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Shubman is sick. And no, Ishan isn't talking about the usual kind of sick—the type where you throw a blanket over yourself, sip on hot soup, and occasionally groan about body aches.

This is a whole different level of fever, one that seems like it could keep a small town warm through winter.

His skin is practically sizzling beneath his shirt, and every time Ishan presses a hand to Shubman's forehead, he half-expects to see his fingers scorched onto his friend's skin.

"Virat bhai, iska toh temperature neeche aane ka naam hi nahi le raha. Heater ki tarah iski body se saik nikal raha hai." [Virat bhai, his fever isn't coming down at all. His body is radiating heat like a heater.]

Ishan's voice is low, weighted with concern as he glances over at Virat, who stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression tight with worry.

Virat's eyes narrow, his jaw clenched in that familiar, frustrated way. "Kitni baar iss ladke ko samjhaaya hai, par nahi... apne aap ko push mat kiya karo, lekin sunta hi nahi. Thakawat ko ignore karte rehna iski purani aadat hai." [How many times have I told this boy, don't push yourself like this, but no... he just doesn't listen. Ignoring his exhaustion has become a habit.]

His voice is more resigned than angry, but it carries a sense of helplessness that only deepens the lines etched into his face.

Ishan frowns, running a hand through his hair, glancing back at Shubman, who lies sprawled across the bed, his breathing shallow and rapid, as if even his lungs are struggling to keep up with the demands of his fever-ridden body.

"Humare jaise hi kar raha haan, bhai. Aap aur main bhi yahi karte hain." [He's just following our example, bhai. We both do the same thing.]

Virat sighs, shaking his head, though he doesn't argue. He knows all too well how they've set this relentless pace for themselves and each other, pushing boundaries until the body has no choice but to demand a break.

But Shubman—he's still younger, his edges rougher, less worn by the years of discipline that Virat has learned to live by.

"Par iska matlab ye nahi ki woh bhi wahi galti kare," [But that doesn't mean he should make the same mistakes,] Virat says, his voice softening as he steps further into the room, his gaze never leaving Shubman's face.

He watches the slight furrow in Shubman's brow, even in his restless sleep, the subtle twitch at the corners of his mouth that reveals just how hard he's pushing himself, even now.

Ishan adjusts the cool cloth on Shubman's forehead, but he can feel the heat fighting back, blazing beneath the damp cloth with a stubbornness that feels almost personal, like Shubman himself is daring the fever to try and break him if it can.

The heat rolling off him isn't just a symptom; it feels like a challenge, something fierce and unyielding, as if Shubman is locked in a silent, raging battle against his own body.

Ishan sighs, his shoulders slumping as he runs a hand over his face, feeling the dull ache of helplessness settle heavy in his chest. "Samajh nahi aata, kis cheez se bhaag raha hai yeh?" [I don't know what he's trying to run from, bhaiyya.] he murmurs, his voice low and raw with worry.

"Subah practice ground pe sabse pehle yeh hota hai, aur sabke baad nikalta hai. Kis baat ki saza de raha hai apne aap ko, Shubi?" [He's the first one at practice and the last one to leave. What punishment are you giving yourself, Shubi?]

"Siya..."

The name drifts into the quiet room, soft and barely there, but somehow dense with meaning. It lingers, hovering in the air, as though it's slipped free from some place deep in Shubman's mind, a memory heavy enough to break through even in his fevered haze.

Ishan's brow furrows, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face as he exchanges a look with Virat and then Rohit, the same silent question hanging between them.

Rohit raises an eyebrow, arms folding tighter across his chest, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and the beginnings of frustration. "Phir se wahi naam..." [That same name again...] he murmurs, his voice low, almost as if he's speaking to himself.

He watches Shubman's face with a look of intense focus, as if he might be able to piece together the answers from the shadows that play across his fevered features.

Virat shakes his head, sighing with a frustration that's been building quietly for as long as he can remember. "Pata nahi yeh Siya kaun hai... jab dekho, bas uska naam leta rehta hai," [I don't know who this Siya is... every time, it's her name.] he mutters, his voice roughened by a curiosity he's tried to shake off, only to have it resurface every time Shubman slips.

It's a name they've come to know well, not because Shubman ever speaks of it in the light of day or during those long, reflective talks they sometimes have after practice, when everyone's sprawled out and the evening feels quiet enough to talk about life.

No, Siya is the name that sneaks out only when Shubman's worn down, like some hidden truth buried so deeply he'd never let it surface if he could help it.

