I wake up to vibrations from under my pillow. I ignore it, obviously, and tighten my grip on the body next to mine. The vibrations stop for one second, I let out a breath, and they start back up once more. I ignore it again. There's no solid reason for me to be ignoring it other than irritating whoever's calling me for the sheer sake of it. Honestly, I'm wide awake. I've been wide awake for quite a while now, but the person on the other end does not need to know that.

Besides, there are only two people who'll call me at this time. Actually, three, but I've blocked the third person, so I know it's not her.

Liam squirms underneath my draped arm and rolls over to face me, pushing my arm away. "Why are you not answering that?" he mumbles sleepily.

"I don't want to."

He opens an eye to glare at me, then stuffs a hand under my pillow, yanks my phone out, glides his thumb across the screen and throws the phone in my face.

"Why can't you ever answer on the first call?" Rishabh barks through the receiver.

"Because then I'll be considered easy," I say.

Liam snorts from where he's pretending to sleep, and I get off the bed to go find a corner.

"Who's that?" Rishi asks.

"Who's who?"

"I heard something. Are you in the room?"

"Where else would I be at the ass crack of dawn?"

"It's eleven o'clock."

"My statement still stands."

"Is there someone in your room?" Rishabh raises his voice, and I can predict the panic that'll soon follow. "Arya. Don't tell me you have someone in your room. Fuck. I told you—"

"There's no one. Now, what do you want?"

"Be ready in an hour. Check out and head to the airport. Your flight is at—"

"Yes, I know what time my flight is. I'm not a complete idiot."

"Three-thirty pm," he continues as though I didn't interrupt him, which, to be fair, is warranted since I'm known to interrupt a lot. "When you land, there will be some reporters wanting the first statement. Don't shoo them away. Don't walk past them. Don't—"

"I'm not talking to anyone," I say, and hope Rishabh can understand by my tone that it's not up for debate. I don't have any sort of wish to be under the public's scrutiny any more than I already am, and I intend to keep it that way.

"Arya—"

"No." I balance my phone between my shoulder and ear and stuff my legs into the tracks I found on the chair.

"One state—"

"No statements, no interviews, no photographs, no nothing. I told Kishan to park the car right in front of the VIP exit, so either way, it's just ten steps in and out. No point in stopping for those hounds."

I hear Rishabh let out a long, drawn-out sigh. It's not like I enjoy seeing him so exasperated—no, wait, that's not right, I do enjoy seeing him exasperated, especially when I'm the reason. But I don't like it when he's exasperated over something I've repeatedly told him I'm not interested in.

"Fine, do what you want. But after Hyderabad—"

"Just send the itinerary. You know I'm not going to listen to a word you say."

"Arya, for once in your life—"

I cut the call and toss my phone on the table.

"Why do you give your agent such a hard time?" Liam's propped on a fort of pillows, his hands behind his head, and a shit-eating grin on his face that makes me really want to make him eat shit.

I lean my butt against the table edge and cross my arms. "He's not my agent. He's just an overpaid babysitter," I grumble.

"You're talking like you don't need one."

And just for that, I punch the switchboard to my right, and all the lights in the room turn on.

He hisses and tugs the comforter over his head in a poor attempt to shield himself from the onslaught of photons. "Turn it off!" he yells.

Yeah, no, not happening. I need to start packing if I want to make that flight, and with the way I'm currently sauntering towards the bed, I have a good feeling I'll be practising for the Olympics in How Fast Can You Throw Things in a Suitcase and Race to the Airport.

I plop down the bed, belly first, and pluck the comforter from Liam. "You thinking of leaving anytime soon?"

"Yeah, yeah, give me a second. I'm recalibrating."

While Liam rubs his eyes hard enough to gouge one out, my eyes snag on the unopened Champagne bottle on the bedstand.

And I go back to last night.

A stubble-lined throat stretched under the moonlight. His Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. Dull brown eyes crinkling at the edges when he laughed. Slim, long fingers holding the bottle's neck.

It's a shame I didn't pique his interest. He definitely piqued mine, and the more I go back to last night's interaction, the more I'm convinced there was something there. If not an outright spark, then perhaps a tiny flicker. Like a teeny tiny burst of light?

I sigh and roll onto my back.

After I left the rooftop, I came straight to my room. I didn't bother going down to the party again, I knew what the drill was. People sitting in a circle, chatting, gossiping and trying to one-up the other or drunk people sitting in a circle, chatting, gossiping and trying to one-up the other. I texted my dad I was crashing for the night, I ignored Rishabh's messages asking where I was, and entered my room, feeling... pretty good about myself, to be honest.

Which was a surprising change from all the other nights.

I was rooming with Sawant, but his girlfriend had flown in for the match, so needless to say, he had packed up, moved out and was busy doing the devil's tango in some corner.

I don't like being alone for long periods of time. Alone with myself, alone with my thoughts, alone with my never-ending spirals of what-ifs. I like being with people. Anyone really. It gives me an object to focus on, to have an outlet to release all of that excessive restlessness.

Nights are always the worst. Because that aloneness morphs into soul-wrenching, gut-crushing loneliness. No matter how hard I try to convince myself that it will pass and tomorrow will be a new day where I don't have to struggle to live with myself, it doesn't quite work. So, I just sit down and fester in the cocktail of my self-created misery.

I can outrun a lot of people and situations—God knows, I do it with Rishabh and all the bullshit he puts me through—but I can't outrun my mind. What's the point in trying to outrun your feelings when you know they'll follow with a vengeance and catch you in your most vulnerable state? In the same vein, loneliness needs to be dealt with head-on.

