a/n: sooo as you can see the base for this fic was laid down in 2024 but it has been completed almost 2 years later. i don't know what took over me and i decided to finally complete this. this is lonnng, around 7k words so enjoy!
this is the 100th update of the book so it had to be something that was my fav genre writing, also i was browsing yesterday after dayss and it was very unfortunate that i couldn't any recent platonic fic:( any recs let me know!
can't wait to hear your thoughts, it's been so long since i have written anthing lest this long:)
....
The morning after India won the T20 World Cup, three things became immediately clear to Rohit Sharma.
First, nobody was supposed to be awake. The celebrations had officially wound down around 4:17 AM, which was the exact moment Hardik Pandya started using a hotel fire extinguisher as a musical instrument, and the night manager stopped pretending to be amused.
Second, Rohit was very much awake. He was standing in the middle of his hotel suite, barefoot, still wearing the same clothes from last night, staring at a table that had contained the World Cup trophy approximately seven hours ago.
Third, the table was empty.
Not empty in the way a table is empty when someone has moved something two feet to the left. Empty in the way that makes your stomach drop into a different time zone. The kind of empty that forces your brain to reboot like a corrupted computer, loading memories in slow motion, each one more damning than the last.
He blinked. The table remained empty. He walked around it once, then twice, then a third time, each circuit slower and more desperate than the one before. At one point he actually checked under a half-eaten sandwich that someone had left on a coaster, which was the kind of decision that only a sleep-deprived captain could find logical. The sandwich stared back at him. It had been there all night. It was not hiding the World Cup.
He needed someone else to see this. Someone who would panic at the correct volume. Someone who understood that this wasn't just a missing object, it was the actual physical manifestation of seventeen years of chasing, of semifinal heartbreaks and final losses, of carrying a billion hopes on your shoulders every time you walked onto the field.
"Virat," he said.
The blanket on the couch did not move.
"Virat."
A sound emerged from beneath the blanket.
"Unless the building is actively on fire," came the muffled voice, "I don't care. I don't care about breakfast. I don't even care if my name is Virat or Virak, whatever my mother named me, it's all the same to me right now."
"The trophy is missing."
Silence. The kind of silence that has weight, that presses down on a room like a physical object. Then the blanket flew off with such force that it nearly took a lamp with it. Virat Kohli sat bolt upright, his hair pointing in seven different directions simultaneously, his eyes wide open in a way that suggested his soul had just been recalled from vacation via emergency broadcast.
"The trophy that was right there?" he said, pointing at the table with a trembling finger.
"Yes."
"The World Cup trophy? The one we've been chasing for seventeen years? The one we cried over? The one you gave a speech to like it was your long-lost child returning from war?"
"It was an emotional moment."
"There are seventeen photographs of you hugging that trophy, Rohit. Seventeen. Pant counted and showed me at 2 AM. You were making eye contact with it."
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ICT Imagines 2✅
Fanfiction[Requests Closed] random imagines on our beloved ict🫂 If you are done reading this make sure to check out the first part, completed as well. [fetus writing in a couple of initial chapters, please read at your own risk >_<] All Rights Reserved ©