Virat's caught on to the pattern—the name comes up when Shubman's defenses are shot: in the slowness after a grueling match, or in those stolen moments on the team bus after a rough day, when everyone else is asleep and Shubman's guard finally slips, just a little.

It isn't just Virat who's noticed; Rohit has, too, and perhaps even more keenly. He's watched Shubman during team gatherings, his expression shifting as he stares at something none of them can see.

He'll sit there, surrounded by the others, lost to the easy chatter and the laughter, his eyes distant and lingering on nothing in particular.

Then, as the group settles, the players mingling with their wives and girlfriends, there's always a moment where Shubman grows quiet, his gaze settling on the couples with a look that's far too soft, like he's recalling something from another life.

It's then, with the noise around him dimming, that he'll let something slip. The others have heard it too, bits of it over the years, but only in passing: a muttered, "Agar Siya hoti..." [If Siya were here...]—a phrase that he never explains, never expands on.

And it's not just in the silences; it's in the fatigue. Rohit remembers it, clear as day, how one night they were all stumbling off a late-night flight, dragging themselves to their hotel rooms with the daze of travel still hanging over them. Shubman was at the back, practically falling asleep on his feet, muttering something to himself.

Rohit barely heard it, but he caught the familiar name—"Siya"—and another phrase, something soft and almost whimsical, slipping from Shubman's lips like a lullaby he couldn't shake, "Heeriye, kithe jaa rahi ae?" [Beloved, where are you going?]

He had said it with the kind of gentleness that Rohit didn't even know Shubman possessed, as if the question wasn't meant for the waking world at all, but was something that drifted straight out of his dreams.

Ishan knows Shubman. They're close—the kind of friendship where you don't need words, where loyalty is unquestioned, and the boundaries of family and friendship blur until they're almost one and the same.

But with Shubman, there's this other side, a part of him that slips into the shadows, and no one can reach him there, not even Virat or Rohit, not even on those nights when the whole team's high on victory and laughter spills over like an unbroken wave.

That night, though, Ishan catches it—the shadow in Shubman's eyes, softened by something too tender to name. A quiet "Kaash Siya yahaan hoti," [I wish Siya was here] and it's not just wistful.

It's a piece of him pulled from the past, a whisper from somewhere so deep that it feels like he's saying it to someone who's still right there, close enough to touch.

And Shubman's words linger in the air long after the night fades. Ishan can feel them hanging over their conversations, unspoken but always there, like a memory he's unwilling to set down.

When he tries to talk about it, when he edges close enough to ask, Shubman brushes him off, dodging the questions with a half-smile, the same practiced ease he's used for years.

It's like he's built an armor around this part of himself, and each time someone even hints at peeling it back, he pulls it closer, tighter, like a second skin.

Ishan lets it go each time, but the curiosity gnaws at him, and he can't help but wonder what holds Shubman so firmly that it slips past his guard only when he's left defenseless by fatigue or a momentary lapse.

The way he carries this secret—it's almost poetic, in a way that feels at odds with the Shubman they know, the relentless, ambitious boy-turned-man who treats life like a sprint, always racing to prove something to himself and the world.

He never speaks of Siya during the day, never lets her name slip when he's in control. It's always at night, or after a match that's wrung him dry, or in those rare, raw moments when they're all just barely hanging onto wakefulness after a night that's seen them bleed out every ounce of strength.

Then, with his head back and his eyes half-closed, he lets the walls fall, and there it is—Siya. The name almost reverent, like a confession that can't be whispered to daylight.

But even in those fleeting mentions, it's as if he's grasping at shadows. Ishan's noticed the way Shubman's gaze drifts in those moments, searching as though looking for someone he knows won't be there, eyes glazed and lost to something they can't quite see.

It's the kind of look that speaks of more than love or regret—it's an ache, heavy and consuming, as if he's still carrying the memory of her like a bruise that won't heal, hidden deep where no one can touch it.

"Abhi?"

Rohit's voice breaks through the thick, fevered air as he turns to the door. There, standing in the doorway, almost like a ghost in the dim light, is Abhishek, holding a small cassette tape between his fingers, his face shadowed but unmistakably tense.

He steps into the room with the kind of deliberate silence that makes everyone turn, sensing that whatever he's brought with him carries a weight of its own, something more than words could explain.

Ishan's eyes fall on the cassette, and something flickers across his face, a mix of curiosity and confusion. "Kya laye ho, Abhi?" [What did you bring, Abhi?] he asks, keeping his voice low as he gestures to the cassette tape, his brow furrowing slightly, not quite sure what to make of it.

