We met at The Grid in Topsia.

Music.

Perfume.

Loud laughter.

Fake warmth.

Everyone acted normal.

As if their jealousy didn’t slip through earlier.

I stayed quiet.

No drinks.

Just my phone and a polite smile.

When it finally got late enough, I left.

My manager offered a ride, but he was too drunk to stand straight.

Belur Math at midnight?

No cab wanted to come.

I took the last bus home.

Near twelve, I unlocked my door.

Silence welcomed me instantly.

Heavy. Familiar.

I collapsed onto the bed without changing.

Morning came slow.

My body felt like I had run miles in my sleep again.

I made coffee.

Turned on the TV for noise.

Anything to drown the memory of that nightmare.

The anchor’s tone suddenly turned sharp.

Urgent.

Wrong.

I turned to the screen.

Everything inside me went still.

A headline.

A photo.

A location.

My toast slipped from my hand and hit the floor.

I stared.

Frozen.

Whatever I saw on that screen—

it wasn’t just news.

It felt connected to the dream.

To the fear.

To something I didn’t understand yet.

And it felt like

the beginning of something I wasn’t ready for.

.

.

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