"And then we realize that the fear of losing someone is more painful than the loss itself."

-----

Somewhere in the middle of the night, as the peaceful silence of their room enveloped them, a sharp ring broke through the stillness.

Rohit's phone, which was resting on the nightstand, began to ring. He stirred, his hand reaching instinctively for the phone on the bedside table. The screen lit up with a name that caused him to groggily squint. 

It was Virat. 

Rohit frowned slightly, he pressed the answer button, shutting his eyes as he pressed the mobile against his ear. 

"Vi, it's like 2 AM... What's up?" he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. The voice on the other side was unfamiliar, urgent. 

"Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I am speaking from the city hospital. We've admitted Mr. Virat Kohli here after a serious accident. He's the owner of this mobile phone, sir, and we need you to come to the hospital immediately. He's in critical condition." 

Rohit shot upright, his sleepiness evaporating in an instant. His heart stopped for a moment, the words 'critical condition' echoing in his mind.

"What?" he stammered, his voice shaking. "Critical condition? What happened to him?" His tone sharpened, tinged with panic.

"How bad is it? Is he conscious? Is he—" He couldn't finish the sentence as his voice cracked.

He swallowed hard, struggling to keep his composure. The man on the other end hesitated before responding.

"There was a collision with his car, sir. A car accident. He's stable for now, but I can't tell you all the details on the call. We found his phone and this number was the most recent outgoing call. Please come as soon as possible."

Rohit's pulse quickened. His grip on the phone tightened as he muttered, "I'll be there right away," and ended the call.

His mind raced, filled with worry and fear. He turned to Ritika, who had woken up from the noise. Her sleepy eyes opened to find Rohit sitting upright, his expression frozen and his knuckles white around the phone.

The dim light from the screen cast shadows on his face, emphasizing the raw fear in his eyes.

"Rohit?" she called softly, her voice laced with concern. He didn't respond, staring ahead blankly, his chest rising and falling quickly.

"Rohit," she repeated, sitting up and gently placing a hand on his arm. Her touch seemed to bring him back to reality. He turned to her, his eyes wide and haunted.

"It's... Vi," he managed to say, his voice barely a whisper. "Car accident. Critical condition."

Ritika sat up, the seriousness of his words jolting her awake. "Oh my God," she gasped, her breath catching.

Without hesitation, she got out of bed. "We need to go," she said firmly, already gathering her essentials.

Rohit got out of bed hurriedly, grabbing a black hoodie draped over a chair as his mind raced. His hands were trembling as he struggled to put it on, his movements unsteady and frantic.

Ritika, meanwhile, was already halfway to the closet, reaching for her own maroon shawl.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Rohit asked, his voice edged with a mix of urgency and confusion.

Ritika paused, looking at him with wide, determined eyes. "What does it look like? I'm coming with you."

He turned to her, his expression a mixture of concern and awkwardness. "Ritika... you don't have to come," he said, his voice low but earnest. "It's late, and... I mean, I know you care for him, but you should rest. This—this might take a while."

Ritika froze mid-motion, her shawl halfway draped over her shoulders. She looked at him, her brow furrowing. "Rest?" she repeated, her tone soft but laced with disbelief.

"Rohit, are you serious? I mean, I know it has been just a short span since I met, Vi, but he has become like a brother to me. You think I could just stay here and sleep, knowing he's in the hospital?"

Rohit winced slightly, his guilt creeping in, as he grabbed his wallet and car keys from the dresser. "I didn't mean it like that," he said, running a hand through his hair. "It's just... I don't want to trouble you. I can handle this. You don't have to—"

"Stop," Ritika interrupted, her voice firm now. She stepped closer, her gaze steady and unwavering. "He's not just your best friend, and he's someone I care about deeply. This isn't about 'troubling' me, Rohit. I want to be there—for him and you."