I was about to do just that last night. I dropped cross-legged on the floor, held my head in my hands and waited for the pain to overwhelm me. Only problem... It didn't quite arrive. I was still full of pleasant feelings and a giddy sensation that sent insects skittering about in my stomach. I had fun. With a nice dude who knew how to take a joke. Leaning back on the floor and stretching my limbs like a starfish, I let that pleasantness drown me instead.

Next thing I knew, I woke up to the sound of pounding, and Liam was on the other side of the door.

"You're going back home?" Liam asks, waving a hand in front of my face to grab my attention.

"Mmhmm. Finally."

"How long will you be home?"

"I don't know. I told Rishi to send the itinerary later."

"I imagine it's gonna be a busy few months."

I shrug and busy myself with plucking the stray threads at the edges of the pillows.

"Had an audience with Rita Dhaave last night, by the way." Now, that properly grabbed my attention. "Told me something about a certain someone being on the cover of a certain well-established magazine." He's not looking at me. Rather, he's still fidgeting with the corners of his eyes. Pretending to fidget. Acting all nonchalant like I don't know exactly what he's driving at.

"No, not fucking happening. Not now, not ever." I push off the bed, and stomp around, searching for an empty bag to put all my to-be-washed in.

Liam's footsteps echo as he trudges after me. "Come on! I'm just asking for one—Why am I fully clothed?"

I turn around to find him looking down at himself. His almost unbuttoned shirt, wrinkled suit, heavily wrinkled pants, and one sock half pulled on. "I didn't have the patience to undress you last night." I lift one shoulder and drop it. "Sorry."

His neck jerks back, and he has this look that says he's thinking really hard about last night but coming up blank. "So, we..." He uses a hand to gesture the space between us and squints one eye.

"You don't remember, do you?"

Liam's hand reaches up to scratch his nape. "Uhm..."

I stare at him, eyes wide.

Actually, the kicker here is nothing really happened. Liam showed up at my door, piss-drunk—it was a wonder he even found the right room—and leaned against the doorframe, his eyes drooping low. He probably thought he seemed sexy. For his sake, we'll say that he did. He shoved the Champagne bottle at me, telling me to Pop it open, baby. I want to feel your tongue as you slurp it off my body. Then he very sexily stumbled in, tried unbuttoning his shirt, slipping off his shoes and taking off his suit at the same time—he probably thought himself an octopus. When he didn't succeed, he gave up, saw the cozy-as-fuck bedding, and dropped in face-first.

All I did was roll him over to the other side, slip under the covers, and drape an arm around him, falling asleep pretty much instantly.

"Sucks to be you," I say, and continue my hunt.

"Whatever. Why won't you come on my show?"

"Because..."

"Because what?"

"I don't want to." I ignore him and all the bullshit he spews about ratings, popularity, and getting closer to fans. Then when he goes the take pity on me route, trying to appeal to me by saying my presence might boost his views, it'll be good content for his subscribers, blah blah blah, I ignore that too.

"Fine. Give me one good reason why you can't come."

"Liam." I give him my best the-conversation-ends-here face like Dan did last night, but I don't think I have the same effect because Liam raises his eyebrows, expecting me to finish my sentence. "I don't want to be on your show, that's reason enough."

"But why?"

"Why do you even want me? Didn't you say you were going to try and convince Khatri and Vikram last night? What? You didn't land them, so now I'm your sloppy seconds?"

"No, I landed them."

That's news. "Congratulations then. Now go away, please."

"Just imagine how it will be if I get you too."

"No, I won't because it's not happening. Why are you bugging me so much this time?"

"Everyone's interested in your story. You're like the wildcard entry who blew everyone's minds, of course, they want to know you. And I want to help you tell your story."

I roll my eyes. "You don't want to tell my story." I don't accept interviews for a reason. The only time I talk to the media is after a match because I have no choice. Apart from that, I like my anonymity. People don't need to know further than what I am on the field.

"Sure, I do."

I laugh. "Yeah, right. So, I come on your show, and we'll describe our first meeting, how about that? Young, inexperienced cricketer barely out of his teens gets smitten by the opponent's batsman in the very first match and sucks his cock in the parking lot." I mean, he was the first—and only—professional cricketer I knew who was interested in men, of course, I'd do anything he wanted me to.

Liam looks at me with what can be described as extreme pity, and I hate it. "I'm not going to out you, Arya"

I throw my hands. "I know. It was a joke."

"If you're worried about personal questions, I promise I won't go there. I'll even send the entire script over. Absolutely no surprises."

"Man, I'd love to be on your show. Honest. But this interview podcast stuff is not my thing. You're going to get pretty good views with Khatri and Vikram anyway. Trust me on that. The entire country will tune in."

"How about you consider this one as repayment for saving you from almost ruining the post-match interview last night?" He raises an eyebrow like he's got me beat there.

"How about I drop to my knees and blow you, and we'll call it even?"

He's... Yeah, he's not impressed. I take a look at the clock and pick his shoes up, throwing them at him.

"I've got forty minutes left to pack up, shower and check out. So..." I gesture towards the door. "See ya later, mate," I say in the worst Aussie accent possible.

"You sure there's no way for me to convince you?"

I groan and fall on him, using my weight to push to the door. "Liam, I adore you, I respect you, and I look up to you." And I do, I really do. There aren't many ex-cricketers out there whose careers were cut short due to an injury. And there are even fewer who bounced back twice as hard. Liam was an amazing player in Tests. His wicket was close to impossible to take. But his name never came up in other formats. An injury took him out indefinitely, and commentary became his new thing. Safe to say he's the go-to guy for all things cricket right now. "But, it's never gonna happen."

"What about the blowjob?"

"Too late for that too."

"Come on! Aki—"

"Bye," I sing and close the door in his pouty face.