Trigger warning: 19th November

***

India lost the final of the World Cup 2023 over a long-drawn-out, unendurable hour as Travis Head and Marnus Labuchagne made merry in front of the silent crowd of Ahmedabad. But then came that moment when they actually lost. If the hour had been unendurable, what was needed to describe this moment didn't exist.

In no language, KL Rahul reflected, was there a word that could describe the moment you lost a World Cup final.

Kannada, Hindi, English. Nowhere.

Stop it. Stop, Rahul told the thing inside him that had no name as he stared at something green and brown. Please stop.

After a minute, or possible two, his vision cleared. He was kneeling on the ground, he discovered, with his head bowed and his gloved hands clasped. The grass! That was the green-brown thing he'd been wondering at.

He told the unnamed thing a last time to stop, and looked up. In front of his eyes now were the stumps. Unbroken stumps, which he'd tried to break with sheer will so hard the past hour with no success.

He had managed to stop that thing inside him. He unclasped his hands. And there, he had stood up again.

Yellow and blue shapes, blurred, were all around, shaking hands. The yellow ones were jumping. The blue ones were moving in slow motion.

Rahul fought one last time. Stop!

The shapes came into focus. Siraj was crying; Jassi was trying and failing to console him. Rahul made his way towards them mechanically to give them both a pat on the back.

Neither reacted, so he went ahead to brush Jaddu's shoulder and squeeze Shubman's hand.

And he knew he had won against that strong, unnamed horror. He had lost a World Cup final that day, but he had won against something that was more terrifying that losing the World Cup itself.

__________________

Few hours later, when he had collapsed into bed without changing his jersey and without eating—like his fourteen other teammates—the knock came, just like he'd known it would. He had known who it would be even before the knock, and now that he'd heard the pattern of the knock, it was confirmed.

When he opened the door, Virat touched Rahul's cheeks tenderly and asked, just like the latter had known, "Are you okay, Rahuliya?"

"Yes," said Rahul, to whom it didn't feel at all a lie. "You?"

"Oh, yes," said Virat. "Yes, I'm okay, but the others are not. Jaddu keeps on laughing, he frightens me a bit—and Rohit hasn't spoken at all since—he just won't speak to anyone."

"I know," said Rahul.

"Shubi and Siraj will get themselves sick if they cry any more. Ash left, I don't know where he is—Shreyas wouldn't open his door—I'm scared of what he might do—"

"Don't worry, he'll only drink till he passes out," said Rahul. "He's that sort, you know."

"Kuldeep's been scratching his arms so much, he's bleeding all over...and Jassi could barely walk the last time I saw him...Shami went to sleep without eating, can you imagine? And Rahul bhai was crying, too...and I'd never heard Dilip sir voicing a negative thought before before...oh, Rahul, everything's such a mess..."

Virat had spoken steadily so far, but now his mouth was trembling and his eyes were a shade too bright.

"...how are we ever going to make it out?"

A member of the hotel staff passed by, and asked, "Can I get you anything, sirs?"

"No, but thank you," said Virat, and waited till he was out of earshot before saying, "I wish we were in some far-off country like...like England. Or even Australia. I can't bear to see this awful disappointment everywhere I look."

Virat banged his head against the door and caught the handle on his forehead and howled.

"Virat!" Rahul pulled his head away. The sight of the bloody bruise just below his hairline changed Rahul's annoyance to despair and back to annoyance again.

"I'm sorry," Virat choked. "I don't even know what I'm doing."

Rahul caught his arms and pulled him inside, resisted the urge to slam the door (shutting it softly instead) and pushed Virat to sit down on the bed. By the time he returned with a wet tissue, Virat was rubbing the bruise vigorously, making it bleed more.

Rahul slapped away his hand and pressed the tissue to the wound. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I don't know," said Virat, despondently. "So many things feel wrong, I can't pinpoint upon what exactly is wrong with me."

Rahul did the only thing that occurred to him: put his arms around Virat. "We're going to make it out of this mess, Virat, I promise."

It was a hollow promise without much conviction, but Virat clung to him so hard, Rahul wouldn't be surprised if he'd cracked a rib or two.

