"The Last Promise: A Legacy Reclaimed"?

4

Virat slammed the door behind him, the sudden noise echoing through the empty corridor of the ICT hotel. His heart pounded with a ferocity that matched his fury, each beat like a hammer striking against his ribcage. The room was dimly lit, with only a single lamp casting a weak, yellowish glow that did little to chase away the shadows of his turmoil.

The walls seemed to close in on him as he paced the room, his steps heavy and restless. The anger that had been simmering just below the surface all day now surged uncontrollably, manifesting in every clenched muscle and every stormy thought. His fists, still trembling from the force of his earlier punch, ached with a sharp, persistent throb. The pain in his knuckles was nothing compared to the internal rage that consumed him.

Virat’s eyes, hidden behind his black goggles, were fierce and troubled. The blood seeping from his stomach wound, which had burst open during his attempt to save Saurav, added a physical manifestation to his emotional pain. The blood, dark and ominous, stained his shirt, the vibrant red a stark contrast against the white fabric. It felt like a betrayal—his own body failing him, just as he felt betrayed by the world.

He turned abruptly, slamming his fist into the wall again, this time with even more force. The pain was almost a relief, a distraction from the suffocating weight of his emotions. Each hit seemed to echo his internal chaos, the thudding noise a rough soundtrack to his spiraling thoughts. He barely noticed the fresh burst of pain from his stomach wound, the stinging sensation mingling with the throbbing ache in his knuckles. It was as if his entire being was on fire, consumed by a rage that seemed both self-directed and outwardly focused.

His mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts. Memories of Saurav’s fall, the weakness he had felt as he supported him, flashed through his mind like a relentless slideshow. The sense of failure gnawed at him. How could he, someone who prided himself on control and strength, be so emotionally affected? His own reactions—his concern for Saurav, his almost instinctive decision to protect—felt like a betrayal of the very resolve he had built up over the years. He had come here to exact justice, to confront the very people who had hurt his mentors and himself, not to get caught up in feelings of compassion and guilt.

His anger was not just towards the situation, but also towards himself. He had made a vow to remain detached, to focus solely on his mission. Yet, here he was, feeling a pang of worry for someone he had spent years resenting. The internal battle was fierce—his hatred for those who had wronged Sach Pa and Veeru Pa clashed violently with the unexpected surge of empathy he felt for Saurav. It was as if his very essence was being torn apart, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

Virat’s frustration reached a boiling point, and he sank to the floor, his back resting against the wall. He winced as the pressure on his wound intensified, the blood seeping further into his shirt. His breathing was ragged, each inhale and exhale a painful reminder of the injury he was trying to ignore. He tried to calm himself, to push away the errant thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. He could not afford to break down now, not with so much at stake.

The room felt smaller and colder, the dim light casting long, wavering shadows that danced around him, mocking his turmoil. The quiet was almost unbearable, the kind that amplifies every internal whisper and echo of guilt. He stared at the floor, his mind racing with memories of Sach Pa and Veeru Pa, their pain, their disappointment. He had promised himself to clear their names, to bring justice, and here he was, struggling with emotions he thought he had buried deep.

Yuvraj had been watching him, sensing something was off. He couldn’t explain it, but there was a strange pull toward Virat, a concern he couldn’t shake. He had followed Virat with Gautam close behind. As soon as they saw Virat punching the wall, his injury worsening, Yuvraj shouted, "Hey Virat... what happened to you?"

Gautam quickly reached for his phone, calling the team doctor in a panic. "He’s bleeding badly," Gautam muttered, pacing back and forth, unsure of what to do next.

At that moment, Ajinkya appeared, concern etched across his usually calm face. His eyes immediately darted to the blood soaking through Virat’s shirt. "What the hell, Virat?" Ajinkya snapped, rushing to his side, not even caring that Yuvraj and Gautam were watching in confusion.

Yuvraj and Gautam exchanged glances, their minds racing with questions they couldn’t ask. There was something they couldn’t put their finger on—a strange connection to Virat, as though they knew him from somewhere, but the memories eluded them.

Ajinkya knelt down, gently checking the wound, his touch careful but firm. "You’re an idiot, you know that?" he scolded, his voice a mix of anger and worry. "What were you thinking? Punching walls when you're already hurt?"

Virat, who had been so cold and distant with everyone, allowed Ajinkya to help him. He remained silent, trying to keep up the wall of strength he had built around himself, but the pain in his stomach and the sight of his best friend’s worry began to break through his defenses. He glanced at Ajinkya, his eyes betraying the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide.

But Ajinkya didn’t let up. "I swear, Vi, if you keep doing this, you’ll end up in a worse state than you already are."

Despite his efforts to stay strong, Virat couldn’t ignore the care in Ajinkya’s voice. It was different from everyone else—he wasn’t just being scolded. Ajinkya knew him too well, knew the pain and weight he carried. The two shared a bond beyond the surface, one that Yuvraj and Gautam couldn’t understand yet, though they could feel it in the room.

"Let me handle it, Jinks," Virat muttered, but his voice was weaker than he intended. It didn’t have the cold edge he had with the others.

Ajinkya shook his head, his hands steady as he pressed a cloth to stop the bleeding. "Not a chance," he said softly. "Not when you’re like this."

As Virat leaned against the wall, trying to steady his breathing, the shrill sound of his phone vibrating broke the tense silence. It buzzed insistently on the table, the screen lighting up with the word "Family." Yuvraj, closest to the phone, glanced over at it curiously. He moved towards it, his hand reaching out, but before he could touch it, Virat sprang forward, ignoring the stabbing pain from his wound.

“Don’t,” Virat growled, his voice low but sharp.

Ignoring the protests from his own body, Virat snatched the phone out of Yuvraj's hand. His movements were fast, almost too fast for someone in his condition. Yuvraj took a step back, startled, while Gautam frowned, noticing the sudden burst of energy that didn’t seem possible moments ago. Ajinkya, kneeling by Virat, glared up at him, his frustration barely concealed.

"You’re reckless," Ajinkya muttered under his breath, his anger flaring again. “You can’t just—”

But Virat wasn’t listening. Without a word, he disconnected the call, typing out a quick message. "I’ll call later." He knew who it had been. It had to be Sachin Pa or Veeru Pa. They always had this uncanny sense of timing, reaching out whenever Virat found himself at the edge, as though they knew exactly when he needed them most. But now wasn’t the time for family. Not when everything was spiraling around him.

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