Virat woke up the next morning with an acute feeling of guilt.

Actually, it was a bit rich to say he woke up, because he'd barely gone to sleep at all, drifting in and out, alternating between, 'I should call him' and 'No, he should have called me first' and 'I can always ask Rohit anyway.'

When he got up properly, guilt was the predominant over indignation.

There was no reason to be feeling so guilty, he told himself. Rahul had left him to find out about a ligament tear, a prospective surgery and being ruled out of the WTC final from the media. Even Rohit hadn't given him a heads-up beforehand, because, no doubt, he had never imagined Rahul wouldn't have directly told him.

Scowling, Virat called Rohit, who sounded, as usual, like he'd been in the middle of deep slumber.

"Exactly how many hours do you sleep a day?" Virat asked crankily.

"It's not even eight," said Rohit sleepily. "What d'you want?"

"Have you spoken to Rahul?"

"Yeah, yesterday. Why?"

"How is he?"

Rohit must have shaken his head violently, because all traces of drowsiness had vanished from his voice.

"What do you mean how is he?"

"I--I--fell asleep yesterday," said Virat, quickly improvising (it was a good excuse--he could use that with Rahul, too). "I just found out."

"I thought he said he'd spoken to you when he called me," said Rohit, unconvinced. "Anyway, maybe I got him wrong. He sounded like he'd have sounded depressed if he wasn't Rahul. You know how he is."

"Yeah, I know how he is..."

"Is he sleeping?" asked Rohit. "You know how those medications get you--"

"How am I supposed to know if he's sleeping?" said Virat, the word 'medications' having plunged him into deeper gloom.

"You still didn't call him and called me first?" demanded Rohit. "What on earth is wrong with you?" 

"I'm wondering the same," admitted Virat.

__________________

And he was to wonder that for a pretty long two hours as he dawdled through breakfast, finished up packing as they were leaving for Delhi at noon, and kept texting various people of their team--Jassi, Hardik, Mayank--if they had any fresh news. 

He didn't dare text Rohit, of course, because he'd only have gotten back a earful about what on earth was wrong with him?

It was just that he had not received the news firsthand from Rahul. As he certainly had deserved to. How could Rahul not call him when the reports came?

How could he have to rely on the media to get to know about such a serious development in Rahul's life, of all people?

How could Rahul justify that?

So maybe Virat hadn't waited back after the match. He wasn't expected to stay back to hang around the LSG captain who was busy with inflating his rude and willful mentor's ego--

Detox YOUR ego and call him, his conscience scolded.

Plus, his stomach was in knots.

Rahuliya didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to miss out on the second WTC final running. Out of everyone close to Rahul, Virat was the one who knew best how much Test cricket mattered to him, how long he'd toiled to make his mark in the longest format of the game, how in spite of ruling limited overs cricket in phases over the past years, to him, everything faded against Test cricket.

He would never say it loud to anyone, but Virat knew anyway.

He would be eaten up with misery, the poor boy.

The idiot, getting himself injured again right before the final!

Virat didn't need to detox his ego any further; he flew to grab his phone.

__________________

Rahul didn't answer when Virat called, but called back after a while, before Virat's guilt-fueled panic could blow up too much.

"How are you?" Virat asked.

"Oh, remembered me, have you?" said Rahul.

"I fell asleep yesterday after the match," said Virat. Even to himself, his tone sounded like a clear lie. Rahul had quite possibly detected it too, he thought with an uncomfortable squirm.

"Okay," Rahul said, or drawled.

A heavy weight seemed to have settled inside Virat's stomach.

"Yeah, so I saw the news now, because nobody told me--"

"Because you were sleeping," said Rahul in a nasty manner.

"A call might have woken me up," said Virat, also going nasty. "I don't sleep with my phone on silent, you know."

Rahul chose a dignified silence.

"Anyway," said Virat impatiently. "How are you?"

"Right as rain," said Rahul nonchalantly. "Thank you for your concern, though."

God, thought Virat. Who taught him to be this dramatic?

His inner voice laughed. Sure you have no idea?

"Well, obviously you're not right as rain," said Virat.

"Why did you ask, then?"

This time, Virat chose to ignore that with dignity.

"When is the surgery?" he asked instead.

"Next week. They're shifting me to Mumbai tomorrow."

"And--how long is it expected to--?"

"At least three months."

Virat felt guiltier.

He really should have gone over yesterday. A glance at the clock said they had to leave for the airport in two hours.

Plenty of time...

Then he remembered he had a brief interview scheduled with a newspaper agency before they left.

But surely he could cancel it and do it later online...

"Where exactly are you admitted?" he asked. "We leave in a couple of hours, I'll see if I can cancel this interview and go over--"

"No, it's ok, you're coming to Mumbai next week anyway," said Rahul.

"We are?" Virat quickly opened up their schedule on his iPad and checked. Yep, they had the away match with MI in seven days.

It loosened the weight in his stomach a little to think that Rahul had looked it up, too--when RCB would next be in Mumbai.

"Perfect," he said. "But I'm coming over now, as well--"

"There's no need to." Rahul's voice took on the stubborn note Virat knew very well. "Don't cancel the interview. It's not like I'm alone here."

"I didn't mean that!"

"See you next week," said Rahul firmly.

It was on the tip of Virat's tongue to shout 'Tough luck, I already cancelled the interview!' followed by 'You didn't tell me when the reports came either!'

Nor take my side against Gauti bhai.

When do you ever take my side, anyway?

"All right," said Virat, disgruntled, because the weight in stomach had got heavy again. "See you next week."