__________________

After a long time of silence, when Rahul's collar was soaked through with Virat's tears, Virat spoke.

"And I had this tiny, silly little hope. Year back, I'd seen a meme once that said, what Virat Kohli was to MS Dhoni, KL Rahul is to Virat Kohli. Ever since, I wanted to give you a World Cup like Mahi bhai gave me, and we'd walk, draped in tricolour, and you would have to lean into me, to recreate that picture."

"What a silly fancy," Rahul said.

"I know," said Virat, smiling through his tears. "I know. You'd never be caught on camera leaning on me since that debut of yours. But I had a back-up plan too. If you refused to act me, you could act Mahi bhai and I'd still act myself."

"That's even sillier."

"It does seem so now," agreed Virat. He tousled Rahul's hair and kissed his forehead, though Virat was still the only one crying. "I think we should try to sleep."

"Okay," said Rahul, but he wouldn't have suggested that himself, because he'd been prepared to hold Virat as long as Virat needed.

Both of them tried to sleep. Neither, of course, could. Virat sniffled against the dark, and Rahul fought a battle with his will and refused to shed a single tear however much his eyes hurt.

Everyone said he was only himself when he was with Virat. And that was true. But what of when Virat was broken and clung to Rahul, desperately needing something to hold on?

__________________

Rahul returned home nearly a week after the finals, and no sooner had to had a bath (also, possibly, after one week), Mayank came striding into his room.

"Hey," said Rahul, who was still toweling his hair. "You're like a plague, y'know, with that timing of yours."

"Yeah, well, circumstances, K." Mayank looked into his face intently. "How are you holding up?"

"Great," said Rahul.

"In case it wasn't clear, I meant without the sarcasm."

"No, I'm serious," said Rahul. "I haven't cried a single time; I've been great compared to everyone else. You should've seen the crying in the flight."

His eyes were alarmingly devoid of expression.

"Um..." said Mayank.

"I mean, I can't really take credit, though. Maybe I've been so much better because I have only myself to blame. For everyone else in the team, and in the country—including you—it was something out of their control."

Rahul laughed. Mayank's alarm rose.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at," Mayank said cautiously, "but it doesn't sound like something I can ever approve of."

Rahul laughed again, louder and wilder than he ever did. "C'mon, Mayu. No more talking of this last week. I'm fine; now that you've seen I'm fine, you're fine, so that's that. Want to go for a walk?"

Before coming here, the past week, Mayank would have been relieved if he knew his best friend would ask him for a walk instead of being quiet. But the way Rahul's gaze looked right through Mayank was beginning to freak him out.

"Cat got your tongue?" Rahul demanded, laughing again.

And no, the maniacal laughter was not helping.

"No, let's not go for a walk. There's forecast of rain." Mayank looked around, spotted the blue jersey crumpled on the chair, and took a very, very risky gamble. "Hey, is that the jersey you wore in the final?"

"Yeah." Rahul shrugged. "So?"

His eyes were wild, the whites rimmed with red. Mayank almost took a step back—as he was sure anyone would if dead eyes like those looked into theirs from a living body.

Did Rahul honestly not realize he wasn't fine?

"No, I just remembered," said Mayank, bracing himself and flashing Rahul a maniacal grin of his own. "Wasn't it funny when we hit only one boundary in thirty overs?"

Rahul froze.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, it was very fu—WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

Mayank jumped five feet into the air in shock.

Something—that turned out to be a glass water bottle—went flying into the air and crashed into the door and shattered—and Rahul flung himself down on the floor, screaming.

Mayank had accomplished one part of his goal: he'd made his best friend realize he was not fine.

The other part (making him feel better)? That was on the way to a disaster.

He couldn't make out what Rahul was screaming. Then he realized there were no words in the scream. It was just a—scream.

Mayank got a firm grip on his emotions (primarily horrified guilt) and knelt in front of Rahul, trying to take his shoulders.

"GET AWAY FROM ME."

Rahul moved so fast Mayank almost didn't register, but next thing he knew was Rahul rocking back and forth on the bed, still screaming.

__________________

When the screaming stopped, and Mayank tentatively reached out to touch Rahul's arm, Rahul shook his head warningly.

"I'm sorry," whispered Mayank.

