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“— Are you sure you should be riding? I’m pretty certain it’s illegal for you; you’re a year younger than me!”
A sudden, late-night downpour had begun, pounding against the granite steps of the cricket academy. The world outside their nets was a blur of grey rain and the hazy glow of streetlights. Inside, the air still hung thick with the scent of linseed oil and leather, a scent that clung to their clothes and skin as they finally left their net session. Their coach, a man of few but weighty words, had kept them behind, his voice a low rumble of advice on protecting their wicket, on securing their fragile dreams for the national side.
“Oye! 362 days younger only. Not a full year yet…” Abhishek cut through Shubman’s worry with a flash of a grin. He tapped his watch, the gesture quick and confident. “I’m literally turning eighteen in…” The extra helmet was a blur of colour as he tossed it. Shubman caught it instinctively, the cool, hard shell a shock against his palm. “… two hours. Hun chup karke beh ja mere piche, kise nu nahi pata lagna (now just sit behind me quietly, nobody will find out). Don’t worry.”
Shubman stood his ground, arms crossed over his damp training shirt, attempting to mimic the stern disapproval of their coach. But his resolve felt weak, a fragile defence against Abhishek’s energy. “I don’t know, Abhay… It’s raining. Why risk it? What if you skid?”
Abhishek lifted his visor. His eyes, usually bright with laughter, were now a gentle, pleading brown, a mischievous glint flickering just beneath the surface. “Hawww, you don’t trust me?”
“Na! I don’t have a death wish, Abhi.”
“Come on, Shubhi, please?” Abhishek’s voice lowered, adopting a warm, coaxing tone. “Let this be my birthday gift.”
And just like that, Shubman was lost. How could he ever refuse that face? He felt the familiar, frustrating surrender, and he was sure Abhishek felt it too – a subtle shift in the air between them. As Shubman slid the helmet over his head, the world became muffled. Climbing onto the bike behind Abhishek, he saw the tension drain from his best friend’s shoulders, replaced by a posture of pure contentment.
Abhishek kick-started the engine, and the motorcycle roared into life, a vibration that thrummed through both of them. He revved it, the sound a raw, joyful challenge to the falling rain, and giggled, “No more stolen gedis (drives) from tomorrow – We can finally both go out together and I won’t have to rely on you anymore!”
The words struck like a physical blow.
I won’t have to rely on you anymore.
It dawned on him then, cold and sharp: the excuses were disappearing. The carefully crafted reasons for lingering touches, for shared warmth, for the secret language of their bodies on a bike – all of it would be gone by tomorrow.
After cricket, the second-best thing in his life was simply riding with Abhishek. The way Abhi’s chest pressed firmly against his back, a warm solidity even through their jackets. Sometimes, Shubman would, guiltily, steer them through a pothole just to feel Abhay’s arms instinctively wrap around his waist, holding on tight for a precious, stolen second. The memory was so vivid he could almost feel it now.
“— Oyye! Bhai saab! Where did you get lost?” Abhishek’s voice, muffled by his helmet, broke through his thoughts. “I said hold on to me tightly, otherwise I am not responsible for any injuries you might sustain.”
Shubman’s palms were damp. He hastily wiped them on his rain-speckled training shorts before closing the final, electric inch between them. He wrapped his arms around Abhishek’s waist, holding on tightly, and pressed his chest against the warmth of his friend’s back. He inhaled deeply – the musky scent of their sweat, the faint, clean smell of Abhishek’s shampoo, and the petrichor of the rain. “There,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. “Khush? (Happy?) Now, can we go?”
Abhay replied with one last rev, and the two young boys sped off, through the rain and against the wind, excitement tinged with danger and a hint of illegality if they got caught, but at least they were in it together.
When Abhishek didn’t take the turn that led to his house, Shubman tapped his shoulder, yelling louder than usual thanks to the helmet and the rain. “Oye! Kithe chaleya? (Where are you going?) Your house is that way!”
Abhishek shouted back with the same fervour. “I told them already I would be late! Might as well be as late as possible! Going to one of my favourite places in Chandigarh!”
It wasn’t until the motorcycle’s headlamp illuminated the still, dark water that Shubman realised where Abhishek had taken them: Sukhna Lake.
At this hour, the daytime bustle of tourists had vanished, replaced by a profound quiet broken only by the whisper of rain on the lake’s surface. Before Shubman could even remove his helmet, Abhay grabbed him by the wrist, his grip warm and firm, and pulled him towards a bench facing the water.