Rohit paused, his hands gripping the keys tightly as if they were the only thing anchoring him to reality. He turned to look at her, the vulnerability in his eyes momentarily breaking through his otherwise stoic demeanor. "Ritika, I... I can handle this. You don't-"

"You clearly can't," Ritika interjected firmly, stepping closer and grabbing her black sling bag. As she looked up at Rohit, her gaze was unwavering, her voice steady but laced with concern.

"Look at you, Rohit. You're shaken up, and I'm not going to be a fool and let you drive in this state. Just so that you can end up on another hospital bed right beside your best friend."

Rohit blinked at her, stunned into silence, as her words hung in the air. Before he could respond, she reached out and plucked the car keys from his hand. He blinked again, stunned by her decisiveness, as she shot him a look that brooked no argument. "Ritika—"

"No arguments. Just get your shoes on," she said, cutting him off again. "We're wasting time, and Vi needs us. I'll drive."

For a moment, Rohit just stared at her, caught between the urge to argue and the pull of gratitude. After a brief silence, he gave in with a reluctant nod, his shoulders drooping slightly in surrender.

"Fine," he whispered, slipping on his white sneakers in a hurry and following her out the door.

Ritika didn't pause. She quickly grabbed her phone and house keys, stuffing them into her sling bag. Sliding her feet into her black sneakers, she guided Rohit towards the door with urgency.

As they stepped into the crisp night air, Rohit's thoughts were a whirlwind of concern for Virat. Yet, beneath the chaos, he noticed Ritika's calm determination.

For the first time since their paths had crossed, he felt something more than just awkwardness—something close to admiration and a surprising sense of gratitude.

Ritika unlocked the car and slid into the driver's seat, adjusting the mirrors with practiced ease while Rohit got in beside her, his leg bouncing nervously. As the engine hummed to life, breaking the tense silence, Ritika stole a quick glance at him.

"We'll get there," she reassured gently, her voice slicing through the thick atmosphere. "He'll be okay."

Rohit turned to her, his throat tightening. He managed a nod, unable to speak, but her words wrapped around his racing thoughts like a comforting blanket. They drove in near silence, only broken by Rohit's occasional directions. Ritika kept her focus on the road, her hands steady on the wheel, though inside, worry gnawed at her—both for Virat and for Rohit, who sat pale and tense beside her.

Rohit's mind spun with dread, worst-case scenarios playing out vividly. Moments shared with Virat—jokes, victories, and friendship—flashed before his eyes, making the anxiety even harder to bear.

By the time they finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, Rohit was already unbuckling his seatbelt, eager to rush out even before the car had stopped completely. Ritika gently placed her hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Hey," she said softly, looking into his eyes. "We'll face this together, okay?" Rohit swallowed hard, nodding as he exhaled shakily. 

Together. 

Somehow, the word carried a weight that steadied him, even amidst the chaos threatening to overwhelm him. They stepped out of the car and hurried into the hospital, the sterile white walls and the sharp smell of antiseptic greeted them.

Rohit rushed to the reception, his voice filled with urgency. "Virat Kohli. Which room?"

The nurse behind the desk looked up with a sympathetic expression. "Third floor, ICU. You'll need to speak with the doctor on duty for more information."

Ritika squeezed his arm gently, a small gesture of support, as they rushed towards the elevator. Rohit's focus was entirely on Virat, barely registering the world around him. The elevator ride felt interminable, but soon they were stepping out onto the third floor.

As they reached the ICU, a doctor approached them, his face serious. Rohit rushed to him. "I'm Rohit Sharma. I'm here for Virat Kohli. How is he?"

The doctor sighed, his face betraying the gravity of the situation. "Mr. Kohli sustained multiple minor injuries, along with a head injury," he explained, his voice calm but serious. "We've stabilized him for now, but he remains unconscious. We're closely monitoring his condition, and the next 24 hours are crucial."

