The Power of Love

Chapter 17

The relentless journey had drained every ounce of energy from my body. As I sat down to dinner, exhaustion clung to me like a heavy cloak. The warmth of home enveloped me, and my eyelids drooped. I surrendered to the fatigue, sinking into the embrace of sleep.

But fate had other plans. My phone, a persistent companion, buzzed insistently. I stirred, half-aware, as if caught in a dream. Mumma's voice, gentle yet urgent, penetrated my slumber. "Shub, good morning, baccha," she murmured. "Your phone has been ringing for the past half-hour."

I blinked, disoriented, and squinted at the device. 'S❤️' flashed on the screen. It was Sara, the one who stirred emotions I dared not name. I fumbled to answer, my voice thick with sleep. "Hello?"

Sara's voice crackled through the line. "Where were you? Why didn't you pick up? I was ready to book tickets to Chandigarh!" Her concern wrapped around me, tugging at my drowsy consciousness.

"Calm down, Sara," I mumbled. "It's barely 6:30 a.m." She scoffed, reminding me of my early-morning London jogs in bone-chilling cold. "You used to rise at 5:00 a.m. without fail."

I chuckled. "Fair point. But I'm fine, really." Her next question cut through the haze: "And how's Shahneel di? Uncle? Aunty?"

"They're all fine," I assured her. Fatigue seeped into my words, and Sara sensed it. "I'll call you later," she said, her voice softening. "Get some rest."

I ended the call, only to find Mumma studying me with a furrowed brow. She knew me too well. "Who was it, Shubi?"

I hesitated. Some secrets were too fragile to share. "Just a friend," I replied, evading the truth. Mumma nodded, her eyes filled with unspoken questions. I leaned into her, seeking solace. Her fingers traced soothing patterns on my scalp, and I whispered, "You know, Mumma, I missed this—the comfort of your lap."

Tears shimmered in her eyes. "How can you be so composed?" she asked. "After everything that happened..." I touched her cheek. "Because I can't be angry with Di, Mumma. Or with you and Papa."

Her kiss on my forehead held a world of understanding. I nestled back into her lap, cocooned by love and weariness. "Did you miss me, Mumma?" I murmured.

"Desperately," she confessed. "But anger clouded my maternal heart." I smiled, my eyelids heavy. In that moment, Mumma's lap became my sanctuary—the place where love and exhaustion merged into sweet surrender. 

The sun had climbed higher, casting a warm glow through the curtains. I stretched, my limbs protesting the abrupt awakening. Mumma's absence puzzled me—perhaps she'd slipped downstairs while I slept. My phone lay within reach, its screen a silent canvas. I tapped out a message to Sara, my thumbs stumbling over the keys.

Downstairs, the aroma of fresh parathas beckoned. Shahneel Di sat across from me, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Slept well?" Papa inquired, his voice a comforting rumble.

"Yes, Papa," I replied, my appetite awakening. Shahneel Di chimed in, "Can see it clearly." I rolled my eyes, my sister's teasing familiar and oddly soothing. The rhythmic clatter of cutlery accompanied our meal, but my phone interrupted the morning calm.

Who could be calling? Not Sara—I'd just spoken to her. Ashish Nehra sir's name flashed on the screen. My heart raced. Why was he reaching out to me?

I excused myself, scrubbing my hands clean, and retreated to the living room. The call connected. "Good morning, Shubman," Nehra sir greeted. "Hardik has been traded back to MI."

My mind whirled. Hardik bhai, the powerhouse all-rounder, now with Mumbai Indians? When? Why? "No, sir," I stammered. "I was just—"

"He's indeed back with MI," Nehra sir confirmed. "And the team has decided on a captain. It's you."

Captain? The word echoed in my mind. Me? I'd never been vice-captain, let alone skipper. "Why me?" I blurted out.

"You're our Most Valuable Player, Shub," Nehra sir explained. I nodded, my throat tight. The weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders.

In the days that followed, Ahmedabad beckoned—a pilgrimage for formalities, team bonding, and strategy sessions. Back at the dining table, Papa's eyes bore into mine. "What happened, Shub?"

I hesitated, then spilled the news. "Hardik bhai is traded to MI. I'm the captain of GT." Their joy was infectious, but beneath it lay the gravity of leadership. GT had clinched the title once, been runners-up the previous year. Could I steer this ship?

I sank onto the sofa, contemplating the path ahead. Sara deserved to know. I dialed her number. "I'm so happy for you, baby," she exclaimed.

"But do I deserve this, Sara?" I wondered aloud.

Her voice held unwavering conviction. "You deserve it, Shub. So you got it." We talked, our words weaving a tapestry of encouragement and anticipation. As I hung up, I stared out the window, wondering how to lead a team, how to inspire victory, and how to honor the legacy of GT.