If Shubman’s heart hammered against his ribs, he told himself it was the thrill of their illicit late-night ride, and not the sensation of Abhishek’s skin against his.
The rain had eased into a gentle drizzle, just enough to mist their hair and clothes. They sat cross-legged on the bench, knees almost touching, with two packets of Lays seemingly conjured from their backpacks. Abhishek was chatting about everything and nothing, his words flowing comfortably and familiarly.
Shubman’s eyes flicked to his watch — 11:59 pm. His gaze then drifted back to Abhishek, who was reenacting a prank from earlier that day, his hands animated in the air. Shubman was no longer listening to the words, only to the sound. He was captivated by the rhythm of Abhay’s giggles, each one a bright, bubbling note in the night’s silence.
It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, he thought.
And in that suspended moment, as the clock in his mind struck midnight, the gentle lap of waves and Abhishek’s laughter intertwined. Moonlight illuminated the rain-damp sheen on Abhay’s flushed cheeks, and Shubman swore he could have leaned forward and kissed him.
He should have kissed him anyway.
Instead, he waited until Abhishek’s story faded into silence, his friend finally noticing his intense focus. “Ki aa? (What is it?)”
Shubman shook his head softly, a tender, almost helpless smile curling his lips. “Kuch ni… (Nothing…) Happy birthday, yaar.” He drew his best friend into a fierce, heartfelt hug, pouring every unspoken, aching emotion into the embrace.
Abhay returned the hug with the same passion, his arms clasped firmly around Shubman’s back, and for a moment, Shubman could pretend it meant the same thing. “Thank you, Shubhi,” Abhay said, pulling back first. His smile was so brilliant it felt like it could power the whole of Punjab. “So, what’s my birthday present?”
Shubman, who had spent the week agonising over a gift – something meaningful, something Abhay wouldn’t just borrow but would keep – simply smiled. He’d settled on a few of his own bats, the very ones Abhay was always trying to steal. “You’ll get it tomorrow, at practice… We should head back now. I’m sure your family is waiting to wish you, too.”
“Hmmm.” Abhi stretched his legs and finally stood, then turned and offered a hand to help Shubman up. “I’m tired now.”
Shubman teased the birthday boy, a warm ache in his chest. “You may be 18 now, but you’re still like a baby. Staying up past your bedtime and then complaining. Chal, I’ll ride back.”
And if Abhishek noticed how Shubman drove with a deliberate, lingering slowness, stealing every possible second of this last, designated drive, he didn’t say a word.
-----
Shahneel brought the car to a gentle stop outside the glittering hotel entrance, the engine’s purr fading into the distant thrum of bass from inside. “So,” she said, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Here you are. Have fun at prom!”
Shubman groaned, rolling his eyes so hard he saw stars. “For the hundredth time, Shahneel, it’s not a prom. It’s a formal team dinner. For the Under-19 batch. There’s a difference.”
“One whole year after the tournament?” she teased, shifting into park. “Jaldi ni rakh leyi celebration party ehna ne? (They kept the celebration party very early, didn’t they?)"
“Chal chhadd yaar! (Leave it, man!)” he retorted, unbuckling his seatbelt with a sharp click. “I’m just here for the food.” As if on cue, his stomach let out a low, pleading growl. "Finally, a proper cheat day!”
Shahneel’s expression softened into something more perceptive, her gaze drifting past him toward the hotel’s grand doors. “Are you sure,” she asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “that you’re just here for the food?”
When Shubman followed her gaze, his breath caught.
There, standing under the golden glow of the portico lights, was Abhishek.
Dressed to the nines in a sharp, tailored suit, he looked less like a young cricketer and more like a leading man who had just stepped off a Bollywood screen. He was scanning the arriving cars, and the moment his eyes landed on Shubman, a wide, brilliant smile lit up his face.
Shubman’s cheeks suddenly flushed a bright, scarlet red. He jerked his head back towards his sister, his words catching in his throat. “I – I don’t – I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Shahneel’s voice was now pure, unadulterated smugness, “You should ask him out. He’s cute. You clearly like him! I bet he likes you back!”
“It’s not…” Shubman ran a hand over his neck, the skin warm beneath his fingers, “… like that. We’re best friends. Besides, we are both too focused on cricket.”
He reached to open the door, but Shahneel caught his hand. “You don’t have to sacrifice one thing for the other, you know?”
