My Lover's The Sunlight...

Khamoshiyaan

Shubman entered his room at the hotel they were staying at. It was dark, cold and most of all, lonely. Oh, how he missed having his own brand of happiness with him. The team often teased him, called him 'Devdas' for the way his attitude changed after Ishan left. He clicked the light on, his eyes momentarily blinded by the change in the atmosphere. Getting ready for bed had solely been on the power of muscle memory, these past five years. When he opened his suitcase to take out a t-shirt for bed, the blue silk shirt haunted him. 

He had carried it everywhere all these years - hoping that Ishan would jump out of any corner now and demand the shirt he so wanted, to exact the promise they had made on Instagram. He closed the chain in a hurry, before his mind could successfully drag him down into another spiral. They had a big match the next day and he needed all the sleep he could get to push through the stress. Laying down on the empty bed, he felt even more cold - though it was Mumbai in the month of January and the air conditioning was off. It felt as if Ishan had taken all his warmth with him, that now the only thing Shubman could feel was cold. 

He had had to grovel for so long to be able to get a room by himself because he had stubbornly refused to share the bed with someone who was not his best friend. But did Ishan ever feel the same way about him? It had been four years, seven months, seven hours, thirty two minutes and twenty seconds since he blocked him on all social media accounts, messages and even his number. The stress was taking a toll on him as he had returned to his self destructing habit of bottling up his emotions, releasing them all at once on himself while working out, training or during the matches. Shubman didn't know why but he opened X. The most popular feed was about him - his poor performance in high format matches was being trolled. 

He is just lucky, scored that high because of some fluke.

Why did they even allow him in the team? Sitting there and doing nothing, whereas so many more talented players could have got the chance to shine.

Prince of Indian cricket, my foot! He doesn't even deserve being in the team!

Successor of Virat Kohli?! People just need to stop being delulu. 

He only got a handsome face and no real skills.

And after scrolling through multitude of hate comments, Shubman's eyes which were now blurry with unshed tears fell on an ultimate one. "It is just me or Shubman's form has been deteriorating since Ishan left?"  This was the last straw which broke the camel's back. Hot tears ran down his cheeks as he threw the phone on the nightstand and hugged his pillow. How true the comment was! Ishan, his Ishan, his best friend, his everything, his lo- had left him hung on the hope that he would return. He needed him so much, he missed him so much, his obsidian eyes which were more expressive than Bellamkonda Sai Srinivas could ever be (Not me trolling a South Indian actor. Man just needs to learn to express his emotions on his face. As to how Shubman learnt his name, Ishan forced him to watch some hindi dubbed South Indian movies too.), his smile that could light up Shubman's entire world in an instant, his flawless skin that was smoother than butter, his multitude of tattoos that made Shubman feel hot and bothered when Ishan sweated during practice or workout sessions, his pouty lips that he wanted to bite, his laugh that was the sweetest harmony in the universe and above all, Ishan, himself - the high to his life, the Hyacinthus to his Apollo, the Faruq to his Dhruv. 

His sobs stifled after a while, but his mind didn't quieten in the slightest. The room was too silent for his liking - he could feel the monsters from his nightmares lurking in the shadows without his personal protection charm who played songs and watched movies in full volume, even in the dead of the night. Shubman hated this silence with his heart while his soul ached for its lost piece. Had I done something wrong? Did he get tired of me? Was I too needy? Did I not treat him right? Did I somehow misbehave with him? Did any of my actions hurt him? Did he ever consider us to be friends? Were all those promises fake? Did he feel forced to stay with me all the time? Shubman had tons of questions for his Ishu, but alas, there was no Ishu beside him to answer them. 

He tried wondering what went wrong. He clearly remembered Ishan being sad about being benched in most of the matches. He was supposed to take a small break and return with a banger right? But the day the team met again, Shubman waited for two whole hours in front of the hotel, wishfully thinking that Ishan would be returning any moment now, when Virat bhai called the team together for Rohit bhai to announce that Ishan had withdrawn from the team voluntarily. The room had broken out into chaos. Several members of the team, Surya bhai, Rishabh, Hardik bhai, had tried contacting him just to find themselves being blocked on every way they could think of contacting him. Shubman himself had been in shock then. When he had later called Ishan that night, they went to voicemail, but his Instagram account hadn't been blocked yet. The last text there from Ishan still mocked him, "It is not you, Shubi, it's me." 

The worst thing was that the team management and the BCCI seemed rather happy at this sudden development, but since then, his form had failed him because he felt that he had failed Ishan. What could have happened that Ishan couldn't even share it with him? Shubman felt into a restless sleep as his body was tired after the punishing session he had put it through. But the slumber did not last long as his recurring nightmares woke him up in the wee hours of dawn - after a mere four hours of sleep. He needed him, his best support system who would shush him quietly, force away the darkness from his mind. Ever since Ishan started cuddling with him, Shubman had never had nightmares, but now without the comfortable warmth of his body , without the calming heartbeat under his palm, without the warm weight on his chest, the demons had returned back. It was futile, trying to sleep. 

Shubman dragged himself to the balcony, shivering in the cool morning breeze. The sun was just peeking though the clouds. Ishan would have loved it, he thought. The match was scheduled from two in the afternoon, so he could go out for a run, but Virat bhai would have his head if he wore himself down again before such an important match. He would have to go down for breakfast in about three hours or so. His stomach recoiled at the thought, nausea bubbling in his throat. His body had started repulsing food once more without the calming effect of Ishan. When the sun's warmth finally made it to his skin, Shubman retreated back to the room. He grabbed the noise cancelling headphones Ishan had gifted him, hoping they would cancel the voices of his mind in spite of knowing fully well that they wouldn't. Putting on the sad playlist his Ishu had put together for him, Shubman closed his eyes, his delusional mind believing that as if willing Ishan back would actually return him to his embrace. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I was requested to introduce Shubman and here he is. The poor baby doesn't even know what he did wrong. Should I write another chapter about Aleya next or bring Ishan back to the ICT family? Comment your opinions. 

I thought I wouldn't give any more updates today after the drawing, but suddenly felt depressed and well, this was born out of my depression. 

Bye guys, I have tuitions in the morning.

Enjoy, Adiraj.