“NO!
SHWETA!”
Goutam woke up with a start.
“Hah…
hah…”
He sat upright, breathing hard.
His shirt was damp with sweat.
For a few seconds, he couldn’t do anything except sit there and try to catch his breath.
His chest hurt.
Not the sharp pain of an injury.
Something deeper.
A strange heaviness he couldn’t explain.
He pressed a hand against it.
“What…
was that?” His voice came out weak.
The dream was already slipping away.
He could remember pieces of it—a road, a van, Shweta, blood.
Then nothing.
But the feeling remained.
Guilt.
A terrible, crushing guilt that made his stomach twist.
“It was my fault…”
He didn’t know why he said it.
He didn’t even know what he had done.
Yet tears had already started running down his face.
Goutam wiped them away with the back of his hand and stared at his fingers.
He frowned.
Why was he crying?
It had only been a dream.
A stupid dream he couldn’t even remember properly.
He sat there for another minute before finally looking around.
His room was exactly as it had been when he’d gone to sleep.
The ceiling fan turned slowly above him.
His books were still scattered across the desk.
Morning light came through the window.
Then he noticed the door.
It was open.
Goutam stared at it.
“Huh?”
He was almost certain he’d closed it before going to sleep.
He rubbed his eyes and looked again.
Still open.
“How did that happen?”
Before he could get out of bed, he heard footsteps coming down the hallway.
More than one person.
Then a familiar voice.
“Happy graduation, Goutam!
Finally, we actually finished.”
Goutam blinked.
Another voice followed.
“Move, Sayan.
“I know.”
“You’ve been standing there for ten seconds.”
“I’m trying to get the cake inside without dropping it.”
Goutam stared toward the doorway.
Sarthok appeared first, carrying a small cake.
Sayan followed behind him.
Joy was holding a few paper plates and cups, looking as though he’d been dragged into helping at the last minute.
Goutam looked at the cake.
A candle was already burning in the middle.
Sayan grinned.
“Come on.
You’re supposed to blow it out.”
Goutam rubbed his face.
“You guys…”
Sarthok held the cake out.
“Don’t start getting emotional.
Just blow the candle before the wax falls all over it.”
Joy looked at him.
“You say that like you weren’t the one who bought the candle.”
“I bought the cake.”
“You bought both.”
“That’s not the point.”
Sayan gave a small laugh.
“This was your idea from the beginning, Sarthok.”
Sarthok frowned.
“Why are you making it sound like I planned some huge event?
We all finished college.
We should at least do something.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“You were complaining five minutes ago.”
“I said the cake was too small.”
“Because it is.”
Joy looked at the cake.
“Four people.
It’s enough.”
“Five,” Sayan corrected.
Everyone looked at him.
Sayan pointed at himself.
“Me.
Obviously.”
Sarthok sighed.
“You’re impossible.”
Goutam couldn’t help smiling.
The strange weight in his chest was still there, but it had eased.
He got out of bed and walked over to them.
“Thanks,” Goutam said, looking at the flickering flame.
He paused, looking up at the three of them.
“But I’m not blowing this out alone.
We do it together.”
Sarthok shifted his grip on the box.
“Don’t be ridiculous, just—”
“He’s right,” Sayan interrupted, leaning in closer to the box.
“Four degrees, one cheap cake.
Come on, Sarthok, lean down.”
Joy set the paper plates on the desk and stepped up next to Goutam.
Sarthok grumbled under his breath, but he lowered his head toward the center of the room, bringing the small cardboard square between the four of them.
“On three,” Sayan whispered.
Goutam looked at the candle.
For a split second, the fading image of the road and the name Shweta tried to pull his attention back into the dark.
He forced his mind to lock it out.
He looked at Sarthok, Sayan, and Joy.
“One,” Goutam said.
“Two,” Joy followed.
“Three.”
They took a breath together and blew out the candle.
Sayan let out a loud cheer, slapping Goutam on the shoulder while Joy clapped.
It wasn’t anything grand.
Just the four of them standing in a cramped, unpainted room with a cheap cake and a handful of disposable cups.
But Goutam looked around at them and felt the cold residue of the nightmare completely dissolve.
These three had been beside him for as long as he could track his own memories.
They had grown up in the same municipal home, occupied the same primary school benches, and shared the rent on this flat by working shifts at the local transit office.
There had never been a family waiting for them, no relatives calling to check their marks, no baseline except the one they had built themselves.
They had each other.
That had been more than enough.
Goutam looked at them.
“Seriously…
thank you.”
This time nobody cut the moment with a joke.
Sarthok simply nodded.
“Yeah.
We made it out.”
Joy handed Goutam the plastic knife.
“Now cut the pieces before Sarthok starts calculating the exact area of the slices based on his financial contribution.”
“I paid for the box,” Sarthok stated plainly.
“And?”
“And logic dictates I should get the larger corner.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
Goutam laughed quietly, slicing through the soft layers.
The dream felt entirely distant now.
He still couldn’t understand why his throat had locked up over a name like Shweta—someone who had never existed in their circle or their history.
He let the thought go.
It was a phantom memory, nothing more.
He looked at his friends.
Sarthok was already defending his allocation logic to Joy, while Sayan was using a paper plate to catch a stray piece of frosting.
Goutam smiled, the plastic handle firm in his fingers.
Whatever that nightmare had been, this room was real.
This was their life.
These people were his family.
His entire world.