Unconditional Love

99. The Wounds I Never Spoke Of

The soft knock on the door was followed by the doctor stepping in, clipboard in hand and a professional but gentle look on his face.

Virat turned his head slowly, already more alert than before.

His eyes scanned the room—Aman by his side, Rohit hovering quietly, Rahul bhai standing near the corner, and Jassi leaning against the wall.

Four people. Four pieces of his heart.

All looking at him with the same expression—relief... and deep concern.

It made something twist inside him. Guilt.

The doctor offered a small smile. "Good to see you awake properly, Mr. Kohli."

Virat gave a faint nod, voice still weak, "Morning..."

The doctor flipped through his notes. "Vitals are better now. You responded well to the IV and sedation. But we need to talk about a few things going forward."

Everyone leaned in slightly as the doctor continued, tone firmer now.

"For the next two to three months—no caffeine. None. Not even a sip."

Virat winced slightly but nodded.

"No alcohol. And absolutely no smoking, not even occasional. You need to let your system heal."

He paused and added, "After a few months, caffeine can be reintroduced in moderation. But alcohol and smoking? You can forget about those. For your age, under this kind of stress, it's not just unhealthy— it's dangerous."

Virat didn't argue. He didn't even try to explain.

He simply looked down and gave another soft nod.

The doctor gave a tight smile, patting the foot of the bed before walking out.

Jassi, sensing the heaviness, quietly stood. "I'll go get breakfast," he said, offering a small squeeze to Virat's shoulder before slipping out.

Rahul bhai and Rohit followed the doctor outside to discuss necessary things, leaving just Aman and Virat in the room.

Virat stared at his own hands, the IV line still taped to his skin.

The guilt still hung heavily in his chest, like a weight pressing down on every breath.

Aman remained silent beside him, not saying anything, just gently rubbing Virat's arm in quiet comfort.

But even in the silence, Virat knew—he'd scared them.

He'd let his pain take over. And yet... they were all still here.

That made his chest ache more than anything else.

Virat was slipping, again—into that space in his head where guilt turned cruel and heavy, where the weight of everyone's concern felt like failure.

But then came Aman's voice, soft and grounding.

"Bhai..."

Virat blinked, pulled out of his spiraling thoughts.

His eyes met Aman's, and something in his chest cracked open.

"I'm sorry..." Virat whispered, his voice trembling. "I didn't know it would get this bad. I didn't mean for it to happen. I'm so sorry for worrying you all."

Aman looked at him, his throat tightening.

He couldn't even find it in himself to scold him—how could he, when Virat looked like this?