Rahul's voice was ragged. "Don't be."

He walked to the balcony. Mayank followed him hastily. Rahul looked like he'd love to throw something (or himself) out of it.

"What?" asked Mayank uneasily. "Does jumping down seem enticing to you?"

"Not as much as swallowing cyanide," Rahul said in a nasty tone.

"Don't, K."

"Don't what? Don't swallow cyanide?"

"No, don't say such things."

"Okay," said Rahul, breathing rapidly. "If you do something for me in return."

"What?" asked Mayank warily.

"You know I'm a big part of the reason we lost," said Rahul. "You would've heard people talking. At the academy, in the neighborhood, on the internet—within our families, too, maybe—tell me all you've heard or read."

"Why? What is that going to accomplish?"

"If you blame me enough, I'll see if I can find any defense." Rahul turned to look at him. He didn't appear to be looking through Mayank anymore, though his eyes were brimming. "Please, Mayank. I really need to find some defense for myself."

"But it wasn't your f—"

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR OPINION. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANYONE'S POSITIVE OPINION. GIVE ME THE NEGATIVE ONES."

Mayank swallowed.

He was pretty sure this was going to end up being counterproductive. But if Rahul somehow believed it might help, maybe they could give it a shot...and Mayank knew no one but himself would ever agree to this crazy demand.

"All right," said Mayank, hoarsely. "The ones with negative opinions...are...saying...that you played too s-slow...you and Virat played too cautiously and didn't try to counter attack at all in the middle overs..."

Rahul's gaze was fixed on the ground, but he was nodding.

"—which was, of course, what you'd decided on so you'd get to a decent, defendable score instead of aiming too high and falling too short—"

"I said negative ones, Mayank," said Rahul in a defeated voice.

"Okay." This was turning out to be the hardest thing Mayank had ever done. "You didn't have to hit boundaries or play aggressively—but you didn't even try to—rotate the strike—"

"Yeah. I know." Rahul seemed content to accept everything open-chested even as tears fell down his chin to his shirt in a continuous stream.

"And after Virat's wicket, you retreated into a shell—you should have accelerated after Jaddu's wicket in the 35th over at l-least—damn it, K, I can't do this!" screamed Mayank finally, and it was only then that he realized he was crying quite as badly as his friend now. "You don't need a defense! You worked on a plan and it didn't work out, but you tried your best. That's all that matters! You gave your all, you tried your best!"

"Yes, I did," sobbed Rahul. "I really did. But our plan didn't work out, and I can't ever go back and...undo it."

Mayank wasn't sure who threw himself into the other's arms, but there they were, clasping each other and crying.

"Life should allow us at least one—just one—control Z," Rahul said slowly, gulping in air. "I wouldn't have decided to attack Starc when I was confused between attacking and letting it go. Don't you think we should have a chance to undo one moment in our life, Mayank?"

"Yeah," said Mayank. "But nothing's fair."

"And nothing is ever going to be right in my life again."

"It will be, though."

"No, it won't."

"Yes, it will." Mayank squeezed Rahul and released him so he could look at him. "Because I'll not rest till it is. Would you bet against my pig-headed stubbornness that you've been complaining about your whole life, K?"

And then the miracle happened, the first step towards Mayank's purpose.

His best friend smiled.

***

A/N 1: Mayank's dialogue in this OS is the hardest thing I have ever written. 300 days after that day, I will still happily stab anyone who dares blame Rahuliya's knock for our loss.

A/N 2: Happy birthday 

There is no one else for whom I'd be forced to recreate an OS Wattpad decided to delete, but apparently advanced birthday gifts aren'' enough for some nangrows these days.

Anyway, Shamee, I love you. We became friends much around this time last year, because I remember when you'd told me your birthday, I'd been like oh, it just passed. You get me like few people do, and I'm really grateful that, in ChatGPT's words, "once upon a time, in the vast expanse of the internet, amidst the virtual pages of Wattpad, two souls found each other in the most unexpected of places: Trisha, a budding writer with a penchant for weaving tales of romance and adventure, and Shamee, an avid reader with a hunger for captivating stories, who stumbled upon each other's works one fateful day."

Also, Iloveourpesonalizeddictionary.