Lost but Not Forgotten

PART 39

As the celebrations started to wind down, the stadium still buzzing with excitement from the match, the team gathered, now knowing the full truth of what had transpired. Relief, guilt, and a sense of unity swept over everyone as they embraced, thankful that the ordeal had come to an end. But in the midst of it all, Moksh stood silently, his mind working through something deeper. He had made a decision.

Quietly, he walked over to where Rohit was standing with Ritika. Without a word, he gently took his father's hand, tugging him toward the center of the ground. Rohit immediately protested, pulling back slightly, his eyes filled with fear. "Moksh, what are you doing? The world... I can't—"

Moksh tightened his grip on his father's hand, his expression firm yet tender. "Papa, trust me. You need to see this. They need to see this."

The crowd, which had been cheering and celebrating, suddenly quieted as they saw Moksh leading Rohit toward the center of the field. A murmur rippled through the audience as they realized that The Hitman—Rohit Sharma himself—was stepping onto the field after being hidden for so long. People exchanged confused glances, unsure of what was happening.

Rohit's heart pounded in his chest, the anxiety clawing at him. His hands were trembling. The world had not been kind to him in recent times, and he wasn't sure if he could face them again. But Moksh's grip was firm, almost protective. He felt the strength of his son, his silent reassurance, and for the first time in a long while, Rohit allowed himself to trust in someone else's plan.

They reached the center of the pitch, and Moksh gestured for Rohit to look up. Before Rohit could question it, the stadium lights suddenly went out, plunging the field into darkness. A few gasps came from the crowd, and then, on the giant screens around the stadium, a video began to play. The footage was unmistakable—it was Rohit's journey.

The screen lit up with images of a young Rohit Sharma, a boy full of dreams, who slowly rose to become one of India's greatest cricketers. His early days in the IPL, his first international centuries, his record-breaking achievements—all of it unfolded on the screen. The crowd watched, silent and mesmerized.

Rohit stood frozen, his throat tightening with emotion as he watched his own life play out in front of him, his eyes welling up with unshed tears. He glanced at Moksh, who gently wiped his father's tears with a smile. "Papa, wait. There's more."

Rohit turned back to the screen just as the footage shifted. The images of his glory days faded, replaced by the darkest chapter of his career—the day he was accused. The whispers, the accusations, the betrayal. Rohit clenched his fists, his body tensing as the memories came flooding back. He had almost forgotten the feeling of being abandoned by the very world he had dedicated his life to.

His heart sank deeper, until—

The video shifted again. Arun's face appeared on the screen, his manic expression as he confessed to everything. The whole stadium heard it—Arun's voice echoing through the speakers, admitting how he framed Rohit, how he wanted to destroy him for the sake of his son's failed career. Rohit's eyes widened in shock as the confession played on, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind.

The crowd was silent, stunned by the revelation. For a moment, the entire stadium held its breath.

Then, as the video ended, there was a beat of silence before the crowd erupted into cheers. "Rohit! Rohit! HITMAN! HITMAN!" The chants started slow but quickly grew, roaring through the stadium, shaking the very ground they stood on.

Rohit, overwhelmed, couldn't hold back anymore. Tears streamed down his face as Moksh stepped closer. "You didn't deserve any of this, Papa. The world knows the truth now."