A sad, wistful smile played on Shubman’s lips. “It’s fine, Shahneel. I’ll survive. Chal hun, let me go.”
All he heard was a faint “Love you, Shubhi!” as he closed the car door. The words were instantly swallowed by the city noises, then by the overwhelming force of Abhishek throwing himself into a bear hug. “What took you so long, man? You were in there talking to di forever!”
Shubman’s face was buried in the shoulder of Abhishek’s suit jacket. He inhaled deeply – a crisp, marine cologne mixed with the simple, familiar scent of Abhishek. He had to collect the scattered pieces of his thoughts before he could form a lie. “She thinks it’s a prom. Told me not to drink and to make sure I dance with a date…”
Abhay slapped Shub’s abdomen, his laughter ringing out. “By God, Komal and Sania di said the same thing! Asked me who my date was! What’s going on with our sisters, man?”
As if by unspoken agreement, Shubman draped his arm over Abhi’s shoulders, and the younger man slid his arm around Shubman’s waist. They walked into the hotel ballroom attached at the hip.
The transition was abrupt. The peaceful night was suddenly overpowered by a wall of noise – blasting music, shouting voices, and laughter. A thousand glinting points from a gaudy mirrorball pierced their eyes, spinning wildly across the floor.
It was Abhishek who broke the stunned silence first, his voice close to Shubman’s ear so it could be heard. “Guess our sisters knew something we didn’t, huh?”
Shubman had barely mustered the courage to joke about how they could be each other’s prom dates when their teammates arrived: Their U19 Captain, Riyan Parag, pulled Abhay towards the bar, while Arshdeep Singh dragged Shubman to the other side of the room towards the food, rambling about gol gappe to die for.
Shubman enjoyed Arsh’s company and was momentarily distracted. But when he glanced over his friend’s shoulder during what became their third plate of dahi puri, he spotted them: Riyan and Abhay in a distant corner. Riyan was competing for Abhishek’s undivided attention, offering him drinks (Shubman hoped Abhishek would pace himself; his tolerance was ironically poor for a Punjabi). However, Abhishek’s gaze was fixed elsewhere – on Shubman.
When their eyes met, the noise of the party faded into a dull hum. All Shubman could notice was the way a single, stubborn strand of Abhay’s hair fell over his forehead, making him resemble… Superman.
Just then, the DJ cued a track that was theirs alone: “Khaab” by Akhil – It was the song a teammate had once teasingly dedicated to them, a testament to their inseparability.
As the first line played, Abhishek burst out laughing, his smile a private moment meant only for Shubman. So what if we are joined at the hip? He’d sung off-key to Shubman after that day, Might as well own it, right? It’s a bloody good song!
And now, through a bustling room, Abhishek winked.
It was an inside joke no one else would ever grasp, a bolt of lightning directed straight at Shubman’s heart.
In a room full of people, Abhishek had successfully melted him into a puddle.
God, I really want to stand under that stupid mirrorball and kiss him.
The thought was as vivid as it was terrifying, and just as suddenly, the spell shattered.
Riyan, with practiced efficiency, regained Abhishek’s attention. Shubman watched as Abhishek dabbed something from Riyan’s face with a handkerchief, then adjusted the collar of his shirt.
Shubman had to look away before the gol gappe and dahi puri made a reappearance all over poor, unsuspecting Arsh.
Best friends. We are simply best friends.
Keep your focus on your cricket.
-----
Don’t make it awkward.
The mantra became a prayer, a plea Shubman whispered to himself each time he and Abhishek were in the same room. Which, it turned out, was rarely the case these days.
The change was a subtle poison. It began with the failure to send a goodnight text, a ritual as sacred as any practice session. Then, it was the empty space where Abhishek’s laughter used to echo during warm-ups. At practice, Abhishek’s arrivals were carefully timed after Shubman’s, and his departures were swift, leaving before the last ball had even settled. He became a ghost in the places they once haunted together.
The first time Shubman called, it went to voicemail. The fifth time, Abhishek finally answered, his voice thin and stretched over a distance that had nothing to do with miles.
"Just... haven’t been feeling well, yaar,” he said, the excuse as flimsy as a cobweb. “And Sania di’s wedding... tenu pata hi aa (you know how it is). So much to do.”
Shubman knew. He knew the lie tasted bitter on his own tongue as he accepted it, too.
The call-up to India A should have been the most exhilarating moment of his life. He held his phone, thumb hovering over Abhishek’s name, the first and only person he wanted to tell.
