The ground beneath Shranav patiently bore the misery the batsman was inflicting on it; keeping pace with the growing impatience of his left foot, the marks on his forehead grew deeper. The smooth, tempting carrot in his grip, which had stolen a number of curious glances on the way, was offered yet another moderate squeeze.

After a protracted period of waiting, the door finally opened on the right side of the frame to reveal a young man. Although his light-brown face held a visible impression of consternation, he was far from being astonished. Following the series of mysterious glares that he was offered by the batsman throughout the practice session, a private conversation was the least he could expect.

"Sorry," said Reet. "I was in the washroom."

Shranav rolled his eyes. "So, if you are done by any chance, may I come in, sir?"

Reet uttered yet another word of apology in haste as he awkwardly stepped back to clear the entrance. As the older guy walked in, he closed the door and turned back with anxiety and curiosity holding fast to his limbs.

"I'll get straight to business," Shranav said with his cold eyes locked on the kid. "What's going on between you and that—I mean Waseef?"

Reet gasped. "What? Who?"

"Waseef Ibrahim. The captain of—"

"I know who he is." The lad cut him off, wishing his reply would not be deemed impertinent.

"Wonderful. Now tell me. What's up with you two?"

The silence from the other side was not welcomed by the batsman. He raised the carrot in his hand in a rather threatening manner as he carried on. "Either you speak up like a good boy or your throat will soon have an Adam's carrot instead."

If Reet had not been on the receiving end of the admonition, it would have elicited a chuckle from him. He guided his vision to his feet before offering a soft reply. "I don't know."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know anything." Although Reet knew that redundancy was a bad idea, he indeed did not know what else to say.

"He talked to you several hours before the last match, didn't he?"

The young man knew it was pointless to deny the truth. "Yes, he did."

Shranav's silence was an obvious signal demanding continuation. Reet, however, refused to add to the confession. A fair portion of him was clearly toiling to hold back his body from shuddering.

Surprisingly, the batsman's expression softened as he walked closer to him. "Look, kid, you have no reason to be afraid if you have not deliberately dived into any fishy business. Just tell me what you know about him and his intentions."

The color on Reet's face was partially restored as he once again placed his eyes on Shranav. He briefly studied his expression before looking away. "What he did... I mean... during the match... when he—"

"He? He what? Tell me, Reet. Tell me!"

"It was not real."

"What?"

"The incident was planned beforehand. He only pretended to misbehave with me. But... but... believe me, I have absolutely nothing to do with it."

"He just came and told me what he was going to do," he added, "and... and asked me not to be scared. I was supposed to stay silent about it. The unusual request or instruction, or whatever it was, puzzled me. Before I could figure out what to say, he walked away. I thought it was some kind of joke, but when he really ended up doing that, I did not know how to react."

Shranav's sharp gaze continued to pierce him. "Why would he do something like that?"

Reet shipped his vision back to the batsman with a desperate look clutching to his face. "You have to believe me. I really don't know! And it truly is the part that shocked me the most. He just brought disgrace and some fine upon himself by acting that way. I tried really hard to figure out an explanation behind this bizarre behavior, but in vain."

"Why didn't you tell me, or at least Aanvik, about it?"

"I was scared."

Shranav could not resist a chortle. "Seriously? Scared of Aanvik? This guy apologizes to the ball when he hits it too hard."

"But they are friends. He wouldn't even have believed me, right?"

The batsman pushed aside a strong urge to roll his eyes. "Whatever. Are you sure you aren't keeping anything from me?"

Reet vigorously shook his head. "Nothing."

Shranav scanned the young man from top to bottom before abruptly directing the hand with the carrot toward him. A bewildered look was precipitated on the lad's face as he bounced backward.

"Your reward," Shranav said in a calm tone.

Following a gasp, Reet reached out for the carrot. "Th-thanks."

"Don't mention it, kid. But just in case you are tampering with the truth, I better not find it out." Shranav offered a final stern glare before walking off toward the door.

