"It is okay to lose, Scarlet." He said, once he noticed that his best jokes didn't even get a small smile on my lips. "It's all a game, one has to lose to make another winner."

Only if things could be seen that simpler, then I would have agreed to him. But they were more complicated than that. 

Though it was only two of us who had passed that death trap, Calvin was being hard on me, blaming himself for taking me under his wing to train. He had not only lost a cup, but also the name and fame he had carried till now.

I had held my emotions at my bosom, trying very hard not to cry at the mean eyes I saw at my trip back. They had done so much to train me and yet I had failed. I had remained mute through the whole fiasco, not wanting to add any of my own excuses.

"Babe, come on." Robert put his hands around my shoulder. "You win some and you lose some. It's good that you got to know the feel of the loss early."

I rolled my eyes at him. "That's not a good speech, Rob." I said, leaning my head on his shoulder.

It was early Saturday morning and Robert had volunteered to drop me off home. Since I had been staying quiet all along, no one bothered to make any comment on it. Robert had stopped near my house, sitting with me in the car, trying to cheer me up.

The only thing that put me at ease after the race was there were no deaths in the game. The one who had fallen down the cliff had survived as the racing squad had taken care of such unfortunate events. It was a relief to know that the guy was okay. I couldn't have imagined the stress I had to face if I saw another near death.

Robert kissed my head and pulled me tighter in his arms. "I had failed for like a thousand times before I made my first win." He said, trying to make me feel better. "You have no idea the things they were talking about me."

I pulled back and looked at him. He seemed to have gone back in time, but when he saw me watching him, he gave me a smile.

"Then, what did you do?" I asked.

"Well for starters, I didn't remain quiet all my journey." He teased as I hit him playfully on his arm. "I thought about the way I could have driven and practiced them."

"You think I should do that too?" I asked.

I had already spent a lot of time deliberately thinking what more I could have done. For starters, I could've shut down the inner monologue I had about the conversation with Ashley.

"No." Robert pouted in a cute fashion. I had never seen him pout before. It was as if he was behaving like his age. Most of the time he was the responsible and determined guy who had lost the essence of his childhood. Now, he seemed more at ease. "I'm pretty sure you have already done that a couple of times now."

I rested my head on the dashing board and sighed audibly. "Whatever Ashley told, you do think its true?"

The change in the topic was disturbing, not only for me but for Robert as well. Though he had agreed that they knew each other, her topic was off limits for him. There were times when I had asked him about the local racers whose videos I should be watching. Robert had given all the names except for hers and I had always wondered why.

His physical demeanor always seemed to change whenever she was close by. I could see an opaque wall sliding up around him as she talked. It was as if he feared letting people in, especially her. I had understood that people had to have masks in this field, but his was too difficult to comprehend.

"They both were racers." Robert shrugged. When I looked at him, I saw those walls building up again and I sighed, not wanting to lose the only guy who was supporting me. "You never know."

"That was bugging me." I said, in almost a whisper. A small wave of fear ran across my spine at the fact that I was confessing all my thoughts with him. "I just couldn't concentrate."

The walls that were building up, crumpled at my words. He looked lost for a second and the next he was angry. There was a small crinkle near his eye, making the scar on his face look evident. His nose expanded and contracted, probably trying to control the amount of rage that he was feeling deep within. His fists clenched and he looked away.

"How many times have I told you not to do that?" Though the words were not as harsh as I assumed it could be, it had made its effect on me. "You never listen, do you?"

He looked at me, his dark brown eyes almost turning red, ready to scold me further. It was as if the whole universe was acting against my racing abilities. Each time, I was disappointed in myself as I saw my Dad in me who couldn't see past the love for his wife every time he raced.

"I'm sorry." I muttered. "It'll not repeat it again."

Robert was taken aback by my apology. There was a flash of astonishment run past his brown eyes as he studied me. "Well," He scratched his neck and then ran his hand over his curls. "Don't repeat it." I nodded at him, my eyes sincere. "Get out and meet your Dad. I'm sure he's worried sick."

That was enough for me to bring a small smile on my face in two days. And before I knew what I was doing, I leaned across the gear box and pressed my lips on his cheeks.

"Thank you." I said. Without waiting for his reply, I got down and walked towards my home. I was sure he let his smile spread all over his car, before I heard the engine take off.

It was still early morning; the sun had not even come out. I used the spare key and let myself in. Exhausted with the emotional turmoil, I headed to my room and without changing my dress, I collapsed on the bed, slumber taking me in in its custody soon.

Unfortunately, an hour later, my alarm blared since I had forgotten to turn it off and with that, my internal clock seemed to have woken up too. I was a little jumpy from wanting to sleep and not able to sleep. I did all my usual chores and went ahead to do a simple toast for the breakfast.