Abhishek doesn't answer, his gaze steady on Shubman, whose restlessness has softened into something closer to exhaustion. Shubman's breaths come shallow and strained, each one a subtle battle as he lies sprawled on the bed.

With a purpose, Abhishek crosses the room and places the cassette in the player on the nightstand. His hands are steady, deliberate, as he slides the tape into place and presses play.

Shubman's voice bursts through, light and unrestrained, belonging to someone else—a younger Shubman, unmarked by the weight he carries now. "Arre Heeriye, meri baat sun toh!" [Hey sweetheart, listen to me!]

The room falls still, each one drawn into the moment, watching the way Shubman's fevered face relaxes, how his breathing slows as if the familiar sound has coaxed him from wherever his restless mind had been drifting.

His brow unfurrows, the tension melting away, replaced by something softer, more at ease. The others can feel it, too.

Then, just as his voice fades, another follows. It's softer, her words edged with a quiet stubbornness that only heightens their tenderness. "Main aapse baat nahi karoongi, Shubhi. Aap jaiye yahan se." [I'm not talking to you, Shubhi. You can leave.]

In his fevered state, Shubman stirs slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It's like he's hearing her too, even in his dreams, responding to her as if the years between them have vanished.

As if the sound of her voice has seeped into the core of him, grounding him in some part of himself he thought he'd lost.

Ishan watches, his chest tight with a strange kind of relief, feeling the weight in the room ease, just a little, as Shubman's body gives in to the memory, breathing deeper, sinking into the comfort of her words.

Another moment passes, and Shubman's voice spills out, tinged with a playful complaint that sounds more endearing than anything. "Abhi yaar, bhabhi apni ko samjha na!" [Abhi, come on, convince your bhabhi for me!]

There's a slight whine to his tone, that teasing impatience of someone who knows they're in trouble but is hoping to charm their way out.

It's a Shubman they hardly recognize—carefree, unguarded, speaking in the way only someone deeply loved can speak.

Abhishek stands a little apart from the others, his eyes focused on the cassette player, a faint smile pulling at his lips, his expression softened with something that feels like nostalgia.

Ishan glances over, catching that look on Abhi's face, a warmth that reveals just how deeply he's tied to this memory, how well he remembers those days when he'd tagged along, watching Shubman and Siya play out their endless, tender tug-of-war.

The soft crackle of the tape flickers like a gentle spark in the room, and then Abhishek's voice cuts through—young, bright, and alive, filled with a warmth that seems to wrap itself around the edges of each word, reaching across time itself.

"Bhabhi, baat sun lo na iski," he says, his tone light, familiar, carrying that gentle persuasion of someone who's watched this scene unfold countless times. [Bhabhi, come on, listen to him.]

Siya's reply comes immediately, her voice firm, tinged with exasperation that's softened by affection, a little smile hiding just beneath the surface. "Nahi, Abhi, yeh humesha aise hi karte hai. Kitni baar bola hai ki apne dhyaan rakhe, lekin nahi. Inhe kaha humari baat manani hai." [No, Abhi, he always does this. How many times have I told him to take care of himself? But no, he never listens.]

The tape crackles, and then Shubman's younger self comes through, pleading, half-whining. "Heeriye, maaf kardo na apne Shub ko?" [Sweetheart, forgive your Shub, won't you?]

Ishan, barely breathing, his gaze locked on Shubman as his friend's body sinks deeper into the bed, the lines of tension loosening as the fever that's held him in its grip seems to give way, just a little.

There's a peacefulness settling over him, Ishan has never seen his friend be this at peace—it's as if the woman's voice alone is enough to calm the storm inside him.

And then Siya's voice comes again, softer now, a gentle wavering that betrays her resolve, the faintest hint of surrender slipping through. "Hamesha maafi hi toh maangte ho, Shubh. Kisi din aap aise galti karo ge ki hum aapko maaf bhi nahi kar payenge..." [All you ever do is ask for forgiveness, Shubh. One day, you'll make a mistake so big that even I won't be able to forgive you...]

Ishan's head jerks to the side, his pulse quickening as he hears it—a voice low and cracked, barely a whisper, but unmistakably Shubman's.

The words slip from his friend's lips, thick with exhaustion and fever, yet carrying a desperation that cuts through the silence, raw and pleading, as though he's speaking not to the room, but to someone he believes is right there beside him.

