6th June, 2013

On the morning of the first match of Champions Trophy 2013 against South Africa, Rohit woke up far too late, and far too unpleasantly: at half past ten with a book banged on his head.

"Wake up, you dumbo," Virat shouted. "Shikhar's already about to go down to the field!"

"Wh--" Rohit jerked up and looked at the clock. "There are hours to go before the match!"

"Less than four hours," said Shikhar smoothly, giving his famous mustache a twirl. "I suggested we let you sleep through the match, Rohit. Murali did want to play."

Rohit blinked. "He's not playing?"

"No," said Virat and Shikhar.

"Who's--who on earth is opening, then?" demanded Rohit, because in both the warm-up matches, Dhawan and Vijay had.

"You," said Virat and, "You and I," said Shikhar.

"Me?" said Rohit. "I am opening? When did that happen?"

"Mahi bhai told us over breakfast," said Virat, "which you, obviously, missed."

Rohit stared and stared and stared.

"Told you we should've let him sleep," sniggered Shikhar audibly. "Murali's been padded up from morning. Would've been easier on Ro, too."

Rohit scowled. His head hurt from the bang Virat had given with, no doubt, one of Ash or Bhuvi's books. And he hated being called Ro by anyone except, well, except very few people, and this cool joker of a guy making fun of him was not one of those few people.

"I can't open," Rohit told Virat.

"You have to," said Virat. "Mahi bhai said so."

And that, of course, settled the question.

***

Sophia Gardens Cricket Ground, Cardiff

"Where exactly are you going?" asked Shikhar as a nervous Rohit was dragging his feet to the crease. "You're supposed to go there." He pointed at the opposite crease.

"I--" Rohit stammered. "Well, that's the side of who takes first strike."

"Yes," said Shikhar. "You."

"I can't take first strike, Shikhar," said Rohit, horrified. "You have to take it."

"I never take first strike," said Shikhar firmly. "Move."

Rohit squared his shoulders, tried to ignore the fluttering in his stomach and prepared to fight for his rights.

However, he looked at the crowds, and at the team balcony where Mahi bhai--who'd told him an hour back, "Remember, I trust you, Ro," would be--and comprehended he was about to open the innings in an international tournament, and his voice refused to work.

"Come on," said Shikhar impatiently. "You're opening for the first time, you don't have customs or superstitions."

Rohit gave him a silent glower, to which Shikhar returned a slightly Jaddu-ish beam, and dragged his bat over to take first strike.

***

To Rohit's surprise, opening wasn't as hard as he'd anticipated.

A large part of it was his partner. While Rohit took time to get set and eye in, Shikhar kept hitting a boundary every over, and kept saying between overs, "You hold one side, I'll go for it."

Which Rohit thought was patronizing earlier on, but soon realized was Shikhar's way of reassuring him, because there was something soft in his eyes he recognized.

Rohit could not say he was good in that match. He was jittery and gave plenty of chances. Every time he got beaten or edged a ball and survived, Shikhar winked over at him from his end, like, God, look at them. They're no match for us.

The first three times, Rohit averted his gaze. He'd been the one offering the chances, not Shikhar.

The fourth time it happened, Rohit winked back.

***

When Rohit reached his fifty, he looked over to the balcony to spot Mahi bhai or Virat. Somehow, his gaze was funnily blurred--he was not crying, honestly, he was not--everything just seemed merged together in a brilliant blend of colour--the crowds, the South African team, the blue, blue sky, the green, green ground.

Shikhar enveloped him in a huge hug.

"There you go," he said in a triumphant sort of voice. "Opener."

"Coinci-coincidence--" Rohit mumbled to himself.

"Jesus Christ," said Shikhar. "Are you stupid?"

There was affection in Shikhar's voice, which was strange, because they barely even knew each other. Rohit did not have the faintest idea why this guy was treating him like he was family or something.

He'd never treated anyone so warmly till at least months of acquaintance.

***

When Shikhar reached his fifty, Rohit went over to give him a fist bump and a hug: normal ones.

"It's fun opening with you," mused Shikhar. "More fun that I've ever had opening with someone."

"Because you get to call the shots?" asked Rohit.

Shikhar laughed.

And Rohit could not help but give him another hug, warmer by far than he'd ever given anyone he'd known for such little time.

***

In the months Rohit had known Shikhar so far, he'd perceived him as solely a fun guy with a weird taste in jokes. But over the course of that partnership, he was left with no doubt that his new opening partner was much more than that.

All right, he would admit it was fun opening with Shikhar.

***

When Rohit got out, Shikhar gave him a bracing nod, and called over, "Until next time, Ro."

"Until next time," repeated Rohit, half-confused.

The next match they opened together?

He didn't mind the nickname anymore, so he repeated in a stronger voice, "Until next time, Shikh."

***

127 runs.

A normal partnership. A good one, yes, but a normal one. Maybe very good on English soil against the SA attack.

Normal. It was normal.

Why, then, did this feel like the beginning of something so big?

***

Most precious moment of the duo: In spite of always bullying Rohit into taking first strike, when Rohit was going through a tough patch in South Africa, January-February 2018, Shikhar offered to take first strike to let Rohit settle down.

Why?

Cause that's what friends do.