Dad seemed happy that I was back in one piece, but I knew he was disappointed that I didn't make it through. He gave me his big beginner's luck speech and with his every word, I was shrinking in despondency.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Dad asked since I hadn't made any effort to answer his questions from past one hour.

I had kept my quiet, brooding and mulling over the facts that I had come across recently. Though I had digested that it was only a race and losses were as common as a flu around those fields, some part of me had still not come back from Nevada.

Going over the scene over and over again, I didn't know whom to believe anymore. I had known my Dad all my life yet, I was still tossing and turning Ashley's words, making myself believe that it was all false.

"It's just a race." Dad said, wheeling himself towards me, as I sat on the dining table with a toast that was barely touched. He put his hand on mine and stroked it affectionately. "Losing is a part of training that isn't there in the handbooks."

I nodded my head in understanding, this I agreed wholeheartedly. I had heard a lot about the loss and how it was a learning process and I should be grateful for losing this early in my career since I would still have my feet stuck to ground, but it was all making my head spin.

I heard Dad sigh since I didn't make any effort to make a conversation back with him. I looked at him and he seemed fragile. The man had weakened over the days and he looked like an old lion trying his best to look brave under the layers of his fear. His shirt was crumpled, though he just had a bath. The stubble was cleanly shaven, and his hair were neatly combed. His eyes were still the same as I had remembered, tired and guilty for letting me alone all this while.

When I thought about the race now, all I could think were the words that Ashley had put in my head. I wanted answers and perhaps if Dad knew her, he could probably tell me all her weakness to get us back on our feet.

"I met Ashley there." I said, pushing the bread pieces away. I looked at Dad, straight in his eyes, trying to read if there was something I could catch. But I only saw confusion in them. "The one with whom you raced and lost everything." I supplied.

I couldn't believe that he had forgotten her name. Had he forgotten that I had to race her in next few months and if I lost, we had to give up our house to her?

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at him. My adolescence was snatched away when my mother had died. He was as much responsible to it as much as Ashley was. But more than her, I was angry with him.

I took a deep breath to control my anger. This time, there were other issues to deal with.

"Did... you know her, like in person?" I asked, hoping against hope.

"No." Dad said, scratching his head. He clearly was confused at my questions. "We probably had faced each other in parties, but I don't remember having a conversation with her that's more than five lines."

"Oh." I said, mulling over what she had told me. The way she was talking made it seem like she knew my Dad very well. "She asked me to say hi to you."

"I think she was just taunting you." Dad mused, running his index finger and thumb over his jaw. "To scare you away."

"Maybe." I said, still not convinced. "Are you sure you don't know her?"

Dad looked at me as if I had grown another head. He ran his hands over his hair and sighed, nodding his head in approval. "I'm positive."

Ashley hadn't let out much, but the way her eyes sparkled when she mentioned Dad and asked me to say hi for him was digging in my brain.

"I'm sorry." I apologized beforehand for the next question I would be shooting at him. I knew it was not a fair game, but I wanted to put it all in the open and make sure that it was over even before it started. "Did... you know, Ashley and you had a thing going on, of course before mom?"

I peeked at him through my lashes, scared that he might erupt at my questions. We all knew he loved mother more than he loved himself, but perhaps this was before mom was in the picture and it was all jealously acting all this while?

A layer of guilt and fear spread across his fair face, illuminating his features. His jaw became tense, his eyes grew a little larger, and before I could read further into his postures, he wheeled such that he was facing the kitchen counter rather than the dining table. I sat on the edge of my chair, wondering what the hell had happened before. I opened my mouth to alter the question and make it naïve, but he turned towards me.

His whole demeanor had changed. He wore a smirk on his lips and his eyes were lighter than before. How had he done that in a matter of seconds? He shook his head sideways as if he was having a marathon of internal jokes.

"Scar," He smiled. "You do understand that she's very young, right?" I nodded my head and immediately regretted asking him the questions that I had so smartly thrown at him. "If I, hypothetically, did have an affair with her, then she would have been what? Five-six years old?" He waved his hands in the air for dramatic effect. "I don't think I'm into pedophilia."

"Yeah, um..." I started, keeping my head low, not wanting to have any eye contact with him. I was ashamed of myself for bringing up the whole topic. It was mortifying to face my Dad after that.

"I'm sorry." I muttered. "Just... I... I should get going."

Dad laughed at my misery. "Come on, Scar." He put his hands up in the air and too his usual seat. His plate of toasts was still intact. "I don't know her and even if I did, I don't remember doing her any harm."

"Then, why is she taunting me like this?" I asked, my anguish clearly visible on my features. "She told me you have wonderful stories to tell me about her and that I was following your footsteps."

