I’m walking down a hallway on my own when an ENFP appears by my side.
“Come on,” he says, and gestures for me to follow him.
Puzzled, I question his motive, to which he keeps a mystery.
He walks ahead and leads me round a corner into a secluded area with more privacy. I’m still a few steps away when he turns around to face me and gives me a smile. There’s something peculiar about his smile, but I can’t figure out why.
Just then, two other figures emerge by my side: a man and a woman. I turn to them and then it hits me, and I understand the ENFP’s smile.
The man asks me, “What’s wrong?”
“He’s dying,” I squeak, and start bawling uncontrollably.
It’s an ugly cry. I chastise myself for crying in public, in front of people, and especially in front of him. It speaks volumes to them — it’s releasing so much information to him — but I can’t stop. I’m too embarrassed to look at him and can only imagine what his expression is as he sees me wailing.
I’m in a classroom with the ENFP. It’s odd that there are no other students around, and awkward to be alone in an empty room with a stranger. He strikes a conversation with me about a new activity he’s trying: drawing his self-portrait — and asks if I have any advice. I immediately take an interest in the topic and in him. I explain a few things about shading and lighting to him, and start sketching his portrait with a pencil to show as an example. I chastise myself for my lack in drawing skills and I inform him that I’ve not drawn in years so I’m very rusty.
The professor bursts into the room, late for the lesson, and hands us a stack of notes each. On them are numerous printed images that were haphazardly placed, which we both no doubt know that they were copied and pasted from Google images just before he came here. He tells us to complete an assignment based on the provided notes and orders us hastily out of the room to begin the assignment at once. Peeved, we walk to an adjacent building together to continue our conversation on drawing.
The next day, I’m in the classroom again but this time there are more students around. Many more. I see him amidst the horde but it’s getting too much for me to handle so I leave and walk to the adjacent building for a breather. He appears soon after and asks if I’m alright.
On a separate day back in the crowded classroom, I walk out again and head to the same place. But this time, the other spot is crowded and rowdy too. So I venture further down the path and find a quieter spot. After some time, I realise that I’ve been waiting for him to show up, just like before, and the disappointment has been building inside of me as he hasn’t turned up. I start to question my motives and why I’m feeling this way.
Why am I waiting for him? Why do I expect — and want — him to come looking for me? Am I trying to play games? Am I testing him? Am I developing feelings for him? Has he lost his interest in me and found other more interesting fellows to talk to in class?
It then occurs to me that this is a new place that I’m at so he may not have known where I went.
This dream might be due to an amalgamation of the ENFPs I’ve met in passing recently or talked about in conversations, along with fictitious ENFPs and those in the media.
Just a few days ago, a little ENFP boy of about 10 or 12 started chatting with me on the train. He took an interest in the book I was reading and so we started talking about books and then movies and then Star Wars, which he was particularly excited about. We chatted until it was his stop, and it was the first time that I’ve talked this long and this easily with a stranger. The ease at conversing with anyone and the ease at putting others at ease are things that I greatly admire about ENFPs.