WICKETS AND WIDGETS

Emotional Dilemma

"Singh," Sana's voice broke the silence as she rolled into the room, her wheelchair a stark reminder of the struggles she faced.

"Sana," I acknowledged her presence, my gaze shifting from the window to meet her eyes.

Her smile was tinged with sadness. "I'm sorry you ended up here in this state because of me," she murmured, her tone heavy with regret.

"It wasn't you, Sana. It was me. I made a choice," I replied, trying to ease her guilt.

Her eyes reflected a mix of emotions. "As much as it makes me feel giddy from the inside that someone is willing to stand up for me forever, I can't find joy in it this time. My brother's happiness is at stake," she whispered, her fingers tracing the cold metal of her wheelchair, a silent testament to the weight of her words.

"What do you mean?" I asked, a shiver running through me.

"You hurt Kabir deeply with your words. It's something I can't bear or accept," She explained with a solemn tone. "He's head over heels in love with you. When he left this room and walked into the lobby, I saw a level of heartbreak in him that I've never witnessed before. He looked devastated, disappointed, and frankly, furious, mostly at me."

Her gaze dropped, and she continued, "I don't know what happened between you two, but if I'm somehow involved, please listen to whatever he says. I can't stand to see him unhappy anymore. He's already endured so much pain in his life, and you're the first person I've seen him care about this deeply." She looked up again, her eyes pleading. "Don't leave him hanging there all alone."

"Do you even understand what he asked of me?" I furrowed my brows in confusion.

"I don't," she admitted, her tone reflecting her uncertainty. "And honestly, I don't want to know. But I do know my brother well enough. He wouldn't make unreasonable demands. He always asks for things that are practical and within reach."

I closed my eyes briefly, trying to gather my thoughts and emotions. I couldn't bear to look her in the eyes as I spoke. "He demanded that I never interfere in your life again. How is that fair?" My words came out in a whisper, heavy with the weight of the situation.

After a few seconds of silence, she responded, her voice calm yet carrying a weight of concern. "But where's the unfairness in this, really?" She continued, "You being involved in my life could lead to more hurt for you, especially considering the potential dangers in the future. I'm grateful that Kabir asked this of you because I would have asked the same."

"You can't shoulder everything alone, Sana. Are you not seeing how unrealistic that is?" I replied, my tone carrying a hint of frustration.

She shook her head gently, her expression serious. "I understand that. But whether I can handle things alone or not is my concern, not yours, Singh. Step back from this and mend things with Kabir. That's all I'm trying to say." Her words were filled with a mix of plea and insistence. "My brother deserves the love he gives, wholeheartedly. He's always chosen you, so it's your duty not to make him your second choice, but your first."

I sighed heavily, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on my shoulders. "I want to reconcile, Sana," I started, my voice tinged with frustration. "I love Kabir deeply, but his requests are pushing the boundaries. What if he asks for something unreasonable next time, like cutting ties with my own mother because he deems it 'dangerous'? Where do I draw the line?"

Her eyes flashed with frustration as she met my gaze, her tone sharp and resolute. "Singh, you're missing the point," she retorted. "I don't want to entangle you in my problems, and Kabir wouldn't ask something as absurd as severing ties with your mother, don't worry about that."

"Why the strong reaction, Sana?" I asked, my tone tinged with confusion and concern.

Her expression softened, yet her resolve stayed unwavering. "I simply want my brother to find happiness, and I'll sit here for a day straight if that's what it takes to persuade you to mend things with him," she asserted firmly, her eyes reflecting both determination and profound affection for Kabir.

I confronted her, frustration simmering within me. "What brother, Sana? The one who's so obsessed with keeping others away from helping you?"

Her fingers gripped the wheelchair's armrests tightly, her gaze intense. "Singh, this isn't about others. It's about you. Can't you see that?" Her words carried a blend of urgency and frustration. "Kabir is worried about you. He knows you attract trouble like a magnet and can be easily misled. He only wants to shield you from harm."

"I might be impulsive and easily swayed, but that's who I am," I countered, my tone firm. "I don't shy away from risks if it means doing the right thing. Kabir can't protect me from everything, and he needs to understand that. I can handle myself and my problems just fine. I'm not a child who needs constant supervision."

Her expression softened as concern filled her eyes. "Singh, I know you're capable, and I'm sure Kabir recognizes that too," she said gently, her voice reflecting understanding. "But his love for you makes him overly protective and anxious about your well-being. He just wants to ensure your safety, even if it means asking for things that may seem challenging."

"Sana, I get it, I do," I replied, frustration evident in my voice. "But does he realize the weight of his demands? Asking me to stay away from you, from being there when you need someone the most... It's like he's asking me to deny a part of myself, to ignore my instincts."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Singh, Kabir's heart is torn between his love for you and his duty towards me," she said softly. "He's afraid of losing you, of seeing you hurt because of me. He doesn't want to choose, but circumstances force him to make difficult decisions."

I sighed, a mixture of understanding and frustration washing over me. "I know, Sana. I know he cares deeply for both of us," I admitted, my tone softening. "But love shouldn't come with ultimatums. It should be about trust, understanding, and finding solutions together."

She nodded slowly, her eyes reflecting a mix of understanding and sadness. "Maybe you're right, Singh," she conceded, "but he doesn't understand. All he's seen in his life is the people he loves drift away, grow distant. He's terrified of losing you in the same way."

"I understand his fear," I whispered, my voice heavy with resignation. "But things, they'll never be the same again, Sana. So why bother trying?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, her concern evident.

I shifted my gaze to my burnt arm, the scars a painful reminder of what had changed. "Don't I look different to you?" I asked, my voice trembling with self-doubt.

"You don't," she replied after a moment of contemplation.

"You're lying," I accused softly, the bitterness seeping into my words. "You're pretending not to notice." I sighed, my frustration mounting. "Don't you see how I've changed? How my body bears these scars, this ugliness?" I gestured to myself, feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Kabir, he deserves better than a scarred and imperfect man like me."

A voice interrupted us, and we turned to see Kabir standing at the door, his expression filled with sorrow. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" he spoke, his voice tinged with emotion.