"And you found that unacceptable?" Dad's voice was low, his humor forgotten. He looked at me, searching answers and all I could do was bend my head low.

When Ashley told me that I was treading the same path as him, I trembled on my spot. No matter what I was going to be, I didn't want to be my Dad. It was one of the reasons why I was a little against the track entrance. Now that I had entered it, I wanted to make a difference. But no, I was just like him.

"It's not like that." I said, looking at him. I couldn't bear to tell him all that, of course. We were walking on safe waters and I didn't want to overstep it, only to let us drown. "When she said that, I thought you two were close enough for her to make such comments."

"Oh Scar," Dad placed his hand on mine. "They are all just racers. They tell stuffs just before you race to let your spirits down." I looked at him, my eyes wide. It was the first time that he was giving me some valid tips around the tracks. "You can take it to your heart and fail the races." He gave me a look, as if telling me that it was what had happened. "Or you can ignore it and then think about them later."

I snorted at him. He still had the capability to make me laugh even when I was mad at him. The Dad I knew was still there and I was foolish to let Ashley's words sit in my head this long. He and mom loved each other and that was it, I didn't have to suspect it even for a second.

"That was some speech." I said, with a smile tugging on my lips.

"Eat up, honey." Dad smiled. "Don't let others words spoil your peace."

---

I was scrubbing the used plates at the back of the kitchen at the Kapoor's café. Though my body needed the rest from travelling, my mind refused to oblige. I wanted to be preoccupied to make sure that I wasn't revolving around the same words and memories.

For the first time, I had asked Dad if he needed a ride to his flower shop. I had anticipated all kind of drama to unroll as he stumbled on the front seat while I folded his wheelchair and placed it at the back. To my surprise he had not made a single comment on my driving skills and had even joked and talked as if it were a common thing. I had expected him to jump up and cling to anything possible just to save himself from my drive.

To be frank, his calmness worried me.

Paul, his flower shop owner came to my rescue when I had to get Dad back on his chair. According to the good doc, Dad would need another few weeks of rest in the chair and then he could hop around with a stick. I was thrilled about the news but Dad looked a little uneasy with the information making me wonder why.

I cleaned my hand and wiped them on the rag cloth. With a fresh cloth, I started wiping off the water from the utensils I had just cleaned. The Saturday buzz was more and Monica had volunteered to stay back and help.

After the stunt that Mira put me in, I was more scared to talk to her. Ever since then, Monica had been regular to the café, making sure that her mother stayed put while she did all her routine works. Though Mira was not okay with her doing nothing while Monica took care of her things, she didn't utter a word against it.

"Scar, are you done there?" Monica asked from the reception counter, taking a few orders from the customers that stood in front of her. "I need a hand here."

"Coming!" I shouted back, keeping the utensils as it is. "'Sup?"

"I have an urgent call, can you take over?" Monica asked, her teeth clamped together as if she was very sorry for interrupting my work. "I'll only be like five minutes." I narrowed my eyes at her, clearly not convinced. "Okay, ten."

I laughed and patted on her shoulder. "Go on." I said. "I'll take care here."

It took me another twenty minutes to get the orders on the table and to walk around asking them how the ambience was. After that, I sat on a chair, scrolling through the social media.

"I'm so sorry." Monica said, taking a seat next to me. Her wavy hair braided together swung around her neck like a black cobra. She gave me a guilty smile and kept her phone on the table. "It was Clark."

"Isn't he your fiancée?" I asked, wondering out loud. Monica nodded her head. "So when are you getting married?"

"Who in the hell told you that?" Monica laughed loud.

I only rolled my eyes at her. "You said he's your fiancée. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

"I suppose you are right." She sighed. "But it's complicated, you know."

"Because you are not agreeing to get married?" I asked.

It had not been so long since Mira told me that Monica had not agreed to get married to Clark though she was head over heels in love with him. It seemed like she was scared of the commitment, even when I didn't believe that.

"Who the heck told you that?" She wondered, but then cursed under her breath getting her answers all on her own. "I'm going to deal with mother later." I chuckled. "He asked me again today."

Her silence was more than enough for me to guess that something was not adding up. "So, you don't like him?"

"No, that's not it. I really do." She confessed. "But if I agree and get married, then things are going to change."

"That's always the case, right?" I asked perplexed. "If you love him, then it will be worth it all."

"Are you sure my mom is not keeping her hands on top of yours and giving all her wisdom to you?" She gave me a grin. "You are talking just like her. But, no. Love is not everything."

I looked at her as if she had gone mad. I had read a hundreds of romance stories and had seen a million chick-flicks to know that love was more than enough. Apparently, in my case, that kind of love never came my way. But when it was flowing in Monica's direction, she was only leading it in opposite direction, making me wonder why.

