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.
Hardik stepped out of the room barefoot, his slippers forgotten near the balcony.
His steps were light. Careful. Almost invisible.
As if he didn’t want to exist too loudly.
The hotel garden was quiet. Damp from last night’s storm. The early sun filtered through the dripping trees, birds chirped softly, but the air still carried the scent of wet soil and unshed tears.
Hardik walked until he found an empty bench tucked behind a low row of bushes.
He sat down slowly. His blanket still wrapped tightly around him.
The pain in his chest had not faded.
In fact, away from the crowd, away from the laughter…
…it only grew heavier.
He looked up at the sky, blinking fast.
But the moment his throat gave way, he broke.
Silently.
Tears slipped down his cheeks.
His body shook with sobs he couldn’t muffle anymore.
He didn’t scream.
He didn’t shout.
He just cried.
For the months of silence.
For the hands that once held him but now recoiled.
For the label of “mistake” he carried on his back like a punishment.
For the love that felt suddenly temporary.
For the family he thought he had—but who disappeared when he needed them the most.
He placed a trembling hand over his chest.
It hurt.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
A hollow ache only betrayal could leave.
Back in the room, someone noticed the slight draft by the door.
“Where’s Harry?” Bhuvi asked.
“He must be asleep, right?” Jadeja said, walking over to check.
But the blanket was there—neatly folded.
The mattress was cold.
Empty.
The moment realization hit, panic set in.
“Guys… he’s not here.”
Jadeja’s voice made everyone fall silent.
The blanket, once wrapped tightly around Hardik, was now neatly folded at the corner. The mattress untouched.
Rohit’s eyes widened first. He scanned the room in disbelief. “He was right here…”
Dhoni stood immediately. “Check the corridor. Bhuvi, check the washroom.”
Sakshi hugged Ziva tighter.
“Why would he leave in this state?” Rahul whispered, guilt clawing at his throat. “He has fever…”
“He thinks we don’t want him here,” Bhuvi murmured, haunted.
---
Just then, a small voice chirped from the side.
“I saw Hardik chachu,” Ziva said, tugging Sakshi’s kurta.
Everyone froze.
Rohit knelt, quickly, “Where, princess? When?”
“Downstairs,” she said, proudly. “In the garden. He was sitting like this.” She folded her arms over herself, mimicking Hardik curled up. “He looked sad.”
Dhoni didn’t waste a second.
He and Rohit rushed out, Rahul and Bhuvi behind them. Virat followed without a word.
---
The Garden
They stepped out into the morning chill, shoes crunching over damp grass.
It didn’t take long.
Behind the bushes, on that lonely bench, still wrapped in his blanket, sat Hardik.
And even from a distance—
—they could see him crying.
His head was bowed. Hands trembling. Shoulders shaking as wave after wave of silent sobs escaped him.
He was facing away from them.
He didn’t know they were there.
Didn’t hear their footsteps.
Didn’t even try to wipe his tears.
Because for the first time in months, he wasn’t pretending to be okay.
---
Rohit stopped in his tracks. His breath hitched.
Dhoni exhaled sharply, eyes turning glassy.
“Harry…” Bhuvi whispered.
And that one soft word—
—made Hardik jerk around.
His eyes were red.
His face pale.
The blanket slipped slightly off his shoulder as he quickly tried to wipe his tears. Panic returned to his expression, the instinct to hide pain too deeply trained in him now.
“I—I just came for air,” he stammered, voice breaking. “I didn’t want to disturb—”
“Stop,” Dhoni said, walking up.
Hardik froze.
“You were crying,” Dhoni said gently. “Weren’t you?”
Hardik looked down. His lips trembled.
“I—I didn’t mean to.”
Rohit dropped to his knees in front of him, “Harry… why didn’t you tell us you were hurting this much?”
Hardik’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Because I thought… I deserved it.”
The words hung in the air like cold fog—quiet, brittle, devastating.
Before anyone could respond, Dhoni took a step forward, placing a firm hand on Hardik’s forehead.
His eyes widened instantly.
“Rohit—he’s burning!”
“Shit,” Rohit cursed, moving beside him, placing his palm over Hardik’s head. “This is… at least 104.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Rahul’s voice cracked.
Hardik blinked, swaying a little. “I just… I took medicine. I didn’t want to trouble anyone.”
He couldn’t even sit properly. His body leaned to the side slightly as if gravity itself was giving up on him.
“Okay, okay, let’s take him inside. Carefully,” Dhoni ordered.
Back in the Room
They supported him gently—one holding his arm, the other steadying his back—and brought him back into the room. No one was speaking now.
The kids had quieted. The wives stepped aside. Everyone could feel it—this wasn't just sickness.
This was months of damage showing up in a boy's fevered body.
They made him sit on the mattress. Virat grabbed extra blankets. Sakshi handed over a wet cloth. KL Rahul brought the water. Rohit sat beside him and held his shoulders as Dhoni tucked the blanket around his shivering frame.
Everyone was gathered around him.
But Hardik didn’t say a word.
Not about the nights he slept on cold floors.
Not about the fevers he nursed alone.
Not about the medicines in his bag, each one a chapter of survival.
Not about the loneliness.
Or the betrayal.
Or the heartbreak.
He just sat there, head bowed, lips trembling—and then softly said,
“I’m sorry.”
Their heads snapped toward him.
“What?” Bhuvi asked, stunned.
“I… I’m sorry,” Hardik repeated, voice hoarse from crying, cold, and suppressed pain. “For everything. For making mistakes. For causing problems. For being… me.”
His fingers clutched the blanket.
He looked up, eyes shimmering, voice nearly breaking:
“I’m not asking for much. Just… forgive me. And… take me back in family . Like before. Please.”
There was no blame in his tone.
No anger.
No questioning of their silence.
No complaints.
He didn’t even ask why they left him alone.
In his heart, somewhere…
He’d already forgiven them.
But he didn’t know if they would forgive him.
So he asked for that.
“Take me back.”
Like a child asking to come home.
And if you want a new chapter you have to comment like I want so many inline comments that I can confirm that your enjoying this story and if you are not doing this I will not update it after that trust me I will even log out the account no matter how you enjoyed but if you are not commenting or voting then there is no matter of writing . it consume time and my hard work to write such long chapters and emotional chapters but still if you guys refuse to leave in line comment or a vote then there is no point of writing