the boundary

Falling Into Place

With the series match around the corner, time seemed to slip through Ishan's fingers. Team meetings, gym sessions, practice nets, and strategy briefings filled his days, leaving almost no room to process the weight of everything that had happened with Aditi, or the strange ache he felt whenever he thought of Shubman. The few glances they shared felt like brief flickers of warmth that were gone too soon. Ishan knew he was distracted, his mind scattered by the avalanche of recent events. Yet, amidst the whirl, he couldn't stop himself from wanting just a little more time with Shubman, hoping for one undisturbed moment where everything could be understood, laid bare.

Shubman felt it too. Watching Ishan struggle with his inner chaos left him with a desire to comfort him, yet his role as a teammate—and the invisible wall that still separated them—made him hold back. Shubman yearned to tell Ishan how much he'd missed him over the past few days, to hug him, to touch the curve of his smile, even to run his fingers through Ishan's hair. But the constraints of their world held him back, reminding him of the delicate boundary they couldn't cross—at least, not yet. Shubman's response was to dive deeper into his practice, trying to channel the mess of feelings into precision on the field, hoping the rhythm of bat and ball might keep his heart steady.

The night before the game, Rohit called Ishan aside, his gaze steady yet gentle. "You've been through a lot recently, Ishan," he said. "Aditi's accident, the mental toll of all of it. You need to breathe for a game and get your head back on straight. You'll sit out tomorrow."

The news struck Ishan like a punch to the gut. He respected Rohit's decision and knew he was right, but the thought of watching from the sidelines stung. He offered Rohit a resigned nod, trying to steel himself for the bench.

But the morning brought an unexpected twist: during a quick pre-match drill, Rohit pulled his hamstring. The medics were swift, but the injury was clear: Rohit wouldn't be opening the match. Trying to mask the pain with his usual calm, he called Ishan over. There was a glint of something serious in Rohit's eyes like he was about to say more than the usual pep talk.

"Ishan, sun. Don't let what happened throw you off balance today, alright?" Rohit began, his voice warm but carrying the weight of an older brother who'd seen his fair share of hard days. "Tujhe pata hai, right? This game is in your blood. You've earned this spot—you've put in the time, the sweat, the grind, aur aaj jo bhi hai na, woh sab tere favor mein hai. Bas. Nothing else should matter. Tumhara match hai yeh. Samjha?"

Ishan nodded, but Rohit could see the shadow of worry in his eyes