"And another thing," he said in a casual fashion without bothering to face the guy. "Be ready to repeat what you just said when you are asked to. No addition, no subtraction, and definitely no alteration. Aanvik will hear only what I did. Got it?"

Reet nodded, and Shranav did not seem to be desperate for a verbal response. The youngster, who was still under the spell of confusion, bit off the carrot's tip as he watched him disappear.

**********

Twilight drifted into darkness before Mayank's eyes; the unimpeded transition of the sky seemed to ignite an unexplained sensation of terror deep in his heart. No force in the world interrupted the spontaneous flow of his life, but he did not know if he was a lost wanderer in a dark night or an eager soul sitting by the sea awaiting sunrise. The dark veil would eventually be lifted off the sky, but such certainty, to him, was an unaffordable luxury.

A spark of rage began to grow in his mind as the clouds above growled mildly. His eyes were narrowed as he made them descend from the open window.

A soft call reached his ear from the other side of the bed. "Mayank?"

He did not respond.

"Mayank!"

He could almost hear the sizzling sound of his fury.

"Are you ever gonna talk again?" Fayzan let out an impatient cry. "Mayank, you are an idiot!"

The all-rounder turned his head to the right. "What do you want, worm?"

"I was going to ask you the same. What do you want?"

Mayank got up on his feet and turned around. The kid was sitting cross-legged on the bed with his arms folded in a serious manner. The dark shade on his fair face confirmed he was not having a pleasant day.

"What do you mean?"

"Have you even thought this through? You don't belong here, Mayank!"

"I know what I am doing! If there's one place in the world where I belong, it's here."

Fayzan sighed. "Do you really know what you want?"

"Of course, I do." Mayank narrowed his eyes. "I will be the most wicked, the most nefarious killer the world has ever known. I will kill you first, then your worms, and then everyone else. Everyone... I will kill everyone!"

The boy kept his eyes locked on Mayank for a moment. The occasional roars from the sky were growing louder.

"Forget about killing," said Fayzan following the brief pause. "You can't even hurt an innocent."

The all-rounder smirked. "You have forgotten the night I sent your cousin crashing to the ground."

"That's because you think he did something to you."

Mayank swiftly turned around to conceal his face. He was not particularly intrigued by the idea of telecasting the discomfort that was crippling his limbs. A couple of moments later, a portion of it subsided, allowing the rage from before to claim its place in his mind. 

"You are wrong!" The audible desperation in his voice seemed to jeer at the words' attempt to sound convincing. "I can hurt anyone I want to."

"No, I am not wrong. You can't!"

Mayank rushed to the table and grabbed his barrow knife. With a fierce veil across his face, he flew toward the door. "I can hurt innocents! I can hurt everyone!" he uttered in a fury-filled whisper. His clenched fist threw a punch in the air before he sprinted away from Fayzan's sight.

The boy seemed to relent a moment later, unknowingly allowing anxiety to overpower the annoyance that was building up inside him. Fayzan, for the moment, tried to shake off the peculiar feeling he was gradually developing for the strange guy, who was perpetually out of his mind. He let waves of concern play in his eyes as he threw his gaze out through the window. It was pouring heavily.

Barely a minute later, the boy found himself running out of the house, indifferent toward the rain. He stopped a few steps away from the front door. Despite the continuous spill, the light escaping through the old barn house's window allowed him to make out the silhouette of a man standing several feet away, as if he were awaiting the kid's arrival.

"Mayank?" The boy cried out, fearing and hoping at the same time that the sound of rain would bury his voice. He did not wish for the call to reach Vaibhav.

The shadow took off again.

"Wait!" Fayzan screeched, struggling to keep pace with him.

He, rather unsurprisingly, slipped and collapsed on his knees, but the occurrence failed to steal a considerable deal of time. He got up almost instantly and started to run again without a second thought. He knew he would have hours to worry about the pain once he was out of this insanity.

"Slow down!" he cried.

Fortunately, yet unbelievably enough for the boy, Mayank stopped right in the middle of a nearby field. He caught up in no time.