"Nai! Nai... nai, nai, nai, Heeriye, please... main koi galti nai karoonga. Tu menu maaf karde." [No! No... no, no, no, please, sweetheart... I won't make any mistake. Just forgive me.]

The words hang in the air, trembling with a kind of vulnerability that Ishan has never heard from him, a glimpse of the Shubman hidden beneath layers of pride and self-imposed strength.

Ishan sits frozen, barely breathing, feeling a strange ache twist inside him as he watches his friend, whose eyes remain closed, his brow furrowed as if he's locked in some invisible struggle.

Even in his fevered state, Shubman's voice is thick with longing, with a fear that clutches at something deeper, a fear of loss that seems to grip him even in sleep.

The others, equally startled, exchange glances, but no one moves, unwilling to disturb whatever delicate moment is unfolding. It's as if Siya's words from the tape have unlocked something in Shubman, drawn him into a place he's kept buried for so long that even he might have forgotten it was there.

Shubman's hand twitches on the bedsheet, fingers curling as though reaching for something just out of grasp, and his breathing grows uneven, catching on the edge of a whispered name.

"Siya..." he murmurs, his voice so low it's barely audible, like the ghost of a plea slipping from his lips, too fragile to withstand the weight of waking.

Shubman's hand falls back to his side, and Abhishek watches the slight tremor fade as his friend drifts further into sleep. There's a rawness in Shubman's voice, a kind of unshielded vulnerability that Abhishek hasn't heard in years, maybe never.

His fingers hover over the cassette player, heart caught between the desire to let the tape play on and the impulse to shield Shubman from these memories he's clutching to even in sleep.

With a quick, deliberate motion, Abhishek stops the tape, switching it to a familiar recording, one of the audio notes he knows will steer Shubman's mind somewhere safer.

He presses play.

Siya's voice comes through, soft, almost a whisper, as if she's speaking right beside him. There's a warmth to her tone that seems to settle like a gentle weight on Shubman's restless form, a calm that reaches him in a way nothing else ever does.

"Shubh, aapko yaad hai woh raat jab hum ne gaane sunte hue kitne der tak chaand ko dekha tha?" [Shubh, do you remember that night we spent ages just watching the moon while listening to songs?]

"Uss raat mujhe lagta hai chaand bhi thak gaya hoga hamari tarah..." [I think even the moon must get tired, just like us...]

Shubman's brow eases, his breathing growing softer, his hand relaxing on the blanket as if, even in his fevered state, he's listening, drawn into her familiar words.

"Aap bhi thak gaye ho, na?" she murmurs gently, her voice steady, each word like a soft touch. "kabhi kabhi ruk jaane mein koi galti nahi hoti... kabhi kabhi apne aap ko rest dena chahiye, bas itna hi kaafi hota hai." [You're tired too, aren't you? But sometimes, there's no harm in just... stopping. Sometimes just letting yourself rest is enough.]

There's a silence, filled only by the faint hum of the tape, a soft lull that seems to pull Shubman deeper into rest. Siya's voice returns, even softer, as if she's easing him toward sleep with every word.

"Toh bas, aaj ke liye ruk jao, Shubh. Sab kuch wahin hoga... Aap bas so jao. Main yahi hoon, Shub." [So, just rest for today, Shubh. Everything will still be there... Just let yourself sleep. I am right here Shubh.]

Rohit watches in silence as Shubman's body finally surrenders, the fever's tension melting away from his face, his breathing falling into a deep, steady rhythm.

The lines of strain around his eyes ease, his features softening as if he's drifted to a place of peace—a rare sanctuary that only Siya's words seem able to grant him.

In the dim light, Shubman lies still, lost to the world, his fevered mind calmed by the quiet lull of her voice. Virat takes a step back, glancing at Abhishek and Ishan, who share a look of quiet relief, as if each of them had been holding their breath, waiting for this moment.

For a while, none of them speak, allowing the silence to settle around them, holding the room in a kind of fragile peace.

Ishan gently adjusts the blanket over Shubman's shoulders, the smallest gesture, as if to shield him even further from whatever battles he's waging in his mind.

In that stillness, Abhishek finally whispers, "6 saal ho gaye, lekin abhi bhi sirf bhabhi ki awaaz hi isko itna sukoon de sakti hain." [It's been six years, but even now, only bhabhi's voice can bring him this kind of peace.]

There's a pause, and then Virat, who's been leaning against the wall, finally speaks, his tone laced with a frustration softened by concern. "Koun hai yeh ladki, Abhi?" [Who is this girl, Abhi?]

