Lost but Not Forgotten

PART 6

Back in India, the atmosphere at the stadium was buzzing with excitement. Virat Kohli, now retired from international cricket, had officially taken up his new role as the batting coach for the Indian team. The young juniors, who were once rookies learning under him and Rohit, were now senior players, carrying the weight of the team's future on their shoulders. But despite the excitement of having Virat back in a new role, there was an unspoken void that everyone felt but never addressed.

The absence of Rohit Sharma.

Virat stood at the edge of the field, watching the team practice with a bittersweet smile. He loved the game, and guiding the next generation gave him a sense of purpose. But something was missing—a deep, aching emptiness that even the loud cheers and bustling energy of the ground couldn't fill.

Rohit should have been here.

For years, Virat had carried the guilt of not believing in his best friend when it mattered most. The memory of the match-fixing scandal, the accusations, and Rohit's departure haunted him. Even after Rohit had been proven innocent, the damage had already been done. The team had fallen apart emotionally, and the realization that they had pushed away the man they once idolized weighed heavily on them all.

Jasprit Bumrah, Hardik Pandya, KL Rahul, Rishabh Pant, and the others—they had all blamed themselves. It was like a shadow that loomed over every success they achieved. They missed him—their captain, their elder brother, their guiding force. The camaraderie they once had was fractured, and it hadn't been the same since.

As Virat glanced toward the stands, his thoughts drifted back to a time when he and Rohit had dreamed of retiring together, watching the next generation from the sidelines, laughing and joking like old times. But fate had taken a different course.

Across the city, in a quiet corner of a café, two familiar faces sat opposite each other, deep in conversation. Vamika Kohli and Ziva Dhoni, now young women, had arranged this secret meeting, away from the prying eyes of their parents and the media. They had grown up with the team, watching their fathers play, and they shared a bond forged by years of being part of the Indian cricket family.

But today, their conversation wasn't about cricket or their own lives. It was about the man who had been missing from theirs for far too long.

"Rohit Chachu," Vamika said softly, her eyes downcast. "I miss him, Ziva Di. I miss Ritika Chachi too. And Sammy... it's like they've just disappeared from our lives."

Ziva nodded, her expression serious. "Me too. Ever since he left, it's like a part of Dad has been missing as well. He doesn't talk about it, but I can see it. He never forgave himself for what happened."

There was a long pause as the two young women sipped their drinks, their minds racing with memories of a time when Rohit was still part of their lives. They remembered the laughter, the celebrations, and how Rohit had been like a second father to them.

"I was thinking," Vamika continued, her voice quieter, "maybe it's time we do something. Maybe it's time we reach out."

Ziva leaned in, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

Vamika's eyes sparkled with determination. "We can't change the past, but we can try to bring him back. Dad and Uncle Mahi—they won't say it out loud, but I know they want Rohit Chachu back too. It's just that... no one knows how to fix what's been broken."

Ziva bit her lip, thinking. "But how? We don't even know where he is. He left without a trace."

"That's true but," Vamika said, pulling out her phone and showing Ziva an old photo of Rohit, Ritika, and Sammy at some unknown place. "Sammy and I used to stay in touch.We drifted apart over the years, but I still have her number."

Ziva's eyes widened. "You've been in touch with her?"

"Not for a while," Vamika admitted. "But it's a start. If anyone can reach out to him, it's us."

Ziva leaned back in her chair, considering Vamika's plan. The idea of reuniting their families—of bringing Rohit, Ritika, and Sammy back into their lives—was something she hadn't dared to think about in years. But now, sitting here with Vamika, it felt like there was a small flicker of hope.

"It won't be easy," Ziva warned. "We don't know if they'll even want to come back."

Vamika smiled, a glimmer of resolve in her eyes. "We won't know unless we try."

The two girls sat in silence for a moment, both feeling the weight of what they were about to embark on. It wasn't just about bringing back Rohit for their fathers—it was about healing the wounds of a family that had been torn apart. They owed it to themselves, to their fathers, and most of all, to Rohit Chachu and his family.

"Let's do it," Ziva finally said, her voice steady with determination.

As they left the café, the weight of their plan settled over them, but so did the hope. Somewhere, in a far-off part of the world, Rohit Sharma was living a life away from the game, away from the people who had once been his second family. But not for long, if Vamika and Ziva had anything to do with it.

They were ready to bring him home.MAYBE?

***************

In the warm glow of the café, Vamika, Ziva, Zoravar, Agastya, and Angaad huddled together, excitement and nerves swirling around them like a summer storm. They had formed an impromptu little squad, united by the singular goal of reaching out to the family of a man who had once meant so much to them all. Each child had heard stories about Rohit Sharma—the legendary cricketer who had been an idol, a family friend, and for some, a father figure.

As they gathered in a quiet corner, they knew it was time to make the call.

Ziva took a deep breath, dialing the number Vamika had retrieved. "This has to work," she murmured, glancing around at the faces of her friends, each reflecting a mix of hope and anxiety.

"Come on, Sammy. Pick up," Vamika whispered, her fingers tapping nervously against the table.

After a few rings, the line connected, and they could hear a voice on the other end. The sound sent chills down their spines. It was familiar, soft, yet distant. The voice they had longed to hear.

"Hello?"

Ziva's heart raced as she recognized Samaira's voice, but a mix of emotions filled her. "It's Samaira Sharma??," she said, trying to keep her tone steady despite the tremor in her voice.

There was a pause on the other end, and they all held their breath.

"I'm sorry, but who is this?" Sammy's voice was cautious, guarded.

"It's Ziva. Ziva Dhoni. I'm....." Her heart sank as the words tumbled out. The connection was there, but the hesitation felt heavy.

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