The days following Rohan's diagnosis passed in a blur of pain, frustration, and uncertainty. The doctors had put him on a strict recovery plan—rest, physical therapy, and a gradual rehabilitation process that would take months before he could even think about running again. The severity of his hamstring tear meant that any attempt to return to training too soon could risk permanent damage, something that Rohan couldn't afford.
But even as he lay in bed, his leg elevated and wrapped in ice, Rohan's mind was restless. He had spent his entire career pushing through pain, overcoming setbacks, and fighting to prove himself. Now, for the first time, he was being forced to stop, to let his body heal. And that was perhaps the hardest challenge of all.
Ms. Mehra visited him every day, checking on his progress and offering words of encouragement. But even her presence couldn't fully dispel the doubts that gnawed at Rohan's mind. He had always believed that hard work and determination could overcome any obstacle, but this injury was different. It wasn't something he could fight through or push past. It required patience, something that Rohan had never been good at.
As the weeks dragged on, Rohan's frustration only grew. He watched from the sidelines as the World Championships came and went, his competitors racing on the track while he was confined to the rehabilitation room. Every news report, every update on the athletes he had once raced against, was a painful reminder of what he was missing.
And through it all, the question that haunted him the most was the one he couldn't shake: What if he never ran the same again?
The thought terrified him. Running had been his life for as long as he could remember. It was more than just a sport—it was his identity, his purpose. Without it, who was he? What would he do?
One afternoon, as Rohan sat in the rehab center working through a series of slow, painful stretches with his physical therapist, Ms. Mehra arrived with a visitor. Rohan glanced up, surprised to see his younger brother, Rahul, standing awkwardly in the doorway, a backpack slung over his shoulder.
"Rahul?" Rohan's voice was laced with surprise.
Rahul smiled nervously, stepping into the room. "Hey, bhaiya. I figured you could use some company."
Rohan hadn't seen Rahul in months. His younger brother had always been the quieter one, the one who stayed back in the village to help their parents while Rohan chased his dream of becoming a world-class runner. Seeing him now, a flood of emotions hit Rohan—gratitude, guilt, and a deep sense of homesickness he hadn't realized was there.
Ms. Mehra gave Rohan a nod, signaling that she would leave the brothers to talk. As she left, Rahul sat down beside Rohan, his eyes filled with concern.
"You don't look so good, bhaiya," Rahul said, his tone light but genuine.
Rohan chuckled, though it lacked humor. "Yeah, well, it's been a rough few weeks."
Rahul nodded, his expression growing serious. "I know. Ma and Papa have been worried about you. We all have."
Rohan sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I'm trying to stay positive, but… it's hard, Rahul. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if I'll ever run the same again."
Rahul was quiet for a moment, his eyes studying his older brother. "You've always been strong, bhaiya. You'll find a way through this."
Rohan appreciated the sentiment, but he couldn't shake the feeling that his brother didn't understand the gravity of the situation. It wasn't just about strength. It was about time—time that was slipping away with every day he spent off the track.
"I don't know if I can this time, Rahul," Rohan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "This injury… it's serious. It's not like the others. What if I'm not the same runner when I come back? What if… what if I never come back?"
Rahul's eyes softened, and he placed a hand on Rohan's shoulder. "Then you'll find another way, bhaiya. You've always found a way."
Rohan looked at his younger brother, his heart heavy. He wanted to believe Rahul's words, wanted to believe that he could come back from this. But the fear of the unknown, the uncertainty of his future, was suffocating.
For the first time in his life, Rohan didn't know if he could fight his way through this. And that scared him more than anything.