The evening unfurled at a white table. I heard scribbling in the feedback register, hustle around the post-it section. They were reflecting upon the exhibition. “What did you dream of last night?” the question said. She penned her answer down and took the note to the noticeboard in front. The board was full to the brim with sticky notes of different kinds; Of different kinds of dreams. The good, bad, and mundane, that there was little space left to add new ones. She placed hers, nevertheless, and left.