The Weight of Dreams

Somewhere inside it, a faint light pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat. Within that glow, a translucent mouth moved, whispering words I couldn’t quite hear… only feel. Urgent. Calling out to me.

“Rishi… Rishi…”

Then, suddenly—

“Rishi! Beta! Rishi!”

My eyes snapped open.

“M-Mummy?”

My voice came out dry, barely there. For a second, I didn’t know where I was. The dream still clung to me like fog.

My mother, Sarita, knelt beside me, her brows pulled together in worry.

“Did you have a bad dream? Are you okay?” she asked.

I blinked a few times, trying to steady myself. “Just a dream.”

She let out a small breath and gave a tired smile up. “It’s 7:15. I made idli. No chutney today—I had reports to finish for a reading program. Eat with pickle.”

“Okay.”

She stood up and left quickly, already thinking about the next thing she had to do.

I lay back for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

That glow… that voice…

It didn’t feel like a normal dream.

“Rishi! Breakfast!” she called again from the kitchen.

“Coming!”

---

I brushed my teeth slowly, my mind still stuck on that strange white space.

I’m Rishi. Second-year computer science student at Osmania University.

Dad died years ago. Accident.

Since then, it’s just been me and Mom.

She works as a librarian in a government school—organizing books, helping kids who don’t even have proper notebooks, running literacy programs. It doesn’t sound like much, but I’ve seen how hard she works.

She never let me take up a part-time job.

“Just study,” she always says. “Do it properly once.”

That’s how things work here. You don’t just pick a career—you carry your family with it.

---

The city bus was already overflowing by the time I got on.

People hung from the doors, gripping the metal bars like their lives depended on it. Inside, there wasn’t even space to breathe properly. Bags pressed into my ribs, someone’s elbow dug into my shoulder, and the air was thick with sweat, coconut oil, and dust.

The conductor shouted destinations no one could hear.

Outside the fogged windows, shopkeepers swept dust into the streets while horns screamed from every direction. Somewhere behind me, a girl laughed, clutching her lunchbox like it was something precious.

For a moment, it all felt… alive.

Like the entire city was moving at once—everyone chasing something.

---

“Oi!”

Sameer grabbed my arm as I stepped off the bus.

“Ready for the lab?” he asked.

I smirked. “You finished the assignment?”

He groaned immediately. “Don’t even start. Last week’s itself is still pending. That thing defeated me.”

“No surprise there.”

“Shut up, man.”

---

We reached the lab just as Professor Anu walked in.

She wore a vibrant saree, as always—confident, composed, and sharp. The entire class straightened a little when she entered.

Sameer leaned toward me and whispered, “Don’t look now… she’s right behind you.”

I turned anyway.

Sameer froze like he’d seen a ghost.

I burst out laughing.

Professor Anu raised an eyebrow. “Sameer, one more freeze like that and I’ll personally escort you out.”

The class erupted.

---

"Alright," she began, setting her books down. "Today we'll look at the basics of algorithmic trading."

A few groans. A few interested faces.

"We'll write a Python function to calculate 10-day and 50-day simple moving averages. These are commonly used indicators. When they cross, they generate buy or sell signals."

She paused, scanning the room.

"Even major stocks in the past — like Tasha Motors — have followed such patterns."

I opened my laptop and started typing.

Code. Numbers. Logic.

Everything felt normal.

Until —

Something flickered on my screen.

I paused.

Near the stock ticker… something was there.

A faint glow.

My fingers froze above the keyboard.

The glow pulsed softly.

Just like in the dream.

I stared at it, unable to look away.

The numbers beside it felt… wrong. Not incorrect — just… not from now.

Tasha Motors. ₹800. Then ₹620. Then ₹410. Then —

₹130.

"Rishi?"

Sameer's voice came from somewhere far away.

The glow brightened.

The whisper returned.

Urgent. Closer.

"This is only the beginning…"

My vision blurred.

"Rishi! Are you okay?" Professor Anu's voice cut through sharply.

The last thing I saw before everything went dark —

₹130.