The room felt noticeably more cheerful and quiet the next day compared to the previous one. Three-year-old Vamika and seven-month-old Akaay lay on their stomachs, drawing in a book next to Pashmina's rocking chair. They seemed content just being in the presence of their bua, even though she neither spoke nor played with them.

Pashmina sat on the rocking chair, looking fresh and quiet, staring at the wall as she ate the morsel Virat had just fed her.

Virat smiled as he watched his children bring a bit of liveliness into the room, which had always felt dull before. Shaking his head with happiness, he broke another piece of roti and dipped it into tindli, Pashmina's favourite sabzi. He never quite understood why she loved it so much, but then again, she had always been different from him, preferring things that were the complete opposite of his tastes.

Pashmina hugged her legs, resting her chin on her knees, and looked at Virat with a gentle gaze. "Paaji," she called softly, her voice as delicate as a whispering breeze. Virat's head snapped up, and he felt a sharp twinge in his neck. He bit his lips to steady himself, the pain a minor distraction compared to the joy of hearing Pashmina talk with him after three long years. Despite the tumult of the previous day, Pashmina seemed relatively calm, her panic attacks a distant memory for now. Virat shook off his thoughts, always lost in contemplation when it came to Pashmina. He responded with all the love in the world, "Yes, Mina?"

Pashmina fiddled with her kurti, her voice hesitant as she broached the subject. She gathered her courage, knowing her paaji would always support her. "Is that Shubman guy going to be around anytime soon?" she asked, her eyes searching Virat's face for any sign of reassurance.

Virat gulped, struggling to find the right words. He didn't dare to reveal the truth; he feared it would undo the progress Pashmina had made. With a forced chuckle, he pushed a morsel of food toward her, which she accepted while still eyeing him expectantly.

"Yes, Mina," he said, trying to sound casual. "He will be around, but I think it'll be during the IPL when he has matches in Delhi."

Pashmina bit her lips and smiled, pulling her knees closer to her chest. "Can we ask him to come home, Paaji?"

Virat hesitated, his mind racing. He wanted to protect Pashmina from further disappointment, but he also knew how much this meant to her. He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

"Well, Mina," he said gently, "it's not that simple. Shubman has his own life and commitments. But if the opportunity arises, I'll see what I can do."

Pashmina's eyes lit up with hope. "Really, Paaji? You'd do that for me?"

Virat forced a smile, masking his sadness. He knew very well that Shubman had made it clear he didn't want to be involved with Pashmina. But seeing Pashmina so happy after so long, Virat couldn't bring himself to deny her request. "I will try, Mina, okay?"

Pashmina's smile faltered, and her gaze turned distant again. "It's fine, Paaji. I get it. No one wants to be involved with me."

"Mina, it's not like that," Virat tried to convince her, but Pashmina cut him off. "No need to, Paaji. That tone clearly indicates it was a mistake he came in here," she said, wiping away the lone tear that fell from her eye.

"Mina," he called out desperately, reaching out to her.

Pashmina didn't look up. She gently shook her head and said, "It's okay, Paaji. I understand. I just wanted to ask. I don't want to cause trouble or discomfort for anyone."

Virat's heart ached as he saw the sadness in her eyes, and he wanted to reach out, to reassure her, but he knew he was walking a tightrope.

"Mina," he said softly, trying to sound as reassuring as possible, "I'm sorry if it seemed like that. It's just... things are complicated, and I don't want you to get hurt."

Pashmina, looking tired, met his gaze and gently moved her hands away from his. "It's fine, Paaji. I will be here, just like I have been for the last three years."

Virat's heart ached as he watched Pashmina's resigned expression. He was about to speak when she said softly, burying her face in her knees, "I just want to be alone, please."

Virat nodded, sighing. He didn't want to force her to talk, so he stood up, took the empty plate, and softly gestured for his kids to follow. Vamika nodded, picking up her drawing book, while Virat lifted Akaay. As they moved toward the door, Vamika leaned over and kissed Pashmina's wrist. "We'll see you later, Pashu Bua," she said softly.

As the door shut, shrouding the room in silence and loneliness once again, Pashmina looked up at the white ceiling again and choked out, "This is how it's meant to be. I'm not trying again—never again."

On the other hand, Shubman lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he replayed the events of yesterday in his mind.

As much as Shubman wanted to push the thoughts away and move on with his life, he found himself unable to escape the memory of her soft hands and the smile that could light up even the darkest corners of his heart. Despite his desire to remain detached, he couldn't ignore the pangs of guilt that gnawed at him. He bit his lips, feeling tears welling up in his eyes, and wondered what kind of person he was—one who had the power to make a difference but was unwilling to light up her world.

Shubman's mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. The more he tried to dismiss it, the stronger the memory of Pashmina's gentle presence became, as if it lingered around him, refusing to let go. Her laughter, her vulnerability, and the way her eyes had looked at him—all of it seemed to haunt him, pulling him back into the turmoil he desperately wanted to escape.

He sat up in bed, running his hands through his hair, feeling a deep sense of frustration and helplessness. How could he ignore someone in need when he had the means to help? The realization gnawed at him, making him question his own values and decisions. He felt trapped in a paradox of wanting to move forward while being held back by his own conscience.

He reached for his phone, his fingers hovering over the contact list. The thought of reaching out to Virat, to Pashmina, even though he knew it might open a door he wasn't ready to walk through, seemed both daunting and inevitable.

He breathed heavily, his fingers hovering just above the call button, teetering on the edge of making a decision. Just then, a notification buzzed through. It was from the team—an update on the IPL schedule. Relieved by the distraction, he let his finger slide away from the call button and clicked on the notification instead.

But was it really a distraction? He let out a tired sigh as his eyes scanned the schedule. The first match was in Delhi—the very place he had been running away from. The irony weighed on him, tightening the knot of emotions he'd tried to bury.

He tossed his phone aside, hiding his eyes under his palms as he fell back on the bed. Taking a moment to compose himself, he let out a deep breath and opened his eyes, staring at the fan spinning rapidly—just like his heart. A slight, bitter smile tugged at his lips as he muttered to himself, "So, Pashmina Kohli, we'll be meeting again."