By late afternoon, the four of them had ended up at a small roadside food stall a few streets away from the main college campus.
It wasn’t anything fancy.
A few blue plastic tables had been placed directly onto the dusty edge of the pavement, and the owner was moving rapidly between his large iron stove and the grease-stained counter, trying to keep up with the evening orders.
For the four friends, the place was perfect.
Sayan was already clearing his second plate of fried snacks, his fingers oily.
Joy stared across the table at him, his brow furrowed.
“You explicitly said you weren’t hungry when we left the lawns.”
“I wasn’t,” Sayan mumbled around a mouthful.
“You’ve eaten enough for two fully grown people, Sayan.”
Sayan continued chewing, unbothered.
“I graduated from an engineering college today.
I deserve the extra portions.”
Sarthok let out a dry laugh, wiping his spectacles with his handkerchief.
“You’ve been using that exact graduation excuse since six this morning.”
“Because it works every single time,” Sayan points out.
Goutam shook his head, a slight smile on his face as he tapped his knuckles against his own empty plate.
“You’re going to seriously regret the billing for this later.”
“I’ll worry about when later actually arrives.”
Joy reached across the small table and systematically stole a crispy piece directly from Sayan’s plate.
Sayan immediately looked down, his eyes narrowing.
“Hey.
Hands off.”
Joy ate it in one bite.
“You have more than enough over there.”
“That specific piece was mine.”
“You weren’t actively eating it.”
“I was literally about to pick it up.”
While Sayan was glaring at Joy, Sarthok quietly and cleanly reached over from the side, taking another piece for himself.
Sayan looked between the two of them, his mouth open in disbelief.
“You two are actually worse than the primary school children,” Sayan grumbled.
Goutam laughed quietly, leaning back in his plastic chair.
“Just order another plate, Sayan.”
“I think I will.” Sayan raised his hand, waving toward the busy stall owner near the vat.
“Dada!
One more plate over here, please!”
The others laughed at the sheer consistency of his appetite.
For the next hour, there was absolutely no mention of upcoming corporate exams, placement jobs, or the uncertain reality waiting for them after this week.
They simply ate.
They argued loudly over who had contributed what amount to the flat’s electricity bill last month.
Joy tried to take a blurry photograph of Sayan mid-bite, and Sayan nearly knocked the phone straight out of his hand into the gutter.
At one point, the laughter died down naturally, and Sarthok looked around at the four of them sitting around the small, unstable plastic table.
“So…
what now?”
Nobody answered him immediately.
It was the very first time the question had actually been spoken out loud today.
College was finished.
The routine was broken.
Tomorrow morning would look completely different from the last four years.
Goutam looked at the quiet faces of his friends.
“We’ll figure it out.”
Joy nodded slowly.
“Yeah.
We always do.”
Sayan lifted his cheap glass of water into the air, his expression clearing.
“To figure it out.”
They laughed, a bit more quietly this time, and clinked their thick glasses together over the empty plates.
It wasn’t much of a celebration.
There were no toasts or family speeches.
But the moment belonged entirely to them.
The sun had begun to disappear behind the concrete apartment blocks when they finally left the stall and started walking back toward their sector.
The secondary streets were getting noticeably busier, packed with local commuters returning home from the transit offices.
Goutam walked along the gravel shoulder beside the others, listening to Sayan complain about how uncomfortably full he felt.
“You said you’d finance the extra plate yourself,” Joy reminded him as they navigated past a parked scooter.
“I never said that phrase, Joy.”
“You absolutely did, right after the owner brought the tray.”
“I said I’d consider thinking about it.
That isn’t logically the same thing.”
Goutam smiled, his hands stuffed into his trousers pockets.
He was tired.
His shoulders ached from the weight of his bag, but it was a good, quiet kind of exhaustion.
For the first time all day, the heavy residue of the morning nightmare had almost completely faded from his thoughts.
Then he saw it.
A white commercial van.
It was rolling slowly down the primary road ahead of their group, its headlights flickering on in the fading twilight.
Goutam’s pace decreased.
His eyes locked onto the front grille.
Something about the vehicle felt immediately, terrifyingly familiar.
It wasn’t merely the white color of the panels.
It was the specific, boxy shape of the frame.
The rough, rattling hum of the diesel engine.
The precise way the chassis tilted as it moved toward their side of the lane.
The smile completely vanished from Goutam’s face.
Sarthok stopped walking, looking back over his shoulder.
“What?”
Goutam didn’t answer him.
His boots felt heavy.
The van was getting closer by the yard.
A sudden, violent flash of imagery ripped through his brain—Shweta running toward his position, the sound of an iron horn, a sudden smear of dark red fluid spreading across the dry asphalt.
His breathing instantly became short and uneven.
“Goutam?” Joy had stopped walking now, turning around on the path.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Goutam opened his mouth to answer, to tell them to step off the road, but the words stuck hard in his throat.
Nothing came out.
The van continued its approach down the lane.
Goutam’s entire body went entirely cold, a sudden tremor hit his fingers.
No.
This was the exact same van.
The dented bumper, the grey dust on the hood—it had to be the same one.
His heart began pounding violently against his ribs like a frantic, trapped bird.
Move, his brain commanded.
Just step back onto the curb.
He tried to force his weight onto his heels.
Nothing happened.
He strained against his own muscles, trying to break the hold.
His feet wouldn’t move an inch.
“What…?”
Goutam looked down at his legs in absolute horror.
They were completely still, locked straight at the knees.
“Move,” he whispered to his limbs, his jaw clenching until his teeth ached.
He forced his weight forward, trying to tear his soles away from the ground.
Nothing.
The white van was almost at the crossing now.
“Goutam!”
Someone grabbed his left arm, shaking his shoulder.
He barely registered the physical contact.
His mind was entirely locked in another timeline.
He could see Shweta’s pale face again.
He could hear her voice right next to his ear.
You dummy…
Goutam’s breathing accelerated into sharp, frantic gasps.
“No.
No, this isn’t happening.
Stop it.”