The call failed to connect. He tried again and again. The silence on the other end was a louder rejection than any busy signal.
He left for Mumbai, then the NCA, carrying the ghost of an unsent message and a goodbye caught in his throat. The world was offering him his dream on a silver platter, but all he could taste were the ashes of a friendship.
It was only after his final match with the India A squad, with the cheers of the small crowd still ringing in his ears, that his phone finally lit up with a name he’d almost given up on.
The message was just seven words, but they broke the dam he’d built around his heart: Congratulations. I miss you. I am sorry.
A surge of emotion overwhelmed Shubman, and before he realised it, he was ringing Abhishek’s number again. This time, he answered on the first ring.
Shubman was about to go off on a tangent, yelling at Abhishek for pretending like Shubman had ceased to exist, but when he heard muffled sounds on the other side, he held back. “… Abhay? Hello? Ki hoya? Tu theek aa? (What happened? Are you alright?)“
“Shu – Shubhi… I am so sorry.” Shubman heard Abhay suppressing his tears, “I’ve been so terrible to you, na? But – It’s… It’s over now. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, Abhay…” Shubman wished nothing more than to be on his best friend’s side and not be in two very different Indian cities. “Calm down. Do you have some water around you right now? You might want to take a few sips and compose yourself before telling me.” He heard Abhishek get off his bed from the other end of the line and pour himself a glass of water, and when he was convinced Abhishek had done that, he resumed speaking. “What is over?”
Abhishek exhaled, a voice of exasperation, “Riyan and I. It’s over – We’re over.”
Oh.
The news fell into the silence between them, like a stone dropped into a still pond. The ripples spread through Shubman: first, a cold splash of offence that Abhishek had kept something this monumental secret, as if Shubman weren’t worthy of his truth. Then, a warmer, instinctive current of protectiveness: His best friend was hurting.
He could raise an issue about the secrecy later. For now, Abhishek needed stability. So, Shubman took a quiet breath and repeated the mantra once more, a tether to prevent himself from saying the wrong thing: Don’t make it awkward.
“You two were… dating?” The word felt strange and sharp on Shubman’s tongue.
He could almost hear Abhishek sniffing and wiping his nose on the other end of the line in Amritsar. “After that party… He kissed me first. I was tipsy that evening, had too much to drink. I guess I didn’t say no… So he took it as a yes.” A shaky breath. “And… a part of me enjoyed the attention. So, I didn’t stop it.”
“So you get a boyfriend and you won’t even tell me?” The words escaped before he could stop them, sharp with a hurt that had been festering for weeks. I really should have kissed Abhishek that night. The thought was a fresh wave of regret. I had spent my whole life trying not to ruin our friendship, and Riyan had just… taken it.
“Pttch, I know I was wrong,” Abhishek’s voice was pleading. “But please, just listen? I’ll explain – if you – if you’ll just give me the chance.”
“Bol. (Speak.)”
“A part of me felt... like I was betraying you. I couldn’t meet your gaze. It was always us against the world, and then... someone else made these enormous promises. The thrill of it clouded my judgment. I didn’t want you to think I was replacing you.”
Shubman wasn’t sure which was worse: the fear of being replaced or the reality of being deliberately cut out. Perhaps they were both ultimately the same cruel truth. “You didn’t want me to think I was being replaced, so you stopped talking to me altogether? Eh ki logic hoya (What logic is this), Abhishek?”
“That’s the second part…” Shubman held his breath as he heard Abhay take a deep, fortifying breath on the other end, “He didn’t want me to talk to you.”
What the fuck?
“Yeah, I know. What the fuck, right?” God, how Shubman had missed this – their minds moving in perfect, furious sync. “It was… gradual. At first, he’d just ask about you, about how we were such good friends… I didn’t think much of it. We were all on the same team after all! Everyone knows about us!”
“Hmmm.” It was a neutral sound designed to keep him talking.
“But then, one night, he got really drunk… And he – he said he didn’t like it when I talked about you. Or hung out with you. Or… thought of you.”
“And you gave in so easily?” The question was a reflex, born of pain. “I thought we were stronger than —”
“– He threatened to hit me if I didn’t listen, Shubman.”
The silence that followed was not empty; it was dense, heavy with the shattering of a thousand assumptions.
