Shubman opened the hotel door, swiping the card against the scanner before inserting it into the card slot far too harshly, almost breaking it. As soon as the lights flickered on, he hastily gathered his clothes from the floor, cupboard, under the blanket, and the bathroom—wherever he had left them—shoving them messily into his bag. His movements were fast, and robotic, as if driven by something other than reason.

By the time he was almost finished packing, Ishan burst into the room, out of breath, his face a mixture of concern and confusion. He furrowed his brows as he watched his best friend hurriedly pack. "Shubman," he called out softly, but there was no answer. Shubman continued stuffing clothes into his bag as if on autopilot, his focus unshakable.

After calling out to him several more times without a response, Ishan finally grabbed Shubman by the shoulders and spun him around, slapping him lightly to knock some sense into him. "I'm talking to you!" Ishan shouted, frustration laced with concern.

Shubman looked up, startled, his eyes wide with guilt. His mind was reeling from everything that had happened earlier. Right now, he just wanted to be far away from all of it—away from the mess he'd created.

"I just want to go home. Let me go," Shubman said to Ishan in a serious tone, his voice low but firm, filled with a heaviness that made it clear he wasn't just upset—he was overwhelmed. His eyes pleaded with Ishan, as though leaving was the only way he could find peace, the only escape from everything that had spiralled out of control.

Ishan tightened his grip on Shubman's shoulders, refusing to let go. "Shubman, listen to me," he said softly, though his voice held a tremor of urgency. "You can't just run away from this."

"And why can't I, huh?" Shubman said through gritted teeth, his voice sharp with frustration. The tension in his tone made it clear that he was at the edge of his emotional limits, desperately seeking a way out from the turmoil he felt trapped in.

Ishan struggled to find a reason but came up empty. He shut his eyes and said, "I don't know, but it just wouldn't feel right to Virat bhaiya."

Shubman set his bag down and was about to leave when he stopped and looked into Ishan's eyes. "I'm not obliged to take care of anyone," he said sharply. "And if you used your brain, you'd see it wasn't me who turned Pashmina into a mess—it was you." He spat the words angrily before dragging his bag toward the door.

As he rushed out, he was abruptly stopped by Virat, who stood in the doorway with red, pleading eyes.

Virat, wiping his face with the back of his hand, stumbled over his words. "I want to talk to you," he managed to say, his voice choked with emotion.

"I don't want to talk about anything, paaji. I have a flight in two hours. Let me leave," Shubman said, not looking at Virat. He knew he sounded rude, but he just wanted to go home.

"It's not your fault that it happened to Pashmina," Virat said, placing a hand on Shubman's shoulder in an attempt to make him stay.

"I know it wasn't my fault," Shubman said, his eyes locked with Virat's. "I only felt guilty because I entered the room, and it escalated from there. I regret landing myself in this mess, which I feared could have been worse. Fortunately, it's under control now. Other than that, I don't care about anything." His words were sharp and clear as his eyes were firmly fixed on Virat's.

Virat looked at him helplessly, tears streaming down his face and dampening his t-shirt. He wiped his face occasionally, trying to compose himself. "Listen to me," he said, his voice breaking. "I wanted to talk about something else, please."

Shubman, exhausted and irritated, replied, "I'm sorry, paaji, but I don't want to be involved in this. I just want to go home, enjoy my double-ton achievement with my family, maybe party, and rest."

"Shubman," Ishan scolded, turning him around. "That's not how you talk, and it's not right to walk away when someone needs help."

Shubman rolled his eyes and sarcastically replied, yanking Ishan's hands away, "Well, right now I need help, so let me go."

He dragged his bag away, eager to leave and go home. Shubman knew very well why Virat was there, and he didn't want to be involved with Pashmina in any way. He regretted letting his curiosity get the better of him and wished he had just gone downstairs for game night instead. But no, he had landed himself in a situation where he felt he was not needed.

He could hear Virat's pleas from behind, "Please, Shubman, please listen," but he didn't look back. He knew that if he looked into Virat's eyes again, he would be swayed by the helpless brother's plea. As much as he wanted to help and do good, he wasn't ready to take on someone else's needs or responsibilities he wasn't interested in. He just wanted to live his life as if he had never entered that room.

As the flight began its takeoff, Shubman's mind drifted back to Pashmina. Her beautiful face flashed before his eyes—the first time he saw her when he entered the room. She was as enchanting as the Kashmir valleys, her hands soft as a pashmina shawl. He had been mesmerized by her from the moment he laid eyes on her. He hadn't known about her, and yet her first words still echoed in his mind: "Come." It was as if those simple words carried the weight of an invitation he never expected, drawing him into something deeper than he was ready for.

He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. If he kept thinking about her, he might not be able to move on. He couldn't handle her responsibilities; he wasn't obligated to. He needed to focus on leaving this behind and moving forward with his own life.

He put on his earphones, hoping to distract himself and wishing to reach home as soon as possible.

On the other side, Virat entered his quiet home, where everyone had left. Thankfully, no one asked any questions about the situation. He saw his wife and mother sitting on the living room couch, with the kids asleep on their laps. He sank onto the floor, feeling defeated, and asked his mother, "Is she sleeping?"

Both women looked up, tense, as Anushka asked, "Where is he? Didn't he come?"

Virat shook his head. "No, he didn't come. He didn't want to be involved in the mess."

Mumma Kohli looked angry. "My daughter is not a mess," she said, holding her voice back to avoid waking the kids.

Virat looked up, tired, and said, "He's not obligated, Mumma. Also, is she asleep?"

Mumma Kohli's expression softened slightly, though her frustration remained evident. She nodded. "Yes, she's asleep now. The medication helped calm her down."

Virat sighed and sat down beside his wife, rubbing his tired eyes. "I just wish things had gone differently. He seemed like he really wanted to leave."

"I will talk to him, Chiku," Mumma Kolhi said with bright eyes. "Maybe he will understand."

"Mumma, he said it's not happening," Virat replied wearily. "He made it clear he didn't want to be involved. Why force him? We are enough for Mina. Just leave him be."

Mumma Kohli's shoulders slumped as she sighed. "You're right, Virat. I just hoped he might change his mind."

Anushka placed a comforting hand on Virat's back. "We need to focus on what we can control. Pashmina needs us right now."

Virat leaned his head back on the sofa, gazing at Pashmina's closed room. "I hope the walls of that room could see him walking in once again," he said quietly. "Because even though we're here, he's the real medicine she needs."