The days passed slowly, and Rohan's longing to return to the track only grew stronger with each passing race he watched from the sidelines. Arjun and the other top runners were dominating the international circuit, their names splashed across headlines, their victories celebrated by fans and media alike. Rohan couldn't help but feel a deep ache in his chest every time he saw their success.His rehab was progressing well, and he was able to run longer distances now, his leg growing stronger with each session. But it still wasn't the same. The thrill of competition, the adrenaline of a race—those were the things that Rohan craved. The carefully controlled runs during rehab felt like a far cry from the intensity of an actual race.One afternoon, Rohan sat in the rehab center, scrolling through the latest news on his phone. Arjun had just won another race, this time at a major event in Doha. The article praised his performance, calling him "the fastest rising star in Indian athletics."Rohan's jaw tightened as he read the words. He had been the one with that title once—the rising star, the one everyone expected to dominate the track. And now, it seemed like Arjun had taken his place.Rajiv walked over, noticing the tension in Rohan's face. "What's on your mind, Rohan?"Rohan looked up, his frustration clear. "Arjun won again. He's dominating right now."Rajiv nodded, sitting down beside him. "Yeah, I've been following the races. He's been running well."Rohan shook his head, his voice laced with frustration. "He's running better than well. He's winning everything. And I'm just sitting here, watching it all happen."Rajiv placed a hand on Rohan's shoulder, his expression thoughtful. "I get it, Rohan. It's hard to see your competitors moving forward while you're stuck recovering. But think of it this way—Arjun's success is your motivation. You'll be back on the track soon, and when you are, you'll have that hunger to prove yourself all over again."Rohan clenched his fists, the hunger Rajiv spoke of burning inside him. "I want that. I want to be out there, fighting for those wins. I just feel like every day I'm falling further behind."Rajiv's gaze was steady. "You're not falling behind. You're recovering. And when you're ready , you'll come back stronger. The road to recovery is never linear, but each day you're getting closer to where you need to be. Don't let the success of others make you doubt your own journey."
Rohan exhaled deeply, feeling the tension slowly ease from his body. He knew Rajiv was right. The path he was on wasn't about competing with Arjun or anyone else right now—it was about getting himself back to where he belonged. Still, the yearning to compete gnawed at him. Watching his rivals succeed only intensified the fire within him. He didn't just want to come back—he wanted to win. He wanted to remind everyone, including himself, that he was still one of the best.
Rajiv's voice interrupted his thoughts. "I know it's tough, but let's turn that frustration into something positive. If Arjun's victories are bothering you, use that energy to push harder in your recovery."
Rohan nodded. "You're right. I've been too focused on what I can't control—watching races, seeing them all compete without me. But I need to focus on what I can do here and now."
"That's the mindset," Rajiv said, clapping him on the shoulder. "And trust me, when you're ready to race again, that fire inside you will be what sets you apart."
Rohan stood up, feeling a renewed sense of determination. "Let's keep going, Rajiv. I'm not done yet."
---
The following weeks passed in a blur of intense training sessions and gradual improvements. Rohan was running again—really running, not just the careful jogs or rehab drills he had been confined to for so long. His body was responding well, and the pain in his leg had become a distant memory. His endurance was building back up, and though he still wasn't at his peak, he was finally starting to feel like the runner he used to be.
Each day at the track was a test of how much he could push his limits. Rajiv had increased the intensity of his workouts, and Ms. Mehra visited frequently, offering her sharp observations and words of encouragement. Rohan took every bit of advice to heart, absorbing it like a sponge. He couldn't afford to waste a single moment—he was focused on only one goal: getting back on the track and competing again.
The longing to race had transformed into a deep, insatiable hunger. Rohan spent his evenings watching race footage, analyzing his competitors' techniques, including Arjun's. He studied every detail of the races, noting where Arjun excelled and where he saw weaknesses. But most of all, he watched the runners push themselves to the limit—the way their bodies seemed to defy exhaustion, the way their minds refused to accept defeat. Rohan longed to be there again, in that moment where the world narrowed to a single focus: crossing the finish line first.
Every time he watched a race, his chest tightened with longing, but he no longer felt the crushing despair that had once accompanied it. Now, that longing fueled him. It reminded him of why he had started running in the first place. The joy, the freedom, the sheer exhilaration of pushing his body to its limits—it was all still there, waiting for him to reclaim it.
One evening, after a particularly grueling workout session, Rohan sat on the grass by the track, catching his breath. His legs ached, but it was a good kind of pain—the kind that told him he was making progress. He wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced up at the darkening sky, feeling a rare moment of peace.
Ms. Mehra approached, her sharp eyes assessing him. "You pushed hard today," she observed, sitting down beside him.
Rohan nodded, still breathing heavily. "I have to. Every day, I think about those races. About Arjun and the others. I can't stop now."
Ms. Mehra smiled slightly, though her expression remained serious. "I can see the fire in you, Rohan. But remember, you're not just chasing them. You're chasing yourself. Your best competition has always been the runner you were yesterday."
Rohan looked at her, processing her words. "I know. But I can't shake the feeling that I need to prove something—to everyone, to myself."
Ms. Mehra nodded. "You will. But make sure you're doing it for the right reasons. Running out of anger or jealousy won't sustain you in the long run. You need to do this because you love it. Because it's who you are."
Rohan fell silent, thinking about what she had said. She was right, as usual. The longing to compete wasn't just about proving something to the world. It was about proving something to himself. He loved running, and that love had been overshadowed by his injury and the pressure to come back stronger than before. But now, as he sat on the edge of the track, Rohan realized that running wasn't just about winning races—it was about the journey, the process of pushing himself to be the best he could be.
"I do love it," Rohan said quietly, more to himself than to Ms. Mehra. "I've missed it so much."
Ms. Mehra nodded, satisfied. "Then let that drive you. The races will come. But for now, focus on the process. Trust yourself."
---
The next morning, Rohan arrived at the track with a renewed sense of clarity. He no longer felt like he was chasing something elusive, something just out of reach. Instead, he felt grounded—focused on his own journey. Arjun, the other competitors, the races—they were still in his mind, but they no longer consumed him. His hunger to return to the track was still burning, but now it was tempered with patience.
He started his warm-up, his body responding with ease to the familiar movements. The air was crisp, and the sun had just begun to rise, casting a soft glow over the track. Rohan felt alive, his muscles humming with energy as he prepared for another session.
As he began his first interval, Rohan's mind cleared. There was no room for doubt or fear. With each stride, he felt the power returning to his legs, the strength that had been building for months. His hamstring, once a source of pain and fear, now moved with fluidity, no longer holding him back.
With each lap, Rohan pushed a little harder, testing his limits. He could feel his body responding, and with every step, the doubts he had carried for so long began to fade. He was a runner again—fully, completely. The injury no longer defined him. It had become a part of his story, but it wasn't the end of it.
As he rounded the final turn, Rohan pushed himself into a sprint, his legs burning with the effort. The wind whipped against his face, and for the first time in months, he felt the full force of his speed. The track blurred beneath him, and the world narrowed to a single, exhilarating focus: running as fast as he could.
When he crossed the finish line, Rohan slowed to a stop, his chest heaving, his body soaked with sweat. But he was grinning. The hunger to return had driven him, but now, standing at the finish line, he knew one thing for certain.
He was ready.
The competitions would come soon enough. The races, the rivalries, the victories—they were all waiting for him. But for now, Rohan was focused on one thing: running, because he loved it. And when the time came to compete again, he knew he would be stronger than ever.
Because Rohan Singh wasn't just back—he was better.