“I…” Abhishek’s voice was small, stripped bare. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
Shubman’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces for his best friend, and his anger at himself grew for not being there to protect him. He failed to recognise that Abhishek was in such pain. Against his will, a tear rolled down his cheek by the time he found the courage to speak again. “… You should have told me, Abhay. A sign. Anything – Fuck, I am so sorry I wasn’t there to help you out... I am sorry I didn’t notice.“
“No! ... No, Shubhi, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I got myself into this mess. I deserve this. What was I even thinking? Kise ne mainu chaar din hass ke bula leya te fer main tenu bhull jaoon? (If someone was nice to me for four days, that would make me forget about you?) I deserve this… this punishment.”
Shubman silently wiped away his tears, hoping Abhi wouldn’t hear him through the phone. “… So, how did it end?”
Abhay spoke up again, this time a bit shier, “He… he caught me checking for your India A match scores earlier today.”
Shubman’s heart did a flip. “So, you knew I got into the team?”
A small chuckle from the other end, “You’re my best friend, Shubman. I know everything about you. When you joined the team, God, I wanted to celebrate with you more than anything. But that was the day I had a fight with him… I just. I couldn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
A more disbelieving voice pushed through, “What are you sorry for?”
“Mere karke… Because of me, you had to endure so much pain.”
“No. You are my best friend, Shubman. Tere varge yaar leyi eho jehe hazaar dukh qabool aa (I’m willing to go through this pain a thousand times over for a friend like you).”
Best friend. A label that both felt freeing and confining to Shubman now. “Fer vi… What happened today? Do you want to talk about it?”
“He said... He said I was happier for you than I was for him or for myself. Said he was... always going to live in your shadow. So I fought back. Defended you. Defended us. Showed him the exit... It’s over.”
But all Shubman took from this was the stark, chilling realisation: he was the problem. He was the shadow looming over Abhishek’s chance for peace, for happiness. The thought was a cold knot in his chest. And because he loved Abhishek more than he loved himself, the path became terrifyingly clear: He would have to let go.
“Shubhi, I miss you.” Abhay’s voice grounded him back to the present moment. “Come back to Punjab soon, na? I’m sorry again – I’ll make it up to you. Got a lot to celebrate together…”
The words felt like a physical ache. Come back. Celebrate. Everything he wanted, and everything he now believed he had to deny them both. “Soon,” Shubman forced out, his voice thick with an emotion he dared not name. “I’ll let you know. Chal, I have to go, Abhay. The team’s calling. Take care, okay? Love you.”
“Love you too. Jaldi aaja yaar. (Come back soon.)”
-----
The world presented Shubman with everything he had ever dreamed of on a loud, public stage. The India A call-up was just the start, a key turning a lock that swung open to a whirlwind of IPL contracts and national caps in all three formats. Stadiums replaced academy nets; the roar of thousands drowned out the familiar thwack of a single ball.
It was everything he had ever desired. And it served as the perfect alibi.
A relentless travel schedule became his shield, a justified and respectable distance he could maintain between himself and Abhishek. No pathetic excuses were necessary when your life was measured in flight paths and hotel rooms. While Shubman’s career soared across the globe, Abhay’s remained rooted in Punjab, waiting for a call-up that seemed to linger just out of reach.
He was still, achingly, in love with Abhishek. But cricket was his first love, and now, it was also his refuge. Their once-inseparable friendship withered, gradually starved of everything but the barest digital sustenance. It dwindled to the hollow currency of public validation: an Instagram comment reading “Congrats! – Proud of you.” Or a message lost in a crowded inbox: “Saw you bat – I miss you.”
The fluorescent lights of London Heathrow hummed overhead. Shubman stood adrift in the terminal, phone in hand, trying to decide on a last-minute getaway when it vibrated with a call from Shahneel.
“Sat Sri Akal Shahneel.”
“Sat Sri Akal.” Her voice was sharp, a tense line of urgency. “Kive aa? (How are you?)”
A cold trickle of dread ran down his spine. She never called; her texts were her trademark. “I’m fine… What’s up? Is everything okay?”
“You need to come home.”
The words were not a request. They were a command. Panic, cold and instant, gripped his chest. “What happened? Is everyone alright? Mummy, Papa –?”
“They’re fine. Everyone’s healthy.” A pause filled the silence, weighted with what she was about to say next. “It’s… it’s about Abhishek.”
His mind became a frantic slide show of catastrophe: a torn ligament on the field, a crumpled car on a rainy highway –
“ – He’s getting engaged.”