"Too desperate to prove me wrong, aren't you?" howled the all-rounder as he sensed the kid standing behind him. "You think I am afraid of blood and pain? What do you know of misery, little brat?" He turned around grimly. "See this knife in my hand? It has sucked more blood from my veins than your body can hold. And you think I can't hurt anyone?"

Fayzan scowled. "You still don't get my point! Can't you see? You are only hurting yourself! Why would you spill your own blood?"

Mayank stepped closer to the boy. "If I could, I would have spilled half of my blood."

"Why?"

"Worm."

"What?"

"Go away."

"But—"

"Go away. You don't want me to plunge the knife into your heart." 

"Leave at once!" he yelled as the boy refused to move. "If you die, your worms will be the next in line! Run!"

Fayzan stepped back abruptly as Mayank stretched the hand that was holding the knife. Obeying was the wisest thing to do at the moment, and he had no reason to approach an alternative. Following a final glance, the kid turned around and let his feet carry him away from the wannabe demon on the loose.

Although he was glad and even surprised to find his way back to the residence without stumbling into further trouble, his gratitude drowned in the cacophony of overwhelming emotions. Fayzan was certain that he had heard Vaibhav taking his name, but he did not dare to be distracted in the race against an unknown rival. He hastily made his way into his room and slammed the door shut. Whether or not he had won was something that did not seem to bother him.

He calmly walked to the corner of the bed where Toby sat. He picked the toy up and held him in a cuddle, knowing that his friend would not mind the wet T-shirt.

"Don't worry, I am okay," he whispered to the stuffed tiger. "I am sorry that I couldn't take you along. They don't have a dryer here. If you get soaked, I'll have to hang you under the sun for days."

"No, I have locked the door. I won't let the bad guy enter today. He will stay outside in his drenched clothes. That will teach him a lesson."

Fayzan pressed his lips against the toy's nose.

"I wish I was taken away by those kidnappers, Toby. At least, they would have released me after getting their hands on whatever they would have demanded. Because they know what they want. Mayank doesn't. He is an idiot."

"He is the greatest idiot in the world. I don't want to be stuck here with him. I want Waseef Bhaiya."

The embrace grew tighter. The unknown feeling that urged him to go after Mayank appeared to be too foreign, too much of a distant matter for him to believe it had ever crossed his mind. Terming it as affection would have been an audacious action even back when the sensation was tickling his heart, and now the entire thing seemed to be a whimpering jest.

"Or... or... I want to find my... brother! He will take me home."

Fayzan headed back to reality with a sudden jerk. He did not know for how long he had been sleeping or if he had fallen asleep at all. The corner of the bed sheet was wet from the water that rolled down his hair. Toby was lying quietly on his thigh; the boys' arms abandoned the toy when consciousness sneaked out of him.

The boy shivered, suddenly recalling that he was still in his wet clothes; his body was heavy with apathy as he walked to the corner and changed into dry ones. He grabbed a towel and began to torment his hair. As the fabric descended to his face, a familiar smell assailed his nostrils. He held the towel before his eyes for a second before letting out an exasperated sigh. It was Mayank's. He put it back in its place. The unsolicited appearance of the towel sparked the stinging memories of Waseef and the other boys. He loved to use the possessions of his loved ones, and in fact, a fair portion of his treasures back home had belonged to Waseef or Nayif at some point in their lives. The ones he held closer than the valves in his heart were now wandering on a shore beyond his reach; between them lied a vast, unknown sea.

His narrowed eyes blazed with acrimony as he directed them to the closed door. Following a moment of pointless observation, he sighed once again. In moderate steps, he walked toward the entrance. The door was unlocked with a faint sound.

To the child's relief, there was no sign of the all-rounder.

Although a little turmoil followed, Fayzan was peacefully pasted against the bed surface several minutes later, satisfied with his little, mischievous arrangement. The light was left ignited, Mayank's towel was nowhere to be seen, and the contents of his bag were lying scattered on the floor. The boy was confident that the instances would let his enemy know Fayzan was angry—very angry.