The weight of the doctor's words hit Rohit like a physical blow. He felt Ritika's steadying presence beside him, but the fear was overwhelming. His fists clenched as he tried to steady himself, his knuckles turning white.

"If he doesn't wake up soon," the doctor continued, his gaze unwavering, "there's a risk he could slip into a coma."

Rohit's breath hitched, his mind struggling to process the severity of the situation.

"Is there any hope?" Rohit finally managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying the words aloud would make them too real.

The doctor's eyes softened for a moment, but the grim reality remained. "We're doing everything we can. His vital signs are stable, but until he regains consciousness, there's nothing more we can predict. We'll keep you updated on his progress. Right now, we can only wait."

The doctor's words hung heavy in the air, a suffocating silence settling over them as Rohit stood motionless, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn't even articulate. The weight of the situation was too much to bear, and for a moment, it felt like the room was closing in around him.

Rohit opened his mouth to speak, but the words failed to come out. Before he could muster another question, a nurse came rushing toward them, her face flushed with urgency, her steps hurried.

"Doctor! Doctor!" she called out, her voice cutting through the tense air. "Mr. Kohli's vitals are dropping rapidly. His blood pressure is falling, and his heart rate is erratic. We need to act immediately."

The urgency in her tone jolted Rohit out of his frozen state, his heart pounding as the nurse's words sank in. The doctor's expression hardened, and without a word, he turned on his heels and sprinted down the hallway, the nurse close on his heels, her hurried footsteps mirroring his urgency. The sound of their running echoed loudly in the otherwise silent, sterile corridor.

Rohit stood rooted to the spot, his legs feeling as though they had turned to lead. He couldn't move, couldn't think. The weight of the situation bore down on him in crushing waves, making it hard to breathe. His chest rose and fell quickly as panic began to grip him.

Ritika's grip on his arm tightened, but she said nothing. Her eyes, wide with fear, darted down the hallway after the doctor and nurse, worry etched deep into her features. Time seemed to stretch cruelly, each second dragging on like an eternity, the silence around them almost unbearable.

Rohit's thoughts were a blur, and he couldn't seem to move, trapped in a cycle of worry and fear. He could barely think straight, the thought of losing Virat—his best friend—felt like a suffocating weight on his chest. His hands trembled at his sides, and for the first time in his life, he felt so helpless, so utterly at the mercy of forces beyond his control.

Finally, the door to the ICU opened, and a nurse appeared, her face grim. She moved towards them, her steps slow and deliberate, and Rohit's pulse quickened. When the nurse finally spoke, her voice was gentle, yet it carried the weight of finality.

"The patient... he didn't make it. We... we tried everything, but... I'm so sorry."

The words struck Rohit like a blow, knocking the air from his lungs. His stomach dropped, and his knees threatened to give way beneath him. He reached out instinctively, his hand gripping the cold metal railing beside him for support.

The room spun, his vision blurred momentarily, and the world seemed to tilt off its axis. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. He struggled to find his voice, managing only a faint, hoarse whisper.

"W-what? No... that can't be... no." His denial was weak, and shaky, as the reality of the nurse's words began to sink in.

Ritika, standing beside him, her face pale and drawn, let out a strangled gasp. Her hand found his, squeezing it tightly, but the tremor in her fingers mirrored the shock that had taken root in his.

Rohit's mind was a storm of chaos and rejection. "No," he said again, louder this time, shaking his head vehemently as if to repel the truth she had delivered. "You—you must be wrong. It can't be Vi... No, not Virat."

Rohit felt his world crumble in an instant. The words echoed in his mind—The patient didn't make it.

His vision blurred, and everything around him seemed to fade into a fog of panic. His chest tightened, squeezing in a way he had never felt before. The weight of the moment was unbearable, like a nightmare he couldn't escape. He could barely register the grip of Ritika's hand on his, the warmth a stark contrast to the coldness slowly seeping into his veins.