The noise of the airport – the boarding announcements, the rolling suitcases, the chatter of a thousand strangers – faded into a dull, roaring silence. What the fuck?
“You didn’t know, did you?” Shahneel’s voice softened, tinged with pity.
How could he? He had been so busy building his fortress of cricket and distance, he never stopped to consider that life inside the walls he’d abandoned would go on without him. He never truly believed Abhishek could – or would – move on. Not that they ever made such promises to each other.
“I…” Shubman’s eyes were already scanning the departure boards, searching for salvation in timetables and gate numbers. “Do you – Do you know who it’s with?”
“We got a card today. From Komal.” Shahneel’s voice was gentle, as if handling something fragile. “Someone named Nitish Kumar Reddy. It’s arranged. He agreed. Komal said he’s… happy.”
Happy.
The word was a punch to the gut. It was supposed to be a comfort. Instead, it felt like a final, closing door.
I should have kissed him by the lake.
The thought was no longer a wistful regret. It was a verdict on his own cowardice, a stark explanation for the chasm that had swallowed them whole. It was the reason a stranger’s name was now tied to Abhishek’s future.
The phone was still pressed to his ear, but he was already moving, his feet carrying him toward the airline counter with a single-minded purpose. “I’m on my way,” he said, the words tumbling out. “I’ll go to his house first. Before coming home.”
The sixteen-hour flight passed in a blur of sterile air and engine hum, a liminal space between the life he had built and the one he had abandoned. He had spent the whole journey wrestling with the right words, rehearsing speeches and apologies. But as the wheels touched down in Amritsar, the scripts fell apart, leaving only one raw, undeniable truth.
He had missed so much time already. He wouldn’t miss this.
-----
The doorbell’s chime echoed the frantic pounding in Shubman’s chest. He had hoped for a buffer – a conversation with one of Abhishek’s parents to steady his nerves. But fate, it seemed, had no patience for his rehearsals. The door swung open, and there he was.
Shubman observed a silent journey pass across Abhishek’s face: first, the wide-eyed shock of a ghost appearing at his doorstep; then, a brilliant, unguarded flash of joy that made Shubman’s heart lurch; and finally, a careful, deliberate shutter descending, leaving a neutral mask behind.
It was a look Shubman had never seen from him, and it hurt more than he expected.
"Shubman... Hey!” The greeting was just a beat too late. “Tu kado aaya vapis England toh? (When did you come back from England?)”
“Just now.” Shubman tried to peer past him into the house. “Anyone home? Or are you planning to keep me stranded on your doorstep?”
“Oh. Sorry…” Abhishek stepped aside, his movement almost hesitant. “I just… wasn’t expecting you. Nobody’s home. They’re all out shopping for –“
“– For your engagement?” The words slipped out, sharp and tinged with a bitterness that stunned them both. Abhishek’s carefully maintained neutrality wavered into outright confusion. Shubman pressed on, the words spilling out hurriedly. “Sorry. Jet lag. Tired. Yeah… Shahneel told me.”
Abhishek’s expression softened, flickering with a sympathy that felt worse than anger. “Shubman… I tried telling you. So many times. But you were unreachable… I thought – I thought you had forgotten me.”
“How could I ever forget you?” The words came out as a raw plea.
“What was I supposed to think?” Abhishek’s voice rose to match his, frustration breaking through. “You never replied to my messages! You never called! People said fame had gone to your head. That you didn’t want to be friends with a ‘domestic level’ player like me any longer!”
“That’s not true! You’re my best friend. You’ve always been!”
“Yeah? Well, you made me feel like I wasn’t even a friend anymore, Shubhi.”
The label ‘best friend’ often felt like a pair of handcuffs to Shubman, restraining the truth. Now, he decided to unfasten it. “Abhay, I… I am so sorry. But I had to pull away. I had to keep my distance, because if I didn’t… you would have been hurt forever because of me like Riyan, or… or I would have done something foolish and ruined everything.”
“Done what?” Abhishek challenged, his voice lowering, all his previous anger channelled into this single, pointed question.
“Huh?”
“Done. What?” he repeated, each word a calculated step closer to the edge. “What could you have done that you haven’t done already, Shubman? Isn’t our friendship already ruined? Didn’t you find that new Ishan Kishan in the Indian team to be your best friend? I see everything. I stood up for you, against Riyan, when he said shit about you. Only for you to go ahead and prove him right? I thought what we had was different, I thought –”
“— I would have kissed you.”
