The Right Wrong Number✨

♡ Chapter - 41 ♡

(Mira, it seems I am coming back... now I can give them a reason to be happy.)

My lungs forgot how to breathe. The chips still stuck in my throat burned like ash.

The umpire's finger shot up. The commentary roared. The crowd reacted. But all I could hear was silence. A thick, heavy, punishing silence inside me.

Arjun stood frozen. His face unreadable to the cameras, to the thousands of eyes watching from stadium seats and millions more from their homes. But not to me. Never to me. 

I knew that look. I knew how his mind worked, how it was already punishing him, imagining worst-case scenarios, dragging him down darker alleys of thought than anyone could see. 

He was his own harshest critic, and now I could almost hear the spiral beginning in his head.

The chips packet slipped from my hand onto the Pepsi can with a crinkle and a dull thud. My body moved before my brain caught up, pushing me toward the kitchen. 

My throat burned, not from hunger, not from thirst, but from the weight pressing down on it. I grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and downed it too quickly, the cold rushing down my throat like it could somehow put out the fire building in my chest. 

But it didn't. It couldn't.

My hands shook against the steel sink, and I leaned forward, both palms flat against the cold counter. The room spun faintly around me. I wanted to scream, to throw something, to demand the universe take it back, give him another chance. 

Instead, I closed my eyes and Arjun's voice from last night replayed in my head, his laughter echoing through me. "Fourteen off five balls, Mira! Can you believe it? I didn't think I could do it myself, but... I did. Mira everyone stood up for me. They all stood up for me. For a second it felt as if all our bad days are over. And maybe I'm still worth it."

That boy had been so happy. So full of hope. His mother's voice in the background had been trembling with pride, the kind that only comes after long nights of worry. And now... this.

I opened my eyes, staring at the glass in my hand. Everything around me felt like it was shrinking—walls inching closer, the lights dimming, the sound of the TV growing muffled as though I were drowning. My body went numb, but my heart? My heart burned.

On the screen, Arjun was walking back. Helmet in his hand, face bowed low, shoulders slightly curved inwards. 

He looked so small, so fragile, though I knew he'd never admit it. He carried disappointment like it was stitched into his skin, but today... today, I could see it weighing him down heavier than usual.

"Arjun..." My voice cracked. My eyes stung, tears threatening to slip free, blurring my vision of the kitchen tiles. I leaned harder against the slab, gripping it like it was the only thing holding me upright.

I couldn't cry. Not now. Not when he was breaking. Not when he needed strength, not weakness. If he was falling, I had to be the ground that caught him. If he was crumbling, I had to be the glue.

I wiped at my eyes furiously and reached for my phone. If he couldn't see the faith right now, then I'd show him. If he was going to spiral into self-doubt, then I would build walls of love and belief around him.

I opened the Instagram channel—the one I'd created just for him, "boundbycoverdrives." My thumb shook as I started posting.

His safe corner. My safe corner. Our corner.

My fingers flew.

I didn't even pause to think, didn't stop to double-check typos, didn't care if the filters matched. My only thought was—he needs to see this. He needs to know.