“Goutam, what the hell are you doing?” Sayan’s voice sounded muffled, distant.
“I need to move,” Goutam muttered, his voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears.
The other three exchanged thoroughly confused, worried looks on the sidewalk.
The white van rolled smoothly through the intersection ahead of them, turning lazily into a side lane toward the main market.
It wasn’t even heading directly toward their position.
It was just a normal delivery vehicle passing through evening traffic.
But Goutam couldn’t see the reality of the road anymore.
His field of vision had narrowed into a thin, dark tunnel.
The asphalt disappeared from beneath his boots.
The ambient shouting of the street vendors and the voices of his friends became thousands of miles away.
All his brain could register was that white shape.
And Shweta.
His knees suddenly gave out entirely, his muscles releasing.
“Goutam!”
Joy lunged forward, catching him by the armpits before his head could strike the concrete pavement of the divider.
“What happened to him?” Sayan shouted, dropping his folder.
“Get him up, help me carry him.”
“I’ve got his legs, move.”
Goutam tried to force his eyelids open, to look at his friends’ faces, but the darkness was too thick.
The last sound that registered in his fading consciousness was Sarthok frantically calling his name over and over.
Then the last piece of the street disappeared, and everything went completely dark.
“Shweta…”
Goutam’s lips barely moved, the sound dry against his teeth.
Joy looked down at him, his palms braced against Goutam’s shoulders.
“What did he say?”
“I think he said Shweta,” Sayan muttered, squinting in the dim light of the shelter.
Sarthok crouched down on the concrete beside them, his folder clutched tight against his ribcage.
“Goutam?
Can you hear me?”
There was no immediate response.
They had managed to carry him to a public bus stop a little farther down the secondary road.
There was a long, empty wooden bench beneath the corrugated metal shelter, and they had laid him across it while they tried to figure out exactly what was wrong.
Sayan was still holding a plastic water bottle an elderly passerby had given them during the scramble.
“Should we call an ambulance or something?”
“Give him a minute,” Joy said, his voice flat with anxiety.
“How long is a minute, Joy?
Look at his face.”
“I don’t know, Sayan.”
Joy unhitched the cap of the bottle, tilted it, and let a few drops of water run down Goutam’s forehead.
Goutam’s eyebrows twitched instantly.
Then his eyelids flickered, opening slowly.
He stared blankly upward at the rusted iron rafters of the shelter without seeming to recognize where he was.
“Shweta…” he murmured again.
Joy leaned closer into his field of vision.
“Goutam?
You with us?”
Goutam blinked hard, the haze slowly clearing.
“Where…?”
“You’re at the Sector 4 bus stop,” Sarthok said, his hand resting on Goutam’s knee.
“You passed out right after the intersection.”
Goutam shifted his weight, trying to push himself up against the wooden slats.
Joy placed a firm hand behind his shoulder to steady him.
“Easy.
Don’t rush.”
“What happened?” Goutam asked, rubbing his temples.
“You tell us,” Sayan said, handing the water bottle over.
“You just completely collapsed in the middle of the road.
You weren’t even looking at the traffic.”
Goutam looked at the three of them, his throat dry.
“I…”
He looked out toward the empty lane, and the image of the white vehicle flashed behind his eyes again.
His breathing changed instantly, turning rapid.
“The van.”
“What about it?” Joy asked, looking out toward the main road where a few ordinary cars were passing.
“It was just a delivery van, Goutam.
It didn’t even come near the curb.”
Goutam rubbed his forehead, his skin cold to the touch.
“I thought…
I saw it before.”
Sarthok frowned, shifting his stance.
“What do you mean you saw it before?”
“In my dream,” Goutam said quietly.
Nobody said anything for several seconds.
The hum of a passing scooter filled the silence under the shelter.
Goutam looked down at his own hands, his fingers trembling slightly.
“I’ve been having the exact same dream for weeks,” he muttered.
Joy exchanged a brief, uneasy glance with Sarthok across the bench.
“What kind of dream, Goutam?”
Goutam hesitated.
He wasn’t even sure how to structure the explanation without sounding completely unhinged.
“It’s hard to remember the whole thing.
Most of it fades.
But there’s a road.
A white van comes straight toward me…
and Shweta is standing right there.”
Sayan stopped moving entirely, his hand freezing halfway to his pocket.
Goutam continued, completely unaware of the sudden, rigid change in his friends’ expressions.
“She shoves me out of the way.
I lose my balance and hit the ground.” His voice became much quieter, dropping to a whisper.
“Then the van hits her instead.”
Goutam looked up from his hands.
All three of them were staring directly at him, their faces frozen.
“What?” Goutam frowned.
“Why are you guys looking at me like that?”
Joy’s face had completely lost its earlier, relaxed expression from the food stall.
Sarthok slowly let out his breath, sitting down heavily on the very edge of the wooden bench.
Sayan turned his head away, focusing on the dark hedges across the street.
Goutam’s frown deepened.
“Why are you guys looking at me like that?
Say something.”
Joy finally spoke, his voice entirely devoid of humor.
“Tell us exactly what you saw in that dream, Goutam.”
“I just told you.”
“No.
The details.
What happened right after the van hit her?”
Goutam closed his eyes, forcing his brain back into the dark corridor of his nightmare.
“There was blood on the tar.
A lot of it.
I was trying to call the ambulance but my fingers wouldn’t work.
She was…
she was saying something to me.”
“What did she say?” Sarthok pressed, leaning forward.
“I don’t know.
I can’t remember the exact sentences.
It’s blurry.” He rubbed his temples where the dull ache was returning.
“But right at the end…
she called me a dummy.
Or an idiot.
Something like that.”
Sayan’s jaw clenched, his eyes widening slightly.
Goutam noticed the movement instantly.
“What?” Goutam asked, shifting his weight on the bench.
Sayan didn’t answer him.
“Why are you reacting like that?
Sayan?”
Joy looked across at Sarthok.
Neither of them seemed to know how to phrase the next sentence.
The silence stretched until it became uncomfortable.
Goutam sat up straighter, his fingers gripping the edge of the wood.
“Guys, seriously, what is going on here?”
Sarthok took a slow, heavy breath, removing his spectacles.
“That day…” He stopped, staring at the concrete floor.
Goutam waited, his chest tightening again.
Sarthok looked back up, his eyes serious behind his frames.
“Seven years ago, Goutam.”