Mihika was busy checking the MRI scans of a basketball player, her brows furrowed in concentration.

At 29, Mihika had built a reputation that most people took decades to achieve. 

She adjusted her glasses and scribbled some notes on her tablet. For Mihika, a perfect day was one where her patients showed a 10% improvement. 

Her phone vibrated on the table. It was a call from her mother. Mihika sighed, knowing exactly where this was going. She picked up.

"Haan, mummy? I'm in the middle of work."

(Yes, mummy?)

Mihika said.

"I know. At least listen to me for two minutes."

Her mother's voice came through.

"Have you looked at the photos I sent on WhatsApp? The guy is a software engineer. Very well settled."

Mihika leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples.

"Mummy, please. I have three back-to-back sessions today. I don't have time."

"Time nikalna padta hai, Mihika! Next year you are turning 30."

(You have to take out time, Mihika!)

Her mother reminded her, her tone sharpening.

"Pata bhi nahi chalega and the best years of your life will be gone. Kab tak sirf dusro ke baare mai sochti rahogi? Think about your own life too. Log puchte hain humse ki beti kab settle hogi."

(You will not even realise and the best years of your life will be gone. How will will you keep thinking about others? Think about your own life too. People ask us when our daughter will get settled.)

Mihika felt a familiar tightness in her chest.

"Toh logo ko bol dijiye ki aapki beti already settled hai. I have a career, I have my own house, and I am happy."

(Then tell people that your daughter is settled.)

"Khush rehne ke liye ek saathi chahiye hota hai. After 30, it gets difficult. Please, just meet him once?"

(You need a partner to be happy.)

"I have to go, mummy. Bye."

She hung up before her mother could guilt-trip her further. Mihika stared at the blank screen for a moment. Marriage. The word felt like a heavy weight. She had spent her twenties studying, interning, and working late shifts.

She didn't feel incomplete or lonely. But the constant pressure from her parents was starting to feel like a ticking clock.

On the other side of the city, the stadium was roaring with the sound of thousands of fans chanting one name.

"Aarush! Aarush! Aarush!"

Aarush, at 27, was at the peak of his career. Standing at six feet, with a lean, muscular build and messy hair damp with sweat, he looked every bit the superstar the media portrayed him to be. He had just scored the winning goal, and the adrenaline was coursing through his veins.

He waved at the stands. A group of girls in the front row screamed his name, holding up posters with his face on them. Aarush flashed a charismatic, dimpled smile, causing another wave of frenzy. He loved it. He loved every bit of the limelight.

It hadn't always been like this. Just four years ago, Aarush was a boy from a middle-class family. Back then, nobody looked twice at him. There were no girls chasing him, no brands wanting his face on billboards, and no luxury cars in his garage.

He had worked himself to the bone, ignoring the hunger, the fatigue, and the lack of resources. And then, suddenly, it happened. A scout saw him, a contract was signed, and Aarush became a sensation.

In the locker room, his teammate, Sameer, nudged him.

"Abey oh, superstar! Maan gaye bhai, teri fan following toh alag hi level par hai."

(Hey, superstar! I agree your fan following is on the next level.)

Aarush laughed, pulling his jersey over his head.

"Bas kar yaar. It's just part of the job. People love the goals, not the person."

(Stop it now.)

"Chal jhootha."

(Liar.)

Sameer teased.

"You're enjoying the attention. Why don't you actually date someone? Poori duniya fida hai tujh par, and you're still single."

(The world is fawning over you and you’re still single.)

Aarush paused, grabbing a water bottle.

"Waqt hi nahi mila kabhi, bhai. Pehle career banane ki bhook thi, aur ab career sambhalne ki zimmedari hai. And honestly? Half these people don't even know who I am. They just like the Aarush they see on TV."

(I never got the time. Earlier I had the hunger to create a career, and now I have the responsibility to handle it.)

"Toh dhoond na kisi ko jo real Aarush ko jaanne ki koshish kare."

(Then find someone who wants to know the real Aarush.)

Sameer suggested.

"Dekhenge yaar. Right now, I just want to win the National Cup. No distractions."

(We’ll see.)

Aarush walked back out to the field for the post-match practice drills. He was the hero of the hour, and it felt like nothing could stop his rise.

Two days later, the stadium was packed for the quarter-finals. Aarush was in his element, dribbling the ball past defenders with a grace that made the commentators go wild. 

He made a sharp turn to overtake the captain of the opposing team. It was a move he had practiced a thousand times. But this time, it didn't work.

As Aarush pushed out his right foot to shoot, the player's weight crashed into his lower leg.

A sickening pop echoed in Aarush's ears, barely audible over the crowd.

Aarush hit the grass hard. Usually, when he fell, he'd roll and get back up instantly. This time, he didn't. He clutched his knee, his face contorting in an expression of pure agony. The world around him went blurry. The cheering turned into a confused murmur, then a worried silence.

"Aah! Fuck!"

Aarush gasped, the pain searing through his leg. The team medic rushed onto the field. Sameer ran over, looking panicked.

"Aarush! Aarush, kya hua?"

(Aarush, what happened?)

Aarush couldn't even speak. He was gasping for air, his hands shaking as he held his knee.

"Nahi...I can't move it...it hurts. It hurts a lot!"

(No…)

The medic looked at the angle of the knee and winced. He signalled for the stretcher immediately.

"Don't try to move, Aarush. Deep breaths. Hum hospital jaa rahe hain."

(We are going to the hospital.)

As the paramedics lifted the stretcher, Aarush looked up at the sky. The bright stadium lights felt blinding. Just ten minutes ago, he was a god in this arena. Now, he felt like a broken toy. 

Mera career...mera game...sab khatam toh nahi ho jayega?

(My career…my game…will everything be over?)

The cameras followed the stretcher as it disappeared. The fans were silent, some even in tears. The Golden Boy of Indian football was down, and as the ambulance doors closed, Aarush felt the limelight fading into a cold darkness.

He didn't know it yet, but his world of fame was about to collide with a world of quiet discipline. He didn't know that his path was leading straight to a clinic where a strong headed woman was currently finishing her notes, completely unaware that her most difficult, and most life changing, patient was on his way.