Abhishek hesitates, his gaze fixed on Shubman's sleeping form, his expression torn between loyalty to his friend and the weight of the secret he's held for so long.

He glances at Ishan and Rohit, who are both watching him closely, their faces tense with curiosity and a flicker of something more—a need to understand the ghost that seems to haunt Shubman every time he lets his guard down.

"Bhabhi ka naam Siya hai," he starts again, his voice steady but carrying the weight of old memories. "Shubman bhabhi ko class 5 se pasand karta hai. Aap toh jante ho ki main Shubman ko bachpan se janta hoon, woh meri maasi ka beta hai. Toh maine inn dono ko dekha hai," he says, glancing down as if the memories are playing out in front of him. [Her name is Siya. Shubman has liked her since Class 5. You both know I've known Shubman since we were kids; he's my aunt's son. So I saw the two of them together.]

There's a hint of a smile on Abhishek's face, one that holds the weight of years. "Class 10 mein Shubman ne bhabhi ko propose kiya tha, aur fir dono date karne lage." [In Class 10, Shubman proposed to her, and after that, they started dating.]

He laughs softly, a chuckle that seems to carry a trace of both affection and exasperation. "Itne pagal the ek doosre ke liye ki kabhi kabhi mujhe bhi irritate kar dete the. Har jagah woh dono... mujhe toh third wheel banne ki aadat si ho gayi thi." [They were so crazy about each other that sometimes they would even annoy me. Everywhere they went, it was always the two of them... I got used to being the third wheel.]

Ishan and Rohit exchange a look, each of them trying to imagine Shubman, the relentless and composed friend they know, as a young boy completely, almost foolishly, in love. It's a side of him they've never seen—vulnerable, carefree, lost in someone else.

Abhishek's smile fades, replaced by a shadow of something heavier, a darkness that the others can sense even before he speaks. He lowers his voice, and there's a hint of bitterness when he continues, "Par phir... sab kuch khatam ho gaya. Shubman ki ek galti ne sab kuch bigaad diya." [But then... everything fell apart. One mistake of Shubman's ruined it all.]

The weight of that statement settles over the room, an unspoken question in the air. Rohit's brow furrows, his face a mixture of confusion and concern. "Kya galti ki thi usne, Abhi?" [What mistake did he make, Abhi?]

Abhishek hesitates, his gaze shifting to Shubman, who remains still, breathing quietly in his sleep. There's a flicker of something in Abhishek's eyes—perhaps guilt or loyalty—as if even now, he's torn between revealing the truth and protecting his friend's dignity.

He shakes his head slowly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Woh... main nahi bata sakta," he says softly, his tone firm yet laced with regret. [That... I can't say.]

Virat's eyes narrow, frustration clear in his expression, but he holds back, sensing that this isn't something he can force. There's an edge of mystery in Abhishek's words, a hint that whatever happened between Shubman and Siya was something far deeper than any of them could have guessed.

"Bas itna samajh lo, bhaiyya..." Abhi meets Virat's eyes, voice tinged with a deep, quiet sadness. "Woh galti aisi thi ki bhabhi ki poori duniya hi badal gayi. Shubman ki ek galti ne... usse sab kuch le liya jo usne kabhi socha tha uska hamesha rahega." [Just understand this much... it was the kind of mistake that turned Siya's entire world upside down. Shubman's one mistake... took everything from him that he thought would always be his.]

There's a strained silence as they absorb his words, the finality and depth of Shubman's regret sinking in.

Ishan, who has been listening quietly, finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a sorrow he's never felt for his friend before. "Isse kabhi kuch bataya kyun nahi?" [Why didn't he ever tell us anything?]

Abhishek sighs, and there's a flicker of pain in his eyes, memories flashing behind them like shadows. "Ishu, tujhe nahi pata ki maine aur Shahneel di ne kaise isse iske depression se bahar nikala hai." [Ishu, you have no idea what Shahneel di and I went through to pull him out of his depression.]

His voice cracks slightly, as if recalling those days still carries an ache too fresh to fully relive. He pauses, as if steadying himself, then continues, his voice softened with a kind of weariness that only comes from watching someone break and knowing you're powerless to fix them.

"Uss galti ke baad, jab Siya bhabhi Shub ko chhod ke chali gayi thi... woh toot gaya tha. Har waqt khud ko blame karta tha, har time chup rehta tha, aur jab bhi woh bolta tha toh humesha gusse se hi bolta tha. Uske liye yeh sab baat karna bohat mushkil hai. Har roz woh us galti ka bojh uthata hai, lekin woh hum sabke saamne theek rehne ka natak rehta hai... jaise kuch hua hi nahi." [After that mistake, when Siya left him... he was shattered. Always blaming himself, staying silent, and whenever he did speak, it was filled with anger. For him, talking about it was even harder. Every day he carries that weight, but in front of us, he always acts like he's fine... like nothing had happened.]

