Lost but Not Forgotten

PART 4

Ritika entered the room quietly, her heart aching at the sight of her husband. She had seen him in pain before, but this was different. The hurt ran deeper than she could describe. The betrayal, the loneliness, and the isolation had left a permanent scar on both of them. Rohit had always been strong for her, for their family, but this was one wound that even time couldn't heal.

She knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he watched Virat wave to the crowd one last time.

"I thought we'd be there for each other," Rohit whispered, his voice cracking. "We talked about retiring together. But now... it's just him."

Ritika's throat tightened, and she fought back her own tears. She remembered those conversations too. Rohit and Virat had been inseparable back then. Their bond was unbreakable—or so she had thought.

"Shh... it's okay," she whispered softly, rubbing his back. "It's over now, Rohit. It's all over."

But even as she said the words, she knew they offered little comfort. The pain of being accused, the weight of being betrayed by the very people who once called him their idol, lingered like a dark cloud over their lives. And as much as she tried to be strong for him, there were days when even Ritika felt broken by it all.

Samaira, or Sammy as they lovingly called her, stood at the doorway, watching her parents. She had grown into a graceful young woman now, no longer the little girl who had once run around cricket fields while her father led the Indian team. She knew the story, the truth of what had happened to her father, but she had never asked too many questions. She had sensed the tension in their household, the pain her father carried, and respected their silence.

Tonight, though, she couldn't ignore the quiet grief that filled the room.

"Dinner's ready," Sammy called softly, trying to sound upbeat, even though she could feel the heaviness in the air.

Rohit wiped his eyes, straightened up, and forced a small smile for his daughter. He loved her more than anything in the world, and if there was one reason he had survived these painful years, it was for her,Ritika and.

The three of them settled at the dining table, and for a moment, there was silence as they served themselves. Sammy watched her father closely, knowing the impact of Virat's retirement on him. She had seen the clips, the news. It was impossible not to, even in their secluded life away from India. She admired the strength he showed, despite everything. But tonight, something felt different—like a chapter was truly closing, even for them.

Rohit stared at his plate for a while, before breaking the silence with a question, asked in his usual casual tone but laced with an unspoken sadness.

"Woh... kaha hai?" he asked, using his classic Rohit style of "yeh woh," though it had lost some of its playful charm over the years.

Ritika and Sammy exchanged a glance, their lips curling into small smiles. They knew who he was referring to. It was the same person who had kept their family going through the hardest of times.

"He's coming tonight," Ritika answered gently."After his practice"

Rohit nodded, though his eyes darkened with a hint of sadness. Even after all these years, a part of him still felt incomplete—like he wasn't worthy of being the father he wanted to be.

Sammy, sensing her father's emotions, reached across the table and placed her hand on his.

"Dad, don't worry," she said softly, her voice filled with warmth and reassurance. "Your child will be here. We're all here."

Rohit gave her a weak smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. His mind wandered back to the time when they had fled India, leaving behind everything they knew. Ritika had been pregnant at the time with their second child, but they hadn't been able to tell anyone. How could they, when the team—their family—had turned against them? Even after Rohit was proven innocent, the pain of losing the trust of those closest to him had been too much to bear.

Now, twenty years later, their family had grown in ways no one had imagined. But the scars of the past were still fresh, and the empty spaces left by the friendships they once cherished were ever-present.

Ritika watched Rohit's expression carefully, knowing exactly where his mind had drifted. She had stood by him through it all, from the days of endless accusations to the quiet, painful nights of exile. Their second child, who was now grown, had brought them so much joy, but she knew that Rohit's heart still longed for the connections he had lost.

As the three of them sat together, the quiet hum of the world outside seemed to press in on them, and for a moment, everything felt frozen in time.

Their family was stronger now, more resilient, but a part of Rohit's heart would always belong to the life he had left behind.

"Don't worry," Ritika whispered softly, her hand resting gently on his. "Everything will be okay. Tonight... tonight he'll be here."

And with that, they waited, each of them holding onto the hope that perhaps, one day, they might find the closure they so desperately needed.

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The heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing the dim interior of Mahendra Singh Dhoni's once-vibrant home. It was a house that had seen countless celebrations, victories, and moments of joy, but now, it stood eerily quiet, shrouded in an oppressive stillness.

Mahi hadn't been himself in years.

After Rohit's innocence was revealed, everything changed. The world came to know the truth, but for Dhoni, the damage had already been done. The man who had once been the calm, unshakable leader of Indian cricket—the "Captain Cool" who had guided India to World Cup victories and countless other triumphs—was now a shadow of his former self.

His betrayal of Rohit, the man he had mentored, trusted, and treated like a younger brother, had broken something deep inside him. Rohit had been his "first kiddo," the one he had taken under his wing, and yet, when the time had come to stand by him, Mahi had doubted him. He had let the false evidence poison his mind, allowing the lies to overshadow years of friendship and trust.

The media had called it Dhoni's greatest misstep—his inability to see through the facade, his failure to trust the man he had raised as a leader. But to Mahi, it was far worse. He hadn't just failed as a captain or a teammate; he had failed as a brother.

Now, Mahi had locked himself away from the world. The once-vibrant house that had been filled with the laughter of his daughter Ziva, the support of his wife Sakshi, and the constant stream of visitors from his cricket family was now an isolated fortress.

Dhoni refused interviews, ignored media requests, and turned down every opportunity to speak publicly. Even his closest friends had stopped trying to reach him. They knew what haunted him—knew that nothing they said could ease the crushing weight of guilt he carried. He had retreated into his own mind, where the echoes of his decision to distrust Rohit replayed over and over, a never-ending cycle of self-blame and regret.

Sakshi had tried, time and time again, to pull him out of the darkness. She had begged him to forgive himself, to understand that no one had seen the truth coming. But Mahi couldn't. His sense of failure ran too deep.

On this particular evening, the house was quiet except for the occasional soft patter of Ziva's feet as she moved about, now a teenager herself, growing up in a home where the silence had become normal. She was used to her father's distant presence, used to the sadness that hung over him like a storm cloud. She had seen the man he once was and the man he had become—closed off, withdrawn, and haunted.

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