to go to, the portrait cradled in her arms all along the way, and finds herself in sight of the massive elephant.
Neha's breath catches in her throat, and her heart thrums louder in her chest, and she slows down her pace to approach Taj, eyes flickering between him and the elephant, back and forth.
"Taj," Finally, she can say that in a normal, not-yelling volume, now that he's /here/ in front of her. Neha finds herself by the man's side, her eyes wide. "You are..." she begins, then pauses, unsure, her tongue darting across her lips, her gaze flickering over to the elephant once again. The questions she wants to ask are too many. The one that leaves her is: "Are you Indra?"
Taj grins widely as Neha approaches, setting down his guitar and rising to his feet to greet her. The question makes him laugh, even as he shakes his head in the negative.
"No," he says, stepping in to take one of her hands in his, if she'll let him. "I'm descended from Arjuna, who was fathered by Indra," he clarifies, "And Airaveta was the one who guided me to claim my bloodline." He reaches up to lay his hand on the great elephant king's side, turning his eyes up to the noble creature with a mixture of fondness and longing - not anything licentious, but as if he might have missed the elephant very much.
He turns to the Pandit family, then, lightly embracing Neha's mother by the shoulders, then her father (who is as out-of-shape as she remembers him) before he shakes hands with her brothers. "It is good to see you all again. We should have to do lunch soon on one of the company's yachts. Vijay, you finished getting your skipper's license, yes? I could convince them to let you handle things, once we're out on the water." He slips an arm around Neha's waist, standing side by side with her, and leans down as if to press a kiss to the top of her head - it would seem he believes they're married, too.
"He is..." Neha doesn't finish that sentence, just biting her lip for a lack of adjectives. She's a doctor, not a writer. He's majestic, though, and beautiful, and otherworldly, a sight she'd never imagined she'd see for herself, a look into the world that isn't really meant for her. This whole thing is - a picture of an idyllic life she's never dared to dream would be hers one day.
She watches as Taj embraces her father, her mother, her brothers, /her/, his hand slipping around her waist, skin against skin, the wood of the portrait frame beneath her hand digging into her fingers. There's talk of yachts and skipping and money and Taj's leaning down to kiss the top of her head as though she's something precious, and-
And... what? Neha waits for it to make her happy. She has all she wants now. She has love. Approval. Wealth. Fame. Her family. All there is left is for her heart to catch up, to figure it out, to stop feeling as though instead of being filled with love, it's turning into a sinkhole inside of her that makes her feel empty inside.
When does she start being happy?