Virat's jaw tightens, frustration sparking in his eyes as he tries to swallow the irritation bubbling up inside him. "Kya sochta hai ye? Apne Vi bhai se apna dard chupayega, aur mujhe kuch pata bhi nahi chalega? Uthne do isse, fir dekhte hain iska kya haal karta hoon." [What does he think? He will hiding his pain from his Vi bhai, and I wouldn't know?]

"Vi-" Rohit starts, a hand half-raised in a weak attempt to calm him down.

"Nahi, Panda," Virat cuts in, his voice steely, "iss gadhe ko uthne de, phir poore locker room ki safai karwaonga. Ab itna bada ho gaya hai ki apne bhai se bhi baat chupane laga hai?" [Let this idiot wake up, I will make him scrub the entire locker room. He has grown so much that he will hide things frome me?]

Ishan shifts, looking from Virat to Shubman, a small crease of worry forming on his forehead. "Par Vi bhai, yeh sab waise asaan thodi hai... Woh kya bolta, aur kaise bolta? Aaj tak hum sab bas dekhte rahe hain isse khud ko is dard mein sulagta hua." [But Vi bhai, this is not easy. What could've he have said, and how? Until today we've only seen him suffer in pain.]

Abhishek nods, a hint of agreement in his eyes. "Haan, shayad woh apne dard ko apni sazaa bana chuka hai, Virat. Uske liye yeh zakhm kisi aur se share karna kamzor ban ne jaisa hai." [Maybe he's turned his pain into his punishment, Virat. For him, sharing this wound would feel like showing weakness.]

Virat runs a hand through his hair, his fingers tightening into a fist as he struggles to find words.

His frustration isn't just anger; it's a helplessness he hates to admit, a gnawing frustration that this mentee he's treated like family—this kid who's come up under his wing—has let himself fall this far without a word to anyone.

Rohit watches Virat closely, reading the frustration that's practically radiating from him. He knows that feeling too well—the kind that comes when someone you've poured years of trust, guidance, and effort into suddenly pulls back, builds walls, and lets you see only the surface.

Rohit's chest tightens as he thinks of Ishan. Shubman might be Virat's responsibility, his mentee in every sense, but Ishan is Rohit's. And if Ishan ever dared to hide something this heavy, to carry pain like this in silence... well, Rohit wouldn't just sit there.

He'd track him down, drag him to a corner, and give him a piece of his mind with a smack to remember it by.

Turning to Virat, he smirks, trying to ease the tension, just a little. "Samajh raha hoon, Vi. Mera Ishu bhi kabhi apne pair pe kulhaadi maarta hai, par woh toh tab bhi mujhe sab kuch bata dega, chahe usse daant bhi kyun na pad rahi ho." [I get it, Vi. My Ishu also loves to dig his own grave, but he'll still spill everything to me, even if it means getting a scolding.]

Virat chuckles, a short, dry laugh. "Haan, woh toh hai. Tera Ishu hai bhi toh drama queen tere jaisa." [Yeah, that's true. Your Ishu is a drama queen like you, after all.]

Ishan's exaggerated pout only deepens as he crosses his arms and huffs dramatically, making sure his displeasure is fully noted. "Main yahi baitha hoon bhaiyya, mujhe yeh sab sunna bhi pad raha hai. Drama queen aur main? Yeh toh nainsaafi hai!" [I'm sitting right here, and I have to listen to all this? Calling me a drama queen? This is injustice!]

Virat and Rohit exchange amused glances, Virat shaking his head with a smirk. "Arre, tu toh sab se bada drama queen hai, Ishu. Jab koi chhota sa bhi cut lagta hai tujhe, toh poora team ko update milta hai." [Oh, you're the biggest drama queen, Ishu. Every time you get the tiniest cut, the whole team gets an update.]

Rohit chuckles, backing up Virat's playful jab. "Aur kya! Aur yeh jo batting ke baad gym mein over-exertion ka natak karta hai... jaise world cup jeet ke aya ho." [Exactly! And the way he pretends to be over-exhausted after batting sessions in the gym... as if he's just won us the World Cup.]

