Alone Battles

After swallowing the fever medicine, Hardik quietly zipped the box shut and tucked it back into his bag, as if hiding not just the tablets—but the story they told.

He pulled the blanket tightly over himself again, cocooning into that far corner, making himself as small and silent as he could. The cold still clung to his skin, but more than that, the emptiness clung to his soul.

He wasn't asleep.

Just lying still.

Eyes wide open.

Ears open too.

The others, assuming he was resting, resumed their scattered conversations. The storm outside had passed. So had the tension—at least, for them.

The wives began chatting softly, children played around on the mattress. Dhoni helped Ziva color something. Ritika laughed at Sammy trying to wear Rohit’s cap.

Then came the impromptu game: “Gaana Gaana!” —where each person had to sing a line or two of a random song.

Rohit started with a Govinda song.

Jadeja crooned some Haryanvi line playfully.

KL Rahul—cheerful on the outside, trying to blend in despite his own quiet guilt—was next.

He picked a classic.

A Sonu Nigam song.

His voice was low and beautiful.

“Abhi mujh mein kahin, baaqi thodi si hai zindagi…”

Everyone hummed. Smiled.

And then—

“…Mere hi apno ne mujhko hai dhokha diya…”

A line.

Just a line.

But for Hardik… it was everything.

Like someone reached into his chest and twisted the already cracked pieces of his heart.

Under the blanket, his face contorted in pain. His throat choked.

He pressed his hand hard over his mouth.

He was crying.

Silently.

Muffling every sob with his palm. He didn’t want to ruin their moment. Didn’t want them to see how broken he still was.

But the tears wouldn’t stop.

His chest shook. His breath hitched. His body trembled—not from fever this time, but from a heart that had held too much for too long.

That one line hit where nothing else could.

“Mere hi apno ne…”

The betrayal. The loneliness. The isolation. The judgment. The abandonment.

They weren’t just lines of a song.

They were his story.

And in that corner, under that blanket, behind the safe illusion of rest—

Hardik wept.

Alone.

Again.

Once the game ended and the room grew a little louder again—with Ziva giggling, Sammy babbling, and Virat teasing Rohit about his off-tune voice—Hardik slipped out.

No one noticed.

Maybe they thought he was still resting. Maybe they didn’t realize the ache behind that blanket wasn’t fever—it was something far colder.