The nurse standing before him wore a grim expression, her face mirroring the heavy atmosphere. Yet, she hesitated, her eyes flickering with confusion as she glanced from Rohit to the doorway of the ICU, where another nurse had just walked through.

"Virat?" she repeated uncertainly, stepping closer, her brow furrowed. "Wait... you're Mr. Gupta, right?" Her words were slow and unsure, breaking through the fog in Rohit's mind.

Rohit struggled to comprehend what she was saying. The name she mentioned didn't make sense. He shook his head, his voice shaky as he answered, "No, I'm... I'm not Mr. Gupta. I'm Rohit Sharma, Virat's friend. We're here for Virat Kohli. What do you mean... Mr. Gupta?"

The nurse's gaze shifted toward a corner of the hallway, where an older couple stood, their faces pale and grief-stricken. Beside them was a younger man, his hand gripping his mother's tightly. Rohit followed the nurse's eyes, his heart pounding harder, still consumed by the crushing fear of the news he thought he'd received.

Realization dawned on the nurse. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she turned back to Rohit, regret clear in her eyes. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," she said quickly, her tone full of remorse.

"I must have confused you with Mr. Gupta. We've been dealing with a lot of critical cases tonight. I'm sorry for the confusion. That family... they're... they're here for a different patient."

Rohit froze, the ground beneath him suddenly feeling unsteady. His mind, still reeling from the terrifying news, struggled to process what the nurse had just said. The words didn't quite make sense at first.

"Wait," he said, his voice trembling with disbelief. "You mean... he's not—Virat isn't—?"

The nurse nodded quickly, her face apologetic. "No, no. I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding. Mr. Kohli is still in critical condition, but he's alive. He's stable for now. His condition is serious, but the doctors are still treating him. There's still hope."

The nurse then moved toward the Gupta family, leaving Rohit standing there, overwhelmed. His breath caught in his throat, and his knees gave way slightly, forcing him to collapse into a nearby chair. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.

A deep, guttural sob escaped from him, the overwhelming relief and lingering fear pouring out all at once. As his shoulders shook with every sob, the sound was raw and unrestrained, a release of the pent-up fear and helplessness he had been holding back for too long. The tears flowed freely, hot and fast, sliding down his face as he buried them in his hands.

His sobs were quiet, but the depth of his sorrow was clear to anyone nearby. It felt as though every bit of fear, panic, and despair he had suppressed came flooding out all at once, and he didn't care who saw him.

Ritika sat next to him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She placed a gentle, steady hand on his shoulder, offering silent support. She didn't say a word—she knew there were no words that could ease his pain at that moment. Instead, she let her presence provide comfort, sitting quietly beside him as Rohit cried, his body trembling with the intensity of his sobs.

Rohit's muffled cries echoed softly through the hallway of the hospital. The dim lighting of the corridor seemed to deepen the shadows that loomed over Rohit, each sob reverberating with the weight of the unknown.

Ritika's fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder, grounding him as his sobs slowly subsided into quiet shudders. Suddenly, the soft creak of a door opening broke through the sound of his sorrow.

Rohit lifted his head, his tear-streaked face turning towards the source of the noise. His heart pounded as he saw the doctor emerge from the ICU, the expression on the doctor's face unreadable.

The doctor approached them, his eyes kind yet somber. "Mr. Sharma," he said softly.

Rohit stood up abruptly, his knees almost buckling under the weight of his emotions, as he wiped his face hastily with his palms, trying to gather himself, but the anxiety gnawed at his insides, making it hard to breathe.

Ritika immediately stood, her hand still lingering on Rohit's shoulder. She squeezed gently, offering what little strength she could before stepping forward.

Rohit's voice, hoarse from crying, barely managed to whisper, "Doctor... how is he?"

The doctor's gaze softened slightly as he met Rohit's desperate eyes. He took a deep breath, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. "Mr. Kohli is stable for now," he began, his voice calm but edged with caution. "We managed to stabilize his vitals and heart rate, but he's not out of the woods yet. The next few hours are critical."