The confession tore through the room, instantly silencing Abhishek’s tirade. All the air seemed to leave his lungs. “Wha…?”
“So many times,” Shubman continued, the floodgates now open. “So many times, I had to hold myself back because you were always so careful to remind me we were best friends — just best friends. That night of your 18th birthday, I was so angry with you for breaking a hundred rules. But then the moonlight caught your face by the lake… and I swear I had never seen anyone more beautiful. I wanted to kiss you then.”
A soft, sharp gasp escaped Abhishek’s lips. It was all the permission Shubman needed to keep going, to pour out the poison of his silence.
“And the night of that U19 party… God, you looked so handsome in that suit. I wanted to kiss you senseless. But I didn’t. Because you’re my best friend, and I was too terrified of a life without you in it to ever risk it.” His voice cracked with the weight of the admission. “How was I to know someone else would beat me to it? How was I to know you’d be fine with his attention?”
He took a step closer, his eyes blazing with a painful, desperate truth.
“…But let’s be honest, Abhay. You wouldn’t have reacted to me the same way, would you? So I did the only thing I could. I would rather us break apart like this – with an ocean between us – than to have known the taste of you. I would rather live with this… this emptiness than to have my lips remember yours and spend the rest of my life haunted by the ghost of your touch.”
A long, suspended silence followed. When Shubman’s eyes sought Abhishek’s, he found them glistening.
“Pagal (Idiot)…” Abhishek whispered, the word a breath of disbelief.
Then he stepped forward, striking a weak fist against Shubman’s chest before collapsing into him, his own dam breaking completely. “So, so fucking stupid… All this time.”
Shubman held him close, stroking his back, a fatal premonition settling in his chest that this would be the last time.
“All this time, I... I wanted you to kiss me, Shubman,” Abhishek choked out, the words muffled against Shubman’s shirt. “When I sang that silly song for you… it was because I felt that way. When I drove us to Sukhna Lake? I wanted to spend my 18th with you, nobody else. When I’d steal your bats? It was just to get your attention.” Shubman felt the fabric of his T-shirt grow damp. “That party? I couldn’t take my eyes off you… I was so jealous of Arsh I could’ve blown his head off with my eyes – Fuck.”
Shubman lifted Abhay’s chin, wiping the tear-streaked cheeks before pressing their foreheads together, his voice a whisper. “Then why get together with Parag?”
“I didn’t… I didn’t think you wanted me. You were always so careful of our boundaries… At least Riyan showed me he was interested… But then he said I was too obsessed with you, and I realised deep down he was right — I will never care for anyone as much as I cared for you.”
Cared. Not care. Shubman noticed the past tense but didn’t comment, his thumb still stroking Abhishek’s cheek.
“I thought you started hating me,” Abhishek continued. “That’s why you never called. Thought you found a new best friend in Ishan… And eventually I just… stopped waiting. I didn’t know if you’d ever come back.”
“I did come back…” Shubman let his own tears fall freely now. “But it’s too late now, isn’t it?”
Abhishek’s nod against his forehead was a tiny, heartbreaking motion. “Yes.”
He then told Shubman about Nitish. That he was kind, that the family loved him, that he was respectful, understood their friendship, and even rooted for Shubman during matches.
Shubman swallowed a stifling sob, determined to be strong for his friend, “He makes you happy?”
“He does.”
But the words 'Not as happy as you did’ hung, unspoken, in the air between them.
Shubman took a sharp breath. He would always love Abhishek, which is why he had to let him go. He slowly, deliberately, created space between their bodies, breaking the contact of their foreheads.
He stared into Abhishek’s bloodshot eyes. “I am happy for you, Abhay. Truly. Nitish will make you happy in ways I never could.”
Abhishek’s face crumpled, a fresh wave of tears threatening to fall. They both knew it was too late. “Shubhi…”
“– It’s okay,” Shubman said, his voice thick but firm. “I know now. I fucked up… But I’ll always love you.”
“… I know. Me too.”
Shubman walked to the door, wiping his face with his sleeve. His hand was on the handle when Abhishek’s voice stopped him.
“Will you be there? At the engagement? I still need my best friend in my life.”
Shubman turned back one last time, offering a wistful, broken smile to the blurry figure through his tears. “Yeah… Yeah, I’ll be there.”
He left the Sharma residence, the door closing on the ghost of a life they might have lived, unsure if his promise was a truth or the final, most merciful lie he would ever tell.