Lost but Not Forgotten

PART 2

FLASHBACK-

The tension in the air was palpable as Rohit Sharma entered the BCCI boardroom. The whispers, the stares, the cold formality—it was all wrong. This wasn't the way he was used to being treated. He was Rohit Sharma, the "Hitman" of Indian cricket, the man who had led India to countless victories. But today, none of that mattered.

Today, he wasn't a hero. He was an accused.

The room was filled with familiar faces, yet none offered any warmth. Among them, MS Dhoni sat on the far side of the table, his face expressionless. His mentor, his brother in arms, was there, but no words of reassurance came. Across from him sat Virat Kohli, eyes narrowed in an icy gaze. The bond they had built over years of playing together was now replaced by something unsettling. Disbelief? Anger? Betrayal?

Rohit felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he took his seat.

"We've reviewed the evidence," a stern voice broke the silence. It was a senior BCCI official, his tone cold and final. "Rohit, you've been accused of involvement in match-fixing. Your signature is on these documents."

A thick file was slid across the table toward him. Rohit hesitated before flipping it open. Inside, pages of so-called 'proof' stared back at him—bank transfers, signed agreements, conversations implicating him in something he would never do. It was like looking at a twisted version of reality, one where his name had been dragged through the mud.

"That's not my signature," Rohit finally said, his voice steady but strained. He scanned the faces around the room, searching for a flicker of belief in his innocence, but found none.

"All the evidence points to you, Rohit," the official continued. "These signatures match, the bank details, the correspondence—everything leads back to you."

Rohit felt his pulse quicken. He glanced at Virat, desperate for some sign of loyalty, some support. But Virat's eyes were hard, filled with something that made Rohit's throat go dry.

"Why, Rohit?" Virat finally spoke, his voice low but filled with anger. "I looked up to you. We all did. You were our captain, our friend... how could you?"

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Rohit's mind reeled. This couldn't be happening. Virat, of all people, should've known better. They had faced the highest highs and the deepest lows together. But now, even Virat didn't trust him.

"I didn't do this," Rohit said, his voice shaking now. "You know me, Virat. You know I'd never—"

"Do we?" Virat interrupted, leaning forward. "Maybe we never really knew you at all."

Rohit's heart sank as his gaze swept across the table. His other teammates—Jasprit, Rahul, Kuldeep, and even Ishan—all looked away, their silence more painful than any words they could've spoken.

But it was MS Dhoni's reaction that stung the most. Mahi, the man who had always been his rock, sat quietly, watching everything unfold with a neutral expression. There was no outrage, no protest. Just cold silence.

"I wish it weren't true," Dhoni finally said, his voice soft but clear. "But the evidence... it's too much to ignore."

Rohit's world crumbled in that moment. Even Mahi didn't believe him. The weight of the accusations, the betrayal, and the sheer helplessness crashed down on him all at once. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but no words came. Instead, he stood there, exposed and alone in a room full of people who no longer trusted him.

"The BCCI has decided," the official said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Rohit Sharma, you are permanently suspended from playing for India."

The sentence echoed in his mind, louder than anything else. Suspended. Permanently. From everything he loved, everything he had worked for. His entire career, gone in the blink of an eye.

Without another word, Rohit stood up and walked out of the room. No one stopped him. No one called after him. The once-glorious leader of Indian cricket was now a pariah.

As he stepped into the night air, the world around him felt cold and distant. He fumbled with his phone, desperate for any sign of support. But the texts he received weren't the ones he had hoped for.

Virat's message was the first to flash across the screen:
"I trusted you, Rohit. We all did. How could you betray us?"

Then came the flood from the rest of his teammates:
"You were our role model. I can't believe I looked up to you," read Jasprit's.
"We chose the wrong person," from Rahul.
"What a disappointment," from Shreyas.
"I never expected this from you," came Ishan's hurtful message.

His chest tightened, his breath becoming shallow. Each word pierced through him like a dagger, severing whatever was left of his spirit. His own family—those he had fought with, guided, and protected—had abandoned him. No one believed in him anymore.

Ritika, his wife, stood waiting by the car with Samaira cradled in her arms, her eyes filled with unshed tears but no doubt. "We need to leave," she whispered.

And that's when Rohit knew.

They were right. It was time to leave—not just the stadium, not just the meeting. But everything. Without a word to anyone, without a goodbye, Rohit Sharma, the Hitman of Indian cricket, slipped away into the night with his wife and daughter.

As they disappeared into the darkness, so did any trace of the man who had once been India's pride.

**********

The soft click of the door echoed through the dimly lit hallway as Virat stepped into his house, the weight of his final day on the field pressing heavily on his shoulders. The roar of the stadium had long since faded, leaving behind only the silence of his home. Anushka was waiting for him in the living room, her eyes warm but clouded with an unspoken sadness.

"How was it?" she asked gently, her voice barely above a whisper.

Virat forced a smile, walking toward her. "It was... emotional," he replied, his tone distant. "The team's there for me, but—" He stopped mid-sentence, not wanting to voice the hollow ache that gnawed at him.

Anushka stood up, wrapping her arms around him, and for a brief moment, he let himself lean into her embrace. They stayed like that for a few heartbeats, silent, but both of them knowing that something—someone—was missing. A presence that once filled their lives with warmth, laughter, and a bond deeper than friendship.

"Did you... mention him?" Anushka asked, pulling away just enough to look into Virat's eyes.

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