A Century of Us

A/N

Do respond guys, it doesn't take much time to hit a little vote.❤️

Rohit was starting to heal slowly but the recovery was made fast. Because every day after college, Vritika arrived without fail. She carried with her neatly packed containers filled with home-cooked meals prepared after following the nutritionist's instructions. Rohit couldn't help but smile when she walked in.

"Chef Vritika at your service," she would tease, unpacking the containers onto the small table beside his bed.

"You're spoiling me, you know that?" Rohit said one day, watching as she arranged the dishes.

"And you deserve it," she replied. "Now sit up straight. No arguments today."

He chuckled, relenting as she adjusted the pillows behind his back and placed a steaming bowl of soup in his hands. "You're bossier than the coach."

"Good that you know who is the boss here."

When he was done eating, she'd clear the dishes and insist on applying the cream to his ankle, even though he'd started to manage it himself. "I'll do it," she'd say firmly, leaving no room for argument. Her soft hands applied the ointment every day on his ankle and though he pretended to protest at times, Rohit secretly cherished the attention.

It wasn't just her actions-it was the love behind them that left him feeling more healed than any medicine could.

"You know," he said one evening as she finished cleaning up, "you're the reason I'm recovering so quickly."

She glanced at him and lifted her brow. " And here I thought it was the physiotherapy and strict diet."

Rohit shook his head. "Nope. It's you."

Vritika's cheeks flushed, but she didn't reply, instead busied herself with packing the containers. Yet, the way her lips curved into a shy smile betrayed how much his words meant to her.

Now after a month of care, Rohit could effectively move on his own but he was still restricted from playing too much. One afternoon, Vritika let herself into his room, carrying yet another home-cooked meal. She expected to find him lounging on the bed, perhaps engrossed in the TV or one of his books. Instead, she stopped short in the doorway, spotting him standing by the window.

"Rohit?" she called softly, setting the bag down on the table.

He didn't respond.

Her brows furrowed in concern as she moved closer. When she reached him, the sadness on his face stopped her in her tracks. His jaw was tight and at the corners of his lashes, she noticed the unmistakable glint of unshed tears.

"Rohit," she murmured

Still, he didn't respond. She took the final step toward him, her arm slipping around his shoulders, the curve of her palm coming to rest against his chest, over his heart.

"Ro, what's wrong?" Vritika asked gently, her tone urging him to open up.

He exhaled shakily. "I'm fine," he said. The words were unconvincing even to himself.

"No, you're not," she replied softly, tilting her head to catch his gaze. "Talk to me."

"It's... them," he said, nodding toward the window.

Vritika followed his line of sight and realized he was watching his team members playing cricket in the yard below.

"I should be out there," he whispered. "I should be on the field, playing, doing what I love. But instead, I'm stuck here... useless. Mahi bhai came to inform me I was the....reserved player. I just feel so useless."