Ishan stood in front of the shattered mirror, his reflection fragmented into a mosaic of despair. The frustration boiled inside him, threatening to consume every ounce of his being. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he fought to contain the torrent of emotions raging within him.
"Why can't I do this?" he thought, his voice a bitter whisper in the empty room. The weight of expectations bore down on him, suffocating him with their intensity. He had dreamed of this moment—of donning the national colors again, of standing tall on the field as a symbol of triumph. But now, all he saw was failure staring back at him from the broken shards of glass.
Tears mingled with the water cascading down his face, their salty taste a bitter reminder of his inadequacy. He was supposed to be better than this—stronger, more resilient. Yet, here he was, shattered and broken like the mirror at his feet.
As he struggled to make sense of the chaos raging inside him, Ishan's thoughts turned to the countless hours of training, the sacrifices made, the dreams deferred. Each drop of blood that trickled from his injured hand echoed the pain of every missed opportunity, every moment of doubt.
But amidst the turmoil, a flicker of determination ignited within him. He refused to let this setback define him. He would rise from the ashes of his shattered dreams, stronger and more determined than ever before. With each breath, he would reclaim his power, his purpose, his pride.
And as Ishan stood there, battered but unbowed, he knew that his journey was far from over. The road ahead might be fraught with challenges, but he would face them head-on, armed with the unwavering belief that within him burned the fire of a champion.
Ishan's fist collided with the mirror, shattering the reflective surface into a thousand glittering fragments. The sharp shards cut into his skin, drawing blood that mingled with the water cascading down his arm. Hardik's eyes widened in shock as he witnessed the scene unfolding before him.
"Ishan!" he exclaimed, rushing forward to assess the damage. His heart clenched at the sight of his dear friend in pain, his hand bleeding from the jagged edges of the broken mirror.
"What were you thinking?" Hardik's voice was tinged with concern as he gently took Ishan's injured hand in his own, examining the wounds with a mixture of worry and disbelief.
Ishan's breath came in ragged gasps as the adrenaline of his outburst began to subside, replaced by a dull ache that spread through his body. He looked up at Hardik, his eyes clouded with a mix of frustration and remorse.
"I don't know," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I couldn't take it anymore."
Hardik's brow furrowed with concern as he guided Ishan to sit down on the edge of the bathtub. He fetched a first aid kit, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he tended to Ishan's wounds with gentle care.
"You don't have to go through this alone, Ishu," Hardik said softly, his voice filled with empathy. "We're all here for you, no matter what. You're not alone in this."
Ishan nodded silently, his gaze fixed on the floor as he wrestled with the turmoil churning inside him. In that moment, he felt a glimmer of gratitude for the unwavering support of his friend, a beacon of light in the darkness of his despair.
Ishan sighed heavily as he sat on the edge of his bed, his mind still reeling from the events of the day. He couldn't shake off the feeling of disappointment in himself, both for his poor performance on the field and for letting his emotions get the better of him. As he opened the window, a gentle breeze swept into the room, offering a fleeting sense of relief.
His phone buzzed in his hand, and he saw Shubman's name flashing on the screen. Despite his inner turmoil, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he answered the call. But his smile quickly faded as he heard the concern in Shubman's voice turn into scolding.
"Ishan, what were you thinking?" Shubman's voice was laced with worry and frustration. "You could have seriously hurt yourself. Do you realize that?"
Ishan felt a pang of guilt as he listened to Shubman's reprimand. He knew he had acted impulsively, letting his frustration and self-doubt get the better of him. "I know, Shub," he replied, his voice tinged with regret. "I just... I couldn't control myself."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Shubman spoke again, his tone softer this time. "I understand, Ishu," he said gently. "But you need to take care of yourself. We all care about you, and we don't want to see you getting hurt."
Ishan nodded, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He knew Shubman was right. He needed to find healthier ways to cope with his emotions, to reach out for support when he needed it the most.
"Thank you, Shub," he said softly, his voice choked with emotion. "I'm sorry for worrying you."
Shubman's reply was filled with warmth and reassurance. "Don't apologize, Ishu," he said. "Just promise me you'll take care of yourself from now on."
With Shubman's words echoing in his mind, Ishan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling a sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of his best friend and confidant. No matter what challenges lay ahead, he knew he could always count on Shubman to be there for him, just as he had always been.
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I heard he have punched the mirror in the dressing due to frustration.
