The applause lingered longer than Felix expected.
It wasn't thunderous anymore—no roaring cheers, no sharp whistles cutting through the air—just a steady, respectful clapping that filled the hall as the silver medal was placed around his neck. The metal felt cool against his skin, heavier than it looked.
Not because of its weight.
But because of what it represented.
Felix stood in line with the others, posture straight, eyes forward, shoulders relaxed.
Second place.
Once, that word would have burned. Once, it would have sounded like failure dressed up in polite language. Something people used to soften disappointment.
Today, it didn't.
It felt… honest.
Felix let his gaze drift across the hall. Faces blurred together—students from different schools, teachers standing in clusters, a few parents scattered among the seats. The crowd was present, but distant. Their voices merged into a low hum, like waves heard from underwater.
He was here.
But part of him was already somewhere quieter.
A movement near the back caught his attention.
Kunal.
He stood close to the exit, hands buried in his pockets, expression unreadable. No bitterness. No applause. No visible frustration either. Just stillness. Their eyes didn't meet. Felix noticed, almost absently, that Kunal didn't stay for the announcements that followed.
He turned.
And walked out.
No words. No glances back.
Almost at the same moment, Felix noticed something else.
The white-haired figure.
The man—or woman—who had been there since the earlier rounds. Always at the edges. Always watching. No cheering. No phone in hand. No interaction with anyone. Just observation.
Felix scanned the stands again.
Gone.
No explanation. No trace.
It didn't feel threatening.
If anything, it felt deliberate.
. . . .
Felix exhaled slowly.
The principal finished his speech. Names were announced. Medals were adjusted for photos. Smiles were exchanged—some genuine, some forced. Felix accepted a brief handshake here and there, nodded once or twice, and stepped back as his coach approached.
David didn't smile widely.
He never did.
But he looked Felix in the eye—steady, focused, measuring him the way he always did when he meant something.
"You held your ground," David said simply. "Didn't chase points. Didn't break."
Felix nodded.
"That matters more than medals," David added after a pause. "Good work."
That was it.
No long speech. No exaggerated praise.
And somehow, that meant more than anything else.
Felix thanked him and walked out of the hall alone.
The noise dimmed the moment he stepped outside. Sunlight hit his face—warm, real, grounding. He stood there for a second, eyes half-closed, letting the sounds of the competition fade behind him.
Then he heard his name.
"Felix!"
His mother reached him first.
Radha's eyes were bright—not with excitement, but with a pride that hadn't yet learned how to stay quiet. She cupped his face gently, inspecting him as if checking for injuries that didn't exist.
"You played beautifully," she said softly.
Krishna stood just behind her, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't rush forward. He didn't raise his voice. He simply nodded once, a small but sincere smile fixed on his face.
"It was a very good game," he said.
Felix smiled.
Nikhil and Dev joined moments later, Nikhil already talking before he fully arrived.
"Second place!!!" Nikhil exclaimed. "Bro, you're not even leaving sports for me to shine."
Dev added calmly, "Your consistency was solid. You adapted well."
Felix chuckled lightly. "You sound like my coach."
"Different expertise," Dev replied without missing a beat.
They stood there for a while, talking in fragments—about the match, the crowd, the long rallies Felix had survived. Nothing intense. Nothing analytical.
Just presence.
By the time someone mentioned the time, Felix glanced at his watch.
2:56 p.m.
Radha noticed immediately. "You must be hungry."
Krishna nodded. "Let's eat first."
They didn't go far. A modest restaurant nearby—quiet enough to talk without raising voices. The food arrived slowly, the way it always did on crowded afternoons.
Felix sat between his parents, listening more than speaking.
At one point, Alex joined them, breathless from running over, eyes wide with excitement.
"Silver!" he said. "I saw the photos already."
Felix ruffled his hair lightly. "You missed the boring parts."
Alex shook his head. "No. I saw the important ones."
They ate without urgency. Laughed a little. Argued about which dish tasted better. Nikhil complained about spice levels. Dev drank water thoughtfully, observing more than speaking.
Time passed gently.
After lunch, they didn't rush home. They walked instead. No destination. Just movement. The city felt different—less sharp, less demanding.
By evening, around seven, the Vedman family returned home.
Nikhil and Dev had already peeled off earlier, heading back on Nikhil's bike. Felix watched them leave from the gate, waving once before turning inside.
The house felt quieter again.
Comfortably so.
Felix changed into casual clothes and joined his parents in the living room. Radha sat with a cup of tea. Krishna leaned back on the sofa, legs crossed.
Alex was in his room studying. His exams were near.
For a few minutes, no one spoke.
Then Krishna broke the silence.
"Felix, I want to discuss something with you," he said.
Not demanding. Not probing.
Just calm.
"What is it, Dad?" Felix asked.
"It's about your future."
Hearing this, Felix straightened slightly. His relaxed posture shifted—not tense, but attentive.
"Before I start," Krishna continued, "I want to know what your future goal is."
"Dad, I already told you," Felix said. "I want to help you make our shop—"
"Are you serious?" Krishna interrupted.
Felix paused.
"Yes, Dad."
Krishna looked at him carefully. "Have you given it serious thought?"
The question settled more heavily than Felix expected.
And in that moment, he realized something uncomfortable.
Since regressing… he hadn't.
He had been so busy correcting mistakes, so focused on not repeating old regrets, that he had forgotten something important.
He wasn't just fixing the past.
He was allowed to choose a different future.
The thought stayed with him.
Quiet.
Unanswered.
His reaction spoke everything Krishna wanted to know.
"Son, you can give it some thought. But before that, you are not allowed to come to the shop."
"But dad -
"No but, I am serious," Krishna said. "You understand?"
"... Yes, Dad."