A wave of relief mixed with lingering fear washed over Rohit. His legs gave out, and he slumped back onto the bench, gripping his head in his hands. Ritika exhaled a shaky breath beside him, her hand tightening on his shoulder as she tried to absorb the doctor's words.

"We'll keep him under close observation," the doctor continued, his tone steady. "I suggest you both get some rest. It's going to be a long night."

Rohit nodded, his throat tight with unspoken emotions, as he looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "Can I see him?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching Rohit's face before nodding. "Yes, you can go in and stay with him, just make sure not to crowd much," he replied, gesturing towards the ICU entrance.

Without waiting for further permission, Rohit stood again, his legs steadier this time. He exchanged a brief, reassuring glance with Ritika, who gave him a small nod, silently urging him to go. The doctor guided him toward the ICU, and with each step, Rohit felt a mix of fear and hope swirling within him.

As he entered the dimly lit room, the soft beeping of monitors filled the air. Virat lay on the bed, pale but breathing steadily. Tubes and wires connected him to the various machines that monitored his every heartbeat. Rohit approached slowly, the sight of his friend in such a vulnerable state making his heartache.

Rohit reached out, gently placing his hand on Virat's, careful not to disturb the IV lines. "Vi," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You're going to be okay. You have to be okay."

The room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping, a faint but comforting sign of life. Rohit sat down beside the bed, his eyes never leaving Virat's face. 

Meanwhile, as Ritika was about to follow Rohit into the ICU, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She hesitated, torn between joining Rohit and checking the message.

Something compelled her to look, and with a glance at Rohit's retreating, she stepped aside and pulled out her phone. The screen lit up with a notification from her assistant, Sherish. 

It was a video message, marked urgent. 

Frowning, Ritika tapped to open it, her heart racing with a mixture of curiosity and dread. The video began to play, its grainy quality suggesting it was CCTV footage. 

Ritika's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat as she recognized Virat's sleek black SUV cruising down a dimly lit street.

The timestamp in the corner showed it was just past midnight. As she watched, her eyes widened in horror as the footage continued to play.

The black SUV, unmistakably Virat's, was moving smoothly down the empty street. The scene was calm, the night eerily quiet—until suddenly, without warning, the vehicle began to swerve. The tires screeched as it veered off course, almost as if the driver had lost control. 

Ritika's heart stopped as she saw the car swerve dangerously, its headlights flickering.

Then, horrifyingly, the SUV slams into the curb, causing the back end to lift off the ground. The car flipped violently, rolling over and crashing onto its roof with a sickening crash. The sound of metal crumpling and glass shattering echoed through the video, as the car lay upside down, smoke rising from the engine, and the footage cut out abruptly. 

Ritika's breath hitched in her throat as the weight of what she had just seen hit her.

Something about the way the car lost control gnawed at her gut. It was too sudden, too violent.

She knew Virat, couldn't be that reckless behind the wheel—this was something else. 

Something didn't sit right. 

But before she could analyze the video more, her phone buzzed again, it was a new message from Sherish.

Ritika opened it without hesitation, her eyes scanning the screen.

Another video.

Her stomach dropped as she hit play. By the time she was finished watching the second video, Ritika's fists clenched at her sides as rage surged through her veins. 

'This bitch... she will fucking pay for this.'

Ritika muttered under her breath, her voice low and seething with anger. 

----------------------

Teaser for the Next Chap

"Don't look so hurt. You're just another steppingstone. I've got bigger plans, and you're too trusting. And not to mention, so predictable, so easy to manipulate."

"You were just a project. A fun one, but a project, nonetheless. Now, I'm moving on, and getting what I actually deserve."

----------------------

Back with another part, do let me know your thoughts on this one. I hope I didn't make it too boring. 

PS who do you all think is behind the accident?

XOXO!