The knife dangled dangerously over my head. Its sharp blade glistened threateningly in the moonlight. I was breathing heavily, in short, quick gasps. Beads of perspiration that had formed on my forehead had begun to trickle down my cheek, to settle on my jaw.

I tried to move, but I was paralyzed. Completely immobile. The knife inched closer. Slowly, it found its way to my throat.

"No," I gasped. Slowly, smoothly, it made the incision - a tiny gash on my throat, a few inches below my chin. Excruciating pain shot through my entire being.

Suddenly, in one swift motion, I broke free. I clutched the knife desperately and pulled it away from my throat. I could feel the blood trickling down the sides of my neck. All at once, I realized that I was no longer paralyzed. I rolled over to my side, got up clumsily, and started running.

One hand covering the gaping wound on my throat, and the other on the back of my head, I ran blindly into oblivion.

~*~

"Hey, Sharon!"

It was Akshay. As usual, he would ask for my notes. He always bunked the Economics class, because he found Ms. Simon's lectures 'oh-so-boring'!

This time, I had made up my mind. I would not share my notes with him, no matter what.

Akshay came up and smiled at me. His usual, charming smile. "Sharon sweetheart!" he sang romantically. "How have you been?"

"Uh-huh… I've been good, thanks. How about you?" I asked with a labored smile. I knew what was coming next.

"So Sharon, my baby doll, how was the Economics class?" he asked with a grin.

I had half a mind to kick him nice and hard on his butt, but smiled instead. "It was nice," I said and started walking towards the canteen. He followed me like a loyal dog, talking musically all along.

"Sharon, my apple pie! Can I have your notes?" he asked finally.

I looked at him with an acrimonious expression, and snapped, "Cut the crap, Aksh! You don't have to pretend so much! The notes are all you have ever wanted from me, so why all the mush talk?"

Little did he know how much I liked him. I craved for his attention like a newborn craving for its mother's touch. But he didn't care. And he made that very evident from the way he behaved. It was only when he wanted my Economics notes that he turned into the overly romantic, charming Mr. Right.

"Hey, Sharon! What's wrong? You seem to be terribly upset about something. Wanna talk?" he asked smoothly.

I shot him a cold stare, shoved the Economics notes into his hands and walked away.

~*~

I was breathing heavily. Blood trickled down my neck and tiny droplets of blood formed a pool at my feet. He was moving towards me. I could make out the silhouette of the knife's blade in the moonlight. I was gasping for breath. He let out a hollow laugh.

I turned around and started to run. My legs were aching. My feet were burning. I kept running. And I knew he was right there, behind me.

Abruptly, I stopped. I turned around slowly. He was not there. I looked around cautiously. I could hear the thudding of my own heart against my ribs. I closed my eyes. I uttered a fervent prayer. I sighed and opened my eyes.

He was there, before me, standing a whole 6 feet tall. The knife's blade glittered in the moonlight. I wanted to scream. Only air escaped my lips.

He dexterously slid the knife into my breast. Pain shot through my entire being.

I struggled to stay conscious as every ounce of strength was slowly draining away. He briefly withdrew the knife. I knew he was going to thrust it in again, but without warning, I kicked him in his belly. I hauled myself up from the ground, and began to run.

~*~

"So, what else is happening with you? You seem to be too busy these days! You hardly find time for me," Viju commented casually. I grimaced, but said nothing.

Viju was good company. But sometimes he got to me. Working with him on the college project had been a good experience all right, but sitting with him at a coffee pub, trying to shake my agony off was more than a trifle difficult.

"Hey, what's wrong? I was just kidding," he said quickly, when he noticed my muscles tensing. Beads of perspiration had formed at my temples and I was breathing heavily. Fists clenched, I tried to hold back my tears.

"Hey, I am sorry if I said something wrong. Would you like me to drop you at the hostel," Viju asked, handing me a tissue. I shook my head with great effort and managed to say, "No, Viju. I'm fine."

Back at the hostel, I picked up the receiver apprehensively and dialed.

"Hello, Dr. Ranjan's clinic," said a cheerful voice. It was the receptionist. I wondered how one could remain so blithe in spite of seeing so many depressed, morose patients every day.

"Hel…hello," I stuttered.

"Yes ma'am? How may I help you," came her warm response.

"Could you connect me to the doctor please?"

"Sure. May I know your name, ma'am?"

"Just connect me to the doctor," I snapped.

"Sure ma'am. Kindly hold the line for a few seconds," she said with the same calm articulation. I felt rather stupid having been rude to her. But then, it had not been deliberate.

"Dr. Ranjan," said the gruff, yet friendly voice.

"G…good afternoon, doctor," I said slowly.

"Good afternoon. Who am I speaking to?"

I had never seen this man in all my life. And I had decided to confide in him. Why? I had heard about him from Sheena. He had cured her of hypertension. I had read in the papers that he was the best psychiatrist in town. Brijesh had told me how Dr. Ranjan had helped him get over his insomnia within days.

In spite of all that, I felt rather uncertain now, talking to a total stranger about something so personal. Something that I had guarded like a precious secret, all my life.

"Hello," said his concerned voice when I did not respond for a long time.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably and began, "D…doctor,"

"Yes," he said encouragingly.

"I… Please… please help me," I said, and burst into tears.

~*~

"So, you see him chasing you with a knife. And then you somehow manage to give him the slip and run away," he said.

I nodded inarticulately.

"How long has this nightmare been recurring?"

"I… I don't know…" I said.

"Tell me more about your mental images. Describe each detail that you can remember. And tell me what happens after you have had the dream," he said in a soothing voice.

I looked at him with pleading eyes. He placed his hand on my shoulder and said in an encouraging voice, "Sharon, don't worry. You can trust me, okay?"

I nodded again and nervously wiped the sweat on my eyebrow. He handed me a handkerchief. Then he sat down beside me and stroked my hair gently, saying, "Tell me, Sharon. Tell me your dreams."

"It always begins with blood… and ends in pain, " I said, almost choking with emotion, as I began to recall those terrifying moments.

"Go on," he said encouragingly.

"He chases me. I run. I run blindly, till I finally fall into his snare. Then he drives the knife into my flesh. I can feel the pain, doctor. I can FEEL it…"

"I understand. Go on," he said.

"Invariably, I end up being soaked in blood at the end of the dream. And I always manage to escape from him. But then…" my voice trailed off.

"But then what?" he prodded gently.

"Doctor," I hissed, "whenever I wake up after that dream, I find a knife in my hand..."