Ishan gasps, putting on his most dramatic expression as he points accusingly at Abhishek. "Abhi, gaddari karbe? Koi naa, mere Shubi ko uthne do, phir dekhna teri kaise band bajata hai!" [Abhi, betrayal? Just wait till my Shubi wakes up, then watch how he will set you straight!]

Abhishek lets out a laugh, shaking his head as he leans against the wall. "Haan, haan, Siya bhabhi ki sautan! Samajh gaya ki jab tera 'pati' uthega, toh meri lagne wali hai." [Yeah, yeah, Siya bhabhi's rival! I get it, once your 'husband' wakes up, I'm the one who'll be in trouble.]

The room erupts in laughter as Rohit and Virat double over, clutching their sides. Ishan rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance, though he can't help the grin pulling at his lips. "Haan, tum sab has lo abhi. Par yaad rakhna, Abhi, Hardik bhaiyya ko baatoon ga." [Go ahead, laugh all you want. But remember, Abhi, that I will tell Hardik bhaiyya!]

Rohit's grin fades just a little at the mention of Hardik, and he can't help but roll his eyes. He loves Hardik like a brother—there's no question about that—but when it comes to Ishan, things get... complicated.

For Hardik, Ishan is chotu, the little brother he's always ready to tease or protect, depending on the mood. He's the one who showers Ishan with gifts, encourages his antics, and laughs at every over-the-top story with unfiltered enthusiasm. Hardik spoils Ishan shamelessly, indulging him like the younger sibling he's taken under his wing.

But for Rohit, Ishan is more than just a teammate or even a younger brother. Ishan is his first baby, the mentee he's guided since he was fresh on the team, his protégé he's shaped into a formidable player.

Rohit has seen Ishan's highs, his lows, the cocky grins after victories, and the self-doubt after defeats. Ishan is his responsibility, his pride—and if he's honest, he's a little possessive.

R ohit gives Ishan a look that's equal parts amused and irritated. "Tera Hardik bhai mera kya bigaad lega?" [What's your Hardik bhai gonna do to me?]

Ishan smirks. "Hardik bhai toh nahi, lekin Ritika bhabhi toh hai na." [Maybe not Hardik bhai, but there's always Ritika bhabhi.]

Rohit's confident expression falters for a split second, and his eyes widen just enough for Ishan to catch the hint of alarm. "Arre, Ritika ka naam kyun laaya tu, Ishu?" he stammers, trying to keep his composure. [Hey, why are you bringing up Ritika?]

Ishan's smirk only grows wider, like a cat who's finally cornered the mouse. "Bas, bhaiyya. Ab toh aapka game over." [It's over for you now, bhaiyya.] He leans back, thoroughly enjoying the rare moment of having Rohit on the back foot.

"Hardik bhai kuch na kare, lekin Ritika bhabhi ke saamne aap bhi seedhe ho jaate ho. Bolo toh, ab unko bata doon ke aap mujhe ko bully kar rahe hain?" [Hardik bhai might let it slide, but in front of Ritika bhabhi, even you straighten up. Should I tell her that you are bullying me?]

Rohit lifts a hand in mock surrender, rolling his eyes as he mutters, "Tu har baar Ritika ko kyun drag kar leta hai, Ishu? Mujhe pata hai woh teri side le legi, aur mujhe lecture milne wala hai." [Why do you always drag Ritika into this, Ishu? I know she'll take your side, and I'm going to end up getting a lecture.]

Virat and Abhishek burst out laughing, clearly entertained by Rohit's sudden defensiveness. Abhishek pats Rohit on the shoulder with a grin. "Rohit bhai, aap toh gaye aaj. Ritika bhabhi ke saamne toh ab safai deni padegi." [Rohit bhai, you're done for. You'll have to give an explanation to Ritika bhabhi now.]

Ishan crosses his arms, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. "Haan, Rohit bhaiyya, ab dekhta hoon kaise meri taraf attitude dikhate hain." [Yeah, Rohit bhaiyya, now let's see how you show attitude to me.]

Rohit shakes his head, feigning annoyance, but a soft smile tugs at his lips as he looks at Ishan, unable to hide his affection. "Tujhse toh koi jeet hi nahi sakta, Ishu. Tere paas hamesha koi na koi trick hoti hai." [No one can ever win against you, Ishu. You always have some trick up your sleeve.]

Ishan gives a triumphant grin, leaning back with his arms crossed, savoring his small victory. "Aap toh jaante hain, bhaiyya, smart hone ka faayda uthaane mein main koi kasar nahi chhodta." [You know me, bhaiyya. I never miss a chance to make the most of being smart.]

