Lost but Not Forgotten

PART 5

Mahi sat alone in his study, the dim light from a single lamp casting shadows on his face. His once-vibrant eyes were now dull, weighed down by sleepless nights and years of regret. On his desk lay a small, worn photograph—one of him and Rohit, taken during happier times. Both men had wide smiles, arms around each other, celebrating a victory that now felt like a lifetime ago.

He stared at the photo for what felt like hours, his mind wandering back to that fateful day when everything had changed. The committee meeting, the accusations, the evidence that had seemed so damning at the time. Rohit's desperate pleas of innocence, the way he had looked at Mahi, begging for just a shred of belief. And Mahi... Mahi had stayed silent, unwilling to fight for him.

The guilt was unbearable.

He had tried to reach out when the truth came out, when it was revealed that Rohit had been framed. But by then, it was too late. Rohit was gone—disappeared with his family, leaving no trace behind. Mahi had gone to his home, just like Virat and the others, but the house had been empty. And with it, so had Mahi's hope of making amends.

Every day since then had been a reminder of what he had lost. Not just a friend, but a part of himself. The man who had always prided himself on his ability to stay calm under pressure, to read people, had misjudged the person who mattered the most.

A knock on the door pulled Mahi from his thoughts.

"Dad?" Ziva's soft voice broke through the heavy silence.

Mahi didn't look up. "Yes, Ziva?

"I... I was just wondering if you wanted to come for dinner. Mom's waiting."

There was a long pause before Mahi responded, his voice distant. "I'll come in a minute."

Ziva lingered for a moment, sensing her father's inner turmoil but knowing better than to push. She had grown up with the weight of the unresolved tension in their house—she had grown up without ever really knowing her father the way others had. Dhoni, the great captain of Indian cricket, had become a ghost in his own home, consumed by the mistakes of his past.

After Ziva left, Mahi finally stood up, walking slowly to the window. The world outside was quiet, peaceful, unaware of the storm raging inside him. His thoughts drifted back to Virat's retirement match. He hadn't attended, of course. How could he? Being around the team, seeing the faces of those who had once been his family—it would've only reminded him of what he had lost.

And yet, he couldn't help but wonder what Virat had said, what the team had felt, knowing they had all played a part in Rohit's disappearance. Did they feel the same guilt? The same regret? Or had they found a way to move on, to forgive themselves in a way that Mahi could never do?

Mahi sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

He had failed Rohit. He had failed his first kiddo.

And now, all he had left were the memories—memories that haunted him, that kept him locked away from the world he had once loved. He had once been a mentor, a leader, a brother. Now, he was a man burdened by the weight of his mistakes, unable to forgive himself for doubting the one person who had needed him the most.

As he stood there, staring out into the night, Mahi knew one thing for certain—until Rohit returned, until he had the chance to make things right, he would never be at peace.

And deep down, he feared that day might never come.

**********

The house was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional sound of Samaira typing away on her laptop. Rohit sat in the living room, his eyes constantly darting to the door, heart pounding with anticipation. His foot tapped restlessly against the floor as he waited for that familiar sound—the door opening, his child finally coming home after a long day of practice.