"Is... is it because of your Dad?" I asked. Having seen enough of love and drama in her younger life, she might have said a big goodbye to the whole fiasco for all she cared. "Like commitment issues? Mira often tells that."

Monica rolled her eyes. "She thinks the worst of me, doesn't she?" She shook her head. "It's all messed up, you know."

"Hey," I reached for her, stroking her head in comfort. "It's okay. Everything's going to be alright, give it some time."

It was not so long ago that Monica had made me a cup of hot chocolate, consoling me on my teenage headaches. Now, if I thought about it, my problems seemed to be dwindled in front of hers. She was in her late twenties and already had tension lines in her head. My heart broke for her.

"I don't have time." Monica chuckled ironically. "Clark is a great guy; I mean I know him since my college days, but he would not be wanting to wait forever, right?"

I stayed quiet, not knowing what to answer to that.

"He's been asking me for two years and I've been pushing my luck with him so long." Monica looked away towards the window, her memories daunting her. "What if he finds another girl who would want to settle with him?"

"Why don't you want to get married?" I asked slowly.

"Mom's going to be alone if I do." I could tell that she was trying very hard not to cry. I understood that she was torn between the two people whom she loved the most. "I cannot abandon her."

"It may not be that way." I supplied.

"She has been through a lot, Scar." Monica shook her head sideways. "She had lost not only her loving husband but also her doting son, back to back. She had become a little unstable then and had to quit her chef job to get herself back in shape."

My eyes popped big as I took in the information.

"I had only got into college then – to Harvard to study business. But I quit it to come back home." She said, looking at her nails on her finger. "She was a mess and I had to pick everything from scratch to make things better again. I joined a local college here, did three odd jobs to take care of the expenses that fell on me."

She turned to face me with a small smile, which didn't reach her eyes. Not a single drop of tear was seen on her face. It seemed as if she had hardened herself to meet her family's requirement. The tension lines that I had seen earlier now felt like the battle scars she had bravely worn after fighting with herself.

"You did good, Mon." I said.

"That was when I met Clark." She said, her eyes softening. "He had understood me the second he had seen me." Just like Nick. Here the only difference was she had got her happily ever after while I still chased mine. "Now, he's wanting to settle down with me and here I am not able to decide."

"I think you should just take a leap of faith and jump in." I smiled.

"It's not that easy." Monica said, shaking her head. "Clark's parents are quite old school, you know, who believe that kids should be out of the house after they hit seventeen. But I am still living with my mother."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with helping your parents out." I said. If I had to make that decision when I would go to college, I would probably follow Monica's steps. "Did you tell them that?"

"Yeah, they were convinced at first." She said. "But now, since I'm backing away from marriage after which they want me to start a family separately, they think I'm a little crazy."

"Does Mira know about all these?" I asked. I was a little sure that Monica wouldn't have told Mira her personal problems, but apparently, she had.

"Mom says she would be fine even if I go out of town." Monica rolled her eyes. "It's one of the reasons why she wants this to grow." She waved her hand around the café. "After the stunt she pulled on Wednesday, how can I sit in peace?"

"How's she now?" I asked. "Does she still have those hallucinations?"

"I don't know." Monica rotated her head clockwise, releasing the stress of the muscles. "The reports came yesterday, and everything seems normal. Even the psychiatrist says nothing to worry about. But still I can't make out why she acted like that."

"She seems okay to me." I said, looking at Mira. She had completed one set of cup cakes and was admiring her handy work.

"We... we actually never saw the body." Monica said in a low voice, her head hung low. I gasped at this new information. "The car had slid across the road and Ratan had fallen from the seat." I looked at her wondering how he had fallen from his seat. "He hadn't worn his seat belt." She supplied, waving her hands in the air. "Another truck had run over him. His... his head was smashed."

"Oh, God." I gasped, keeping my hands on my mouth. Deaths were a difficult topic for me, especially the accidents.

"He had worn a white shirt that day." Monica said, her voice caught up in her throat. "It had become red by the time he was identified. We couldn't identify his face and since it was my mom's car, we knew it was him for sure."

"That's... so..."

"He was a rebel at that age." Monica sniffed. "God, I'm so sappy at times." She laughed nervously, wiping her tears away. "I blame everything on him, though. We have gone through a lot because of him."

I understood her point of view. Sometimes, I still blamed my mother for the life I was living now. After all, don't the deaths of our loved ones, take a piece of soul from us?

---

A/N: Deaths, failures are a part of life. The sooner we understand the better we can live. Don't you think so? What do you think of Edward's answers? And Monica's sacrifices?