"Apne Shubhi ko bhi sikha de thoda smart hona. Thodi akal aa jaye," Virat says with a smirk, a hint of frustration mixed with affection in his voice. "Jaise tu Rohit se kuch nahi chupata, waise woh mujhse naa chhupaye." [Teach your Shubhi to be a bit smarter too. Maybe he'll learn a little sense. Just like you never hide anything from Rohit, he shouldn't hide things from me.]

Ishan's grin fades, replaced by a thoughtful expression as he glances over at Shubman, still asleep, his face softened by the remnants of whatever memories linger in his fevered mind.

"Shubhi smart hai, bhaiyya," Ishan says softly, his voice tinged with a quiet seriousness. "Warna itne time tak apna dard kaun chupa sakta hai?" [Shubhi is smart, bhaiyya. Otherwise, who else could hide their pain for so long?]

Virat's smirk fades as he meets Ishan's eyes, and for a moment, there's a heavy understanding between them. The boyish mischief that usually fills Ishan's gaze has been replaced by something older, wiser—a rare, somber moment that reveals just how much he understands his friend's hidden turmoil.

Rohit watches the exchange, feeling the shift in the room as each of them glances at Shubman, lying there so still. "Par kitni der tak?" Rohit murmurs, almost to himself. "Kitne waqt tak woh sab se door bhaagta rahega?" [But for how long? How long will he keep running from everyone?]

Ishan sighs, looking back at Shubman with a flicker of sadness. "Kabhi kabhi lagta hai, Shubhi ka ye sab chupana uske liye zaroori hai, jaise woh yeh bhoolne ki koshish kar raha ho ki woh kitna toot chuka hai." [Sometimes, I feel like hiding everything is necessary for Shubhi, as if he's trying to forget just how broken he is.]

Abhishek nods slowly, understanding the weight of Ishan's words. "Jab se Siya bhabhi gayi hai, woh sirf isi guilt ke saath jee raha hai. Apne aap ko punish kar raha hai, jaise maaf karne ka haq uske paas hai hi nahi." [Ever since Siya bhabhi left, he's been living with that guilt. He's punishing himself, as if he doesn't deserve to forgive himself.]

There's a beat of silence, each of them caught in their own thoughts. The weight of Shubman's hidden sorrow presses down on them, a reminder of the pieces he's lost and the price he's been paying, alone, for all these years.

After a beat, Ishan speaks, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if the question itself feels fragile. "Aur Siya bhabhi... kahaan hai ab?" [And Siya bhabhi...where is she now] he asks, eyes fixed on Abhishek.

There's a softness there, an unspoken understanding, like he's finally asking what's been on everyone's mind.

Kisi ko nahi pata, Ishu," [No one knows, Ishu.] Abhishek's voice is quiet, almost as if he's afraid of disturbing the silence hanging thick around them.

"Bhabhi ke parents toh woh mohalla kab ka chhod ke chale gaye. Saalon se yeh pagal ki tarah Siya bhabhi ko dhoond raha hai... har sheher, har jagah bas uske saaye ke peeche bhaagta raha." [Her parents left that neighborhood years ago. For years, he's been searching for Siya bhabhi like a madman... every city, every place, chasing just a shadow of her.]

Abhishek's words hang heavy in the air, sinking deep into each of them. They look at Shubman, lying there as if unaware of the weight he's placed on his own shoulders, a weight none of them ever realized he carried alone.

Rohit takes a slow breath, letting it out as he nods slightly. "Chalo, ab usse aaraam karne dete hain," he murmurs, breaking the silence with a quiet resolve. [Come on, let him rest now.]

Ishan reaches over, adjusting the blanket over Shubman, his hand lingering for just a moment, as if he could somehow ease the fever that's both physical and something far deeper. He looks at his friend, eyes softened by worry, before he finally steps back.

As they turn to leave, Virat lingers in the doorway, glancing back one last time. There's a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, a silent promise, as though he's vowing to stand beside Shubman, whether he's asked for it or not.

They walk out together, each one carrying a piece of what they've learned tonight, a quiet, determined resolve in the set of their shoulders.

They may not know how to take away the ache, the shadow that clings to Shubman like a second skin, but they're no longer willing to let him bear it alone.

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Hello, I hope you guys like the chapter. I know it is a bit long but hopefully you guys like it.

Abhi 🤝 Ishu, defending Shubhi against Vi bhai.

Milte hai, prem se bolo

Radhe Radhe🙏🏻