Ruin In Royals (Royal #1: Book 2) | ✔

35

-• fresh start •-

"Should I slice you some fruits?" I offer.

Agastya shakes his head. "How long are they keeping me here?"

Before I can answer, the door opens, Vivaan walks in. "You put a strain on your tendon. The doctor did tell you to take a complete rest for the next three weeks when you were discharged."

Agastya falls silent, reverting to his quiet self. He rarely speaks. But I can see there's some development after that night on the bridge. He's hopeful. Hopeful of a better tomorrow.

"We're thinking to put you up for physical therapy next week. It'll help your shoulder return to its normal functioning." Vivaan continues. "There's a chance you might get to play-"

"How much?" Agastya meets his eyes.

"How- how much what?" Vivaan stutters, glancing towards me nervously. I sigh.

We're not used to this side of Agastya. It's like after accident, the old Agastya died, and someone new came back to us in his body.

"The chances?"

"Oh," Vivaan clears his throat and looks down at his file. "It's - the chances are slim, but -"

"Don't give me hope." Agastya avers curtly. "Will I be able to play? Maybe not internationally, I'm not even hoping for national tournaments. Just- " he sucks a deep breath, his chin trembles. My heart leaps forward and I lean in, holding his trembling hand in mine. "Just play." He shudders.

Vivaan's eyes fill up with unshed tears. He looks away. I press my lips together to not break down in tears.

"Bhai?" Agastya calls out desperately.

"Let's hope for a miracle." He whispers and walks out of the room. The door closes shut. Agastya's head hangs low. He removes his hand from mine.

"I need to be alone."

He told Arush the same yesterday. But then an hour passes, and he looks for someone again. As if he's torn between consoling himself and condemning himself. Like he's clinging to the edge of empty depths, unable to let go, but tired of holding on.

"Just know that I'm simply a call away." I tell him.

He shifts down to lie and pulls the cover over his head. I stop myself from telling him to be careful of his IV attached hand. Releasing a deep, tired breath, I get off the stool and leave the room, closing the door gently behind me. Turning around, I take a peek through the square window on the door, and sigh seeing his body shake violently underneath the thin duvet. I touch the image of him through the glass, stroke a finger gently, wishing his soul finds the peace it is so desperately seeking.

I want him to never forget he's not alone. Even when he wants to be alone, I hope in the back of his mind, he's aware of the people waiting to hear him out, support him in every step he takes, loving him in every bittersweet moment of his life.

I sit in the waiting area. I know he'll be afraid to be alone again. I know he'll ask for someone again. Arush was here the whole day yesterday. Today it's me. Tomorrow it'll be Ayush. We're taking turns to keep him company.

After mom died, I never thought I'd step inside a hospital ever again. Even if I do, I hoped it wouldn't be for long. It's a strange way to live. You feel restless the moment you step out of here and into your daily life, knowing you've left behind a part of yourself in someone's care, and have no idea when will be the last time you return to take it back home, or whether you'll lose it forever.

I feel, hospitals are more miserable than graveyards.

Like a bridge that's slowly corroding, a boat that's slowly sinking, a glacier that's slowly sliding closer. The end, of an ending.