I dreamt Liana, my desk colleague in primary school. We used to have two-seater desks back then. She had the same dark brown hair tied in two neat pigtails. She was six years old and she was talking like an adult.

I met Liana by her grandma’s flat, on the town’s main road. There was some sort of flood going on, just like when a water pipe bursts. Her grandma lived on the second floor and used to be a good friend of my grandma’s.

‘Have you moved into the apartment now? In all the three bedrooms?’ I asked. ‘Yes’, she said, ‘but I’ve sold the bedroom at the back; it’s no longer ours.’ ‘How can you sell just one bedroom?’ I thought to myself.

The waters were flowing between us, under our feet, producing minuscule waves, but the water felt warm and pleasant. I looked up towards the kitchen window, where her grandma used to pop up (she carried quite a few moles on her face). ‘Is she still alive?’ I wondered. ‘She must be really old by now. It would be quite unusual. My grandma died a while ago, and people don’t tend to live that long around these parts.’