Chapter 86: Under the Spotlight

Rohan stepped out of the Olympic Village into the bright morning sunlight, his steps purposeful but his mind clouded. The noise of the city buzzed around him, and the atmosphere was electric. Athletes from every corner of the world roamed the grounds, wearing their country's colors with pride. Some were already competing, others were deep in preparation for the events that were yet to begin, but one thing was certain—everyone was feeling the weight of the Olympic Games.

It wasn't just the scale of the competition that had changed. Rohan could feel the shift in how people treated him, how the media swarmed around him like moths to a flame. In the weeks leading up to the Olympics, the buzz around his name had grown to a deafening roar. After qualifying for the Indian team, the media had positioned him as a leading contender for India's first major track and field medal in decades. Every headline, every interview, every article seemed to revolve around one central narrative: *Rohan Singh—the athlete who could bring India Olympic glory*.

While the initial attention had felt like validation of his hard work and dedication, now it was becoming suffocating. The Olympic Games were about to begin, and the expectations placed on his shoulders felt heavier than ever. Every time he stepped outside the Village, there was a camera in his face, a reporter asking him about his chances, about the weight of representing a billion people on the global stage.

Today was no different.

As soon as Rohan made his way to the training track, a group of journalists spotted him. Their cameras clicked furiously as they called out to him, trying to get his attention. A couple of them pushed through the crowd, shoving microphones toward his face.

"Rohan! Rohan!" one reporter shouted, nearly breathless with excitement. "How are you feeling about your chances in the 1500 meters? The entire country is watching. How confident are you of bringing home a medal?"

Rohan plastered on a smile, though his stomach churned. "I'm feeling good," he said, his voice steady but guarded. "I've been training hard, and I'm just focused on running my best race."

Another reporter jumped in before he could move away. "There's a lot of talk about you being India's best hope for a medal in track and field. How are you handling the pressure?"

Rohan's smile tightened. "The pressure's always there, but I'm just trying to stay focused on the process, on what I can control. I'll give it my all, and we'll see what happens."

The answers felt rehearsed, mechanical. They were the same responses he'd been giving for weeks now, but the truth was far more complicated. Rohan wasn't sure how he was handling the pressure. The weight of everyone's expectations—his country's hopes, his family's pride, the media's relentless coverage—had started to feel unbearable. It was as though every article written about him, every news report, added another layer of tension, pressing down on him from all sides.

As soon as he could, Rohan excused himself and made his way to the warm-up area, hoping for some peace. But even there, the whispers followed him. He could hear the chatter among the coaches and fellow athletes, people speculating about his chances, comparing his times with those of other runners from countries like Kenya, Ethiopia, and the U.S. His name was on everyone's lips.

Rohan tried to block it out, to focus on his drills, but the thoughts gnawed at him. *What if I fail? What if I don't live up to the expectations?*

---

That evening, back in the safety of his room in the Olympic Village, Rohan sat on his bed, staring at his phone. The screen was filled with notifications—congratulatory messages from old friends, interview requests from every major news outlet in India, and countless mentions on social media. People back home were already calling him a hero. They had pinned their hopes on him, expecting him to be the one to break the country's long-standing drought in athletics.

Rohan ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. He knew that this kind of attention was inevitable. It was the Olympics, after all, and being hyped as a potential medalist came with the territory. But the pressure was starting to creep under his skin, and he didn't know how to shake it.

As he scrolled through his messages, his phone buzzed with a call. It was his mother.

"Beta, how are you?" her voice came through, warm and familiar. "We saw you on TV again today! You looked so focused."

Rohan leaned back against the headboard, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I'm doing okay, Ma. Just a lot of interviews and stuff. How's everyone back home?"

"Oh, we're all fine," his mother replied, her excitement palpable even over the phone. "The whole neighborhood is talking about you. They're so proud, Rohan. People are even putting up posters with your picture! You've become such a big star."

Rohan's smile faltered. He could hear the pride in her voice, but it only added to the pressure weighing on him. His family had always supported him, but now, it felt like their hopes and dreams were wrapped up in his success at the Olympics.

"That's great," he said, forcing his voice to stay upbeat. "I just… I need to stay focused on the race, Ma. There's still a lot of work to do."

His mother sensed the shift in his tone. "Beta, don't worry so much," she said gently. "Whatever happens, we're already so proud of you. You've come so far. Just do your best. That's all anyone can ask."

"I know, Ma," Rohan replied softly. "Thanks. I'll talk to you later, okay? I've got an early start tomorrow."

"Take care of yourself," she said before hanging up.

Rohan set the phone down and closed his eyes, his mother's words lingering in his mind. Just do your best. That's all anyone can ask. But that wasn't true. The media, the fans, the people back home—they weren't just asking for his best. They were asking for a medal. They wanted him to win, to be the hero who brought India Olympic glory. Anything less would be seen as a disappointment.