In a dimly lit office, the air hung heavy with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the faint hum of fluorescent lights. The room was cluttered, papers strewn across desks and chairs, their edges curling from repeated handling. The walls, painted a dull beige, seemed to absorb any hint of enthusiasm.

"Can't you even complete a single task competently!" The team leader's voice boomed as he spun around on his leather swivel chair, his face a mask of frustration and impatience. With a swift, forceful motion, he threw a cascade of documents directly at the disheveled man's face, who appeared motionless as if it was daily occurence.

The disheveled man blinked wearily, his eyes rimmed with red and hollow from exhaustion. He looked as though he had just emerged from a marathon of sleepless nights, driven only by caffeine and sheer determination. His shirt, wrinkled and untucked, clung to his weary frame. The project he had painstakingly submitted now lay crumpled on the floor, discarded like yesterday's news.

"I'm sorry, sir," the man said, bowing deeply before kneeling to gather the scattered papers. His rough, calloused hands—evidence of regular exercise—moved swiftly over the floor, efficiently collecting the documents as if resigned to this routine task.

"Tch, leave those papers here. I will handle them," the team leader snapped, rubbing his forehead in frustration. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion for meeting the project's deadline, glared down at the man, his face tense with barely contained anger. He gestured sharply for the man to leave, then watched as the man placed the collected papers onto the table, ready for the team leader to correct them himself.

"Thank You, Sir," The man hesitated, a spark of resentment flickering in his eyes.

If the team leader could fix the documents, why had he thrown them at him in the first place?

But he swallowed his retort, acutely aware of his position being nothing but a mere employee, and left the room in silence, the door closing softly behind him.

Exiting the cabin, the man shuffled wearily toward his desk, a mere 15 meters from the team leader's office. Arriving, he wearily glanced at the desk clock, its hands stubbornly pointing to 8:56 PM—a stark reminder of the overtime he had put in to meet project deadlines.

With a deliberate motion, he reached into the drawer, retrieving his phone and wallet. Amidst the items, a forgotten photo frame caught his eye.

Nestled at the drawer's bottom, it displayed a young boy dressed in the distinctive attire of a sports team, clutching a small, copper-plated trophy shaped like a cricketer mid-swing, poised to strike.

Closing the drawer, he paused, his fingers briefly brushing the frame before securing his belongings. He shut down his computer, logging out with a tired sigh, his shoulders slumping under the weight of exhaustion that clung to his every movement as he finally left the office building.

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In the dimly lit streets, filled with the hum of late-night activity, the air was alive with the aroma of sizzling street food mingling with the subtle scent of incense from nearby temples.

Rickshaws and cars navigated through the narrow lanes, their headlights casting fleeting shadows against the uneven walls of shops adorned with colorful, hand-painted signs.

The sound of distant conversations mixed with the occasional honking horn created a vibrant backdrop, punctuated by the soft glow of shop windows displaying intricate textiles and glittering jewelry.

Amidst the bustling crowds, a man with a weary demeanor, like many others, wore a crumpled white shirt and a loosened tie hanging limply around his neck. He navigated through the throng with purpose, finally halting in front of a shop.

"Hey kiddo, give me a pack of ciga—just bubblegums," he said, almost slipping up before catching himself, mindful of avoiding any slip-ups before visiting his mother.

After exchanging money for the pack of gum, he chewed thoughtfully as he made his way down an alley that led to a small, modest hospital.

Despite its unassuming appearance, the hospital buzzed with activity; the air carried the medicinal scent mingled with the sound of coughing patients.

He maneuvered through the crowded corridors toward the general ward, passing by a private room before stopping at its door and exhaling, "Phew~."

With the breath let out, he forced a smile onto his face, adjusted his tie, tightening it, and gathered all his energy to appear better before lifting his hand and pushing the door open.

"Are you watching a soap opera again, Mom?" the man said with a tone filled with a blend of affection and playful reproach. He glanced towards the woman lying on the hospital bed, her hand clutching the remote control as she gazed at the television screen with hollow eyes and a weakened posture, a result of her illness.

"Oh, son, come come, sit here," the woman's eyes lit up as she saw her son arriving at the door. Her wrinkled face could only manage a small smile due to her weakened condition from advanced pulmonary tuberculosis.

"Mom, you should rest more," the man said, approaching her with a smile. He pulled a small metal stool over to sit and took a knife from the nearby desk. Then, he began to peel the apple for the woman who kept her eyes set towards the television screen.

:: And it's Ranvijay with a powerful stroke! The ball sails high, heading straight for the boundary. Will it be stopped? Oh, a close call there! The fielder leaps, fingertips reaching out desperately, but it slips through! That's gone for six, folks! What a shot! ::

Suddenly hearing a familiar name and cheers that seemed to belong to a game etched in the hearts of those who were cheering, their tone filled with excitement. However, due to the hospital TV speakers set at a certain volume, the thunderous cheers couldn't fill the entire hospital; they only ignited the man's heart as his eyes glanced towards the TV screen.

:: Absolutely stunning display of power hitting from Ranvijay there! ::

:: Indeed, and look at the effort from the fielders. They were so close to intercepting it, but it just evaded their grasp! ::

:: It was like watching a ballet of near-misses out there. The athleticism on display, incredible! ::

:: That's the beauty of cricket, isn't it? Moments like these where skill meets tension. ::

The man kept peeling the apple, his eyes fixed on the television screen. His pupils appeared hollow, with a small flicker suggesting that his true self remained buried deep down.

:: Yay! Woo! Ranvijay! Whoo-hoo! Yeah! ::

'He finally did it,' the man thought, looking at the television with a defeated smile. His gaze remained fixed at a familiar face behind a helmet, drenched in sweat before that person took off the helmet and waved the bat and helmet triumphantly, with several team members cheering him on.

"...I'm sorry, Son."

Suddenly, a weak voice from a woman caused the man's fixed gaze on the television to flicker. He turned towards the source and saw a woman looking downward, her weak body and saddened eyes evident.

"What's wrong now? I already warned you that the soap opera would be dropped midway. There's no need to be sad, Mom," the man smiled, trying to cheer up the woman who seemed burdened with regret and pain known only to her. She barely lifted her eyes to meet her son, who was trying to appear as cheerful as possible.

But for her, who had brought him into this world, she knew the weight on his shoulders had long overshadowed his happiness.

"I'm sorry for becoming a hindrance to your dreams, my son," the woman said, lifting her eyes to look at the man, who only rolled his eyes and sighed before placing a peeled piece of apple in her mouth.

"Mom, I've told you many times, that game was just a hobby, not my passion. Don't be sad, and please take care of your health. Niharika will be here soon," the man said slowly, standing up with a smile that masked the pain of the moment, his forced smile betraying his true feelings. He glanced at the woman, who kept her gaze lowered.

'It was me, Mom, no one else,' he alone again recalled, not blaming others for his life choices as arrived on the door before made his way out of the hospital, loosening his tie, the smile leaving his eyes as he looked ahead towards the hallway exit.