Chapitre 63: Chapter 63: Will to Fight

The morning sun filtered through the window of Rohan's apartment, casting warm light across the room. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Rohan noticed the way the golden rays of sunshine seemed to make the space feel less oppressive. He had spent weeks sitting in the dark, shutting out the world, but now the curtains were open, and the apartment felt… lighter.

Rohan sat on the couch, his leg propped up on a cushion, but the emptiness that had once gnawed at him constantly seemed less overpowering. The conversation with his younger brother Rahul had planted a seed of hope within him, though fragile, and over the past few days, Rohan had started to feel the first stirrings of something new—a desire to move forward.

His recovery process had been slow, both physically and emotionally. But now, for the first time since his injury, he was beginning to accept that it wasn't something he had to face alone.

The sound of a key turning in the lock snapped Rohan out of his thoughts. The door opened, and his parents walked in, carrying bags of groceries. They had insisted on staying with him for a while, despite Rohan's protests. His mother, Sunita, immediately went to the kitchen, unpacking the groceries with efficient care. His father, Amar, gave Rohan a brief nod before sitting down in a chair across from him.

"How are you feeling today?" his father asked, his voice gentle but laced with concern.

Rohan shrugged, unsure how to answer. The truth was, he still didn't feel great—his leg ached constantly, and the emotional weight of his injury still pressed down on him—but he was slowly learning to accept the help that was being offered. That alone was progress.

"I'm… managing," Rohan said, glancing over at his father. "I think it's getting a little better."

Amar nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "That's good. It's a start."

They sat in silence for a few moments, the sound of his mother cooking in the kitchen providing a comforting background noise. Despite the quiet, there was a warmth in the room that Rohan hadn't felt in a long time—a sense of being surrounded by people who cared about him, who were willing to help him even when he didn't feel deserving of it.

It wasn't long before Ms. Mehra arrived, as she had been doing regularly since Rohan's injury. She entered the apartment with her usual no-nonsense demeanor, though there was a softness in her expression that hadn't been there before. She greeted Rohan's parents warmly before turning her attention to him.

"Good to see you up and about," she said, her eyes scanning him with a mixture of scrutiny and approval. "How's the leg?"

"It's healing," Rohan replied, though the truth was that the pain was still there, a constant reminder of the uncertainty of his future. "Slowly."

Ms. Mehra nodded, her sharp eyes softened by understanding. "That's how it goes with these kinds of injuries. It takes time, and it takes patience."

Rohan had heard those words so many times now that they had almost lost their meaning. But when Ms. Mehra said them, there was something different in the way she spoke—an unwavering belief that he would come through this, that he would find his way back.

As the day went on, more people arrived—his closest friends, his former teammates. They gathered in his apartment, filling the space with laughter and conversation, and for the first time in weeks, Rohan didn't feel like an outsider looking in. His friends talked about their lives, about races and training sessions, but they didn't shy away from including him in the conversation. They didn't treat him like he was broken, like he was someone who no longer mattered just because he wasn't on the track.

Rohan found himself smiling, even laughing a few times, though the dark cloud of doubt still lingered at the edges of his mind. But being surrounded by the people who cared about him, who had supported him through the ups and downs of his career, made him realize that maybe—just maybe—he wasn't as alone as he had thought.

As the evening wore on and his friends began to leave, Ms. Mehra stayed behind. She sat with Rohan and his parents, her sharp eyes assessing him in the way that only she could. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she turned to him, her expression thoughtful.

"Rohan, I've been thinking a lot about your situation," she began. "And I want you to hear something. I think it might help."

Rohan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Ms. Mehra was never one to mince words, and when she said something was important, she meant it.

"I want you to think about Milkha Singh," Ms. Mehra continued, her voice steady but firm. "You know his story, right?"

Rohan nodded. Milkha Singh, the legendary Indian sprinter who had overcome unimaginable odds to become one of the greatest athletes in history. His story was one of perseverance, resilience, and triumph in the face of adversity. But Rohan wasn't sure how that related to his current situation.

Ms. Mehra seemed to sense his confusion. "Milkha Singh didn't have an easy life, Rohan. He lost his family during the partition of India, grew up in extreme poverty, and faced setbacks that would have broken most people. But he didn't let those setbacks define him. He didn't give up."

She paused, her gaze intense. "Do you know how many times Milkha Singh failed before he succeeded? Do you know how many times he was defeated in races, how many times he had to pick himself up and keep going when everything seemed hopeless?"

Rohan remained silent, absorbing her words.

"He wasn't perfect," Ms. Mehra said, her voice softening. "He made mistakes, and he suffered greatly. But he never gave up on himself. He learned from his failures, he adapted, and he kept fighting. And because of that, he became a legend."

Rohan's mind raced as he thought about Milkha Singh's story in a new light. He had always admired the sprinter's achievements, but he had never truly considered the depth of the struggles he had faced to get there. Milkha Singh had overcome unimaginable obstacles—far worse than what Rohan was facing now—and yet he had emerged victorious.

Ms. Mehra leaned forward, her eyes locked onto his. "You're going through a tough time, Rohan. There's no denying that. But you have the same spirit, the same determination that Milkha Singh had. This injury, this setback—it doesn't have to define you. It can make you stronger if you let it."

The weight of her words hung in the air, and for the first time since his injury, Rohan felt a flicker of something deep within him—a spark of hope, a reminder of the fire that had once driven him to push himself beyond his limits.

Ms. Mehra smiled, a rare expression of warmth crossing her face. "You've always been a fighter, Rohan. Don't lose sight of that. You're not finished yet."

---

ohan admitted. "You, my family, my friends… You all reminded me what's important."Ms. Mehra's tone became more businesslike as she shifted into planning mode. "Good. Let's start with a new plan. I'll talk to your physiotherapist and set up a revised schedule. But remember, Rohan, this isn't just about the physical work. You've got to keep your mind strong too. There will be tough days ahead, but you've been through tough times before, and you'll get through this as well.""I'm ready," Rohan said, determination lacing his voice. "Whatever it takes."The next few weeks were a whirlwind of activity. Rohan threw himself into his rehabilitation with renewed vigor, working tirelessly with his physiotherapist to regain strength and flexibility in his injured leg. The exercises were slow and grueling at first—simple movements that seemed insignificant compared to the kind of training he had been used to. But with each passing day, Rohan could feel the progress, however small.Ms. Mehra was with him every step of the way, monitoring his progress and keeping him focused on the larger goal. She reminded him, constantly, that this wasn't just about getting back to where he had been before the injury. It was about coming back stronger—both physically and mentally. Rohan began incorporating mental training into his routine as well, working with a sports psychologist to strengthen his mindset and deal with the fear of reinjury that loomed over him.As Rohan pushed through the difficult rehabilitation sessions, he kept thinking of Milkha Singh. He remembered the stories of how Milkha had struggled to overcome the emotional and physical scars of his past, of how he had refused to let failure define him. The thought gave Rohan strength. If Milkha could do it, then so could he.There were days when Rohan felt overwhelmed by the slow pace of his recovery, when the frustration threatened to creep back in. But whenever that happened, he reminded himself of the progress he had made. He wasn't where he wanted to be yet, but he was moving forward—and that was enough.As the weeks turned into months, Rohan's leg grew stronger, the pain gradually fading as his muscles healed. The tightness in his hamstring loosened, and with Ms. Mehra's guidance, Rohan slowly started incorporating light running into his routine. It wasn't much at first—a few laps around the track, nothing like the intense training he had been used to—but it was a start.The first time he stepped back onto the track, Rohan felt a rush of emotions flood through him. The familiar feel of the rubber beneath his feet, the rhythmic sound of his shoes hitting the ground—it was like coming home. For a moment, he forgot about the injury, the pain, the months of uncertainty. He was just a runner again, doing what he loved.After completing his laps, Rohan stood in the center of the track, breathing heavily but smiling. His heart pounded in his chest, and for the first time since his injury, it wasn't from fear or anxiety. It was from excitement, from the thrill of knowing that he was getting closer to his goal.Ms. Mehra stood at the edge of the track, watching him closely. When he approached her, she gave him a small nod of approval."You're making good progress," she said. "But don't get ahead of yourself. This is just the beginning.""I know," Rohan replied, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "But it feels good to be back out here."Ms. Mehra smiled—a rare, genuine smile that made Rohan feel like he was truly on the right path. "It's good to see you out here again, Rohan. You've come a long way."Rohan looked out at the empty track, his heart swelling with determination. "I'm not finished yet. I'm going to keep pushing, keep working. I don't know where this will take me, but I'm not stopping until I've given everything I've got."Ms. Mehra's eyes gleamed with pride. "That's the spirit, Rohan. You've always had the heart of a champion. Now, let's make sure you come back as strong as ever."Rohan nodded, his chest filled with hope and a renewed sense of purpose. The road ahead would still be difficult, and there were no guarantees about what the future held. But Rohan knew one thing for sure: he wasn't going to give up. Not now, not ever.With his family, his friends, and Ms. Mehra by his side, Rohan felt stronger than he had in months. He had rediscovered his will to fight, and with every step he took on that track, he was one step closer to reclaiming his dream.Because Rohan Singh wasn't just fighting for his comeback—he was fighting for his future, and he was ready to give it everything he had.