The dining area hummed with a quiet morning energy, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the soft clatter of cutlery against plates.

Sunlight streamed through the large glass windows, casting warm golden patches across the tiled floor.

It was a scene of calm that Tara desperately wished she could feel within herself.

Her footsteps faltered slightly as she stepped inside, her eyes instinctively scanning the room.

Players from both teams sat scattered across tables, some laughing, others scrolling through their phones, while a few lingered over their breakfast with half-lidded eyes.

It was the familiar scene of a team recovering from a late night.

Near the far window, Matt sat alone, hunched slightly forward with his phone in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.

His sharp profile was illuminated by the sunlight, his expression unreadable as his gaze flicked between his screen and the world outside.

Tara’s breath caught, and she hesitated. Her emotions swirled—a strange mixture of apprehension, longing, and a deep, aching uncertainty.

Finally, she forced her legs to move, crossing the room with measured steps.

Matt looked up as she approached, his face shifting into a small, polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice light but clipped, like he was holding something back.

“Morning,” Tara replied softly, sliding into the seat across from him.

She smoothed the fabric of her blouse, her fingers lingering as if the action might somehow settle her nerves.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Tara busied herself pouring a cup of coffee, the rich, dark liquid steaming as she stirred it absently.

She could feel Matt watching her, but neither of them spoke.

Finally, Matt leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his tone casual but probing, as though testing the waters.

Tara forced a smile, though it felt tight and unnatural. “Fine. A little tired, I guess. You?”

Matt let out a soft laugh that didn’t quite match the humorless look in his eyes. “Same. It’s been a long few days.”

Tara nodded, her throat tightening. The unspoken weight of the night before lingered heavily between them, like a third presence at the table.

She took a sip of her coffee, the bitterness grounding her as she mustered the courage to speak.

“About last night...” she began, her voice hesitant.

Matt cut her off with a quick, almost dismissive gesture. “I’ve been thinking about that too.”

Tara set her cup down carefully, her fingers curling tightly around the handle. “And?”

Matt sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “It was... good,” he said slowly, as though trying to find the right words. “But it also made me realize something.”

Tara’s chest tightened, the small flicker of hope she had carried all morning beginning to dim. “Realize what?”

Matt met her gaze, his expression conflicted. “That maybe we’ve been trying to hold onto something that’s already... changed too much. You know what I mean?”

Tara’s breath hitched, and she shook her head slightly, her voice trembling as she spoke. “No, Matt. I don’t know what you mean. What are you saying?”

He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Tara, we’re not the same people we were back then. We’ve grown up, life’s gotten more complicated, and I feel like we’re trying so hard to make something work that just... doesn’t fit anymore.”

The words hit Tara like a physical blow, her chest tightening as though the air had been knocked from her lungs. “You think we don’t fit?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Matt replied quickly, though his tone betrayed his unease.

“I’m saying we’ve been holding onto the idea of us—the version of us that existed years ago. And maybe that version doesn’t exist anymore.”

Tara’s hands trembled slightly, and she clenched them into fists to steady herself.

“Matt, we were so close once. We understood each other in a way no one else could. How can you just... write that off?”

“I’m not writing it off,” Matt said, his voice softening. “I’m just saying... maybe we’ve changed more than we realize.”

Tara’s vision blurred as tears threatened to spill, but she blinked them back, unwilling to show vulnerability now. “So what? You think we’ve outgrown each other? That this is it?”

Matt reached across the table, his hand brushing hers briefly before pulling back. “I don’t want it to be ‘it,’ Tara. But I also don’t want us to keep forcing something that hurts both of us.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and final. Tara looked away, her gaze falling to the coffee cup in front of her.

She felt a strange numbness spreading through her chest, masking the raw ache beneath.

“Maybe we’re just tired,” she said softly, her voice laced with quiet desperation. “We’ve been through so much, Matt. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“It means everything,” he replied, his voice steady but sad. “But maybe... maybe it’s time to figure out what we want for ourselves, not just for each other.”

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

Tara wandered through the hotel’s garden later that morning, her thoughts tangled in the aftermath of their conversation.

The vibrant flowers and neatly trimmed hedges seemed too cheerful, too alive, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside her.

She sank onto a bench, her elbows resting on her knees as she stared at the ground. The crisp morning air was refreshing, but it did little to soothe the heaviness in her chest.

“Tara?”

The familiar voice startled her, and she looked up to see Shubman standing a few feet away. He wore a simple sweatshirt and joggers, his hair slightly mussed as though he had just woken up.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said quickly, his hands buried in his pockets.

“You’re not interrupting,” Tara replied, her voice softer than usual.

Shubman hesitated, his brows furrowing as he stepped closer. “Are you okay? You looked... distracted at breakfast.”

Tara let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Distracted is an understatement.”

Shubman frowned, his concern deepening. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tara studied him for a moment, her heart softening at the earnestness in his tone. He wasn’t prying or pushing; he was simply there, offering his presence without expectation.

“Thanks,” she said finally, her lips curving into a faint smile. “But I’ll be fine. I just need to figure some things out.”

Shubman nodded, his gaze steady. “Take your time. But if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Tara’s chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. For all the chaos swirling in her life, Shubman’s quiet, unwavering kindness was a balm she hadn’t realized she needed.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

By midday, Tara had thrown herself into work, using her camera as a distraction. She joined the players on the practice field, capturing candid shots of drills, warm-ups, and quiet moments of camaraderie.

Her lens lingered on Matt for a few moments as he adjusted his gloves, his focus entirely on the game. Her heart twisted painfully, but she quickly turned her attention elsewhere.

Shubman came into view next, mid-shot, his bat connecting with the ball in a perfect arc that sent it sailing into the distance.

Tara lowered her camera slightly, watching him as he smiled faintly at a comment from Hardik.

He glanced her way, catching her watching him. For a moment, their eyes met, and Tara felt a strange warmth blooming in her chest.

She offered him a small smile, and he nodded in return, his expression softening briefly before he turned back to his practice.

For now, it was enough.