The Night I Dreamt of Allu Arjun, Astronauts, and a Dust Storm of Regret
Not all dreams are random. Some feel like encrypted messages from your own soul. This one? Felt like a movie, a breakdown, and a revelation — all rolled into one. Last night, somewhere between my tangled thoughts and the soft hum of the ceiling fan, I drifted into a dream that felt like a Christopher Nolan movie written by a homesick poet. I was back in college. That version of me, carefree and slightly curious, spotted someone in the crowd—a clean-shaven guy, almost too ordinary. But my heart whispered, “That’s him .” Allu Arjun. Not the “Pushpa” swagger-loaded version, but a guy who looked like he just walked out of a bank queue. I asked for a selfie—he smiled, said yes. But fate, or maybe my dusty subconscious camera, kept giving me blurry shots. On the third try, click —perfection. Just enough clarity to make it a WhatsApp status flex. Then we were four. Two mystery girls whose faces I can’t recall, walking with us around the campus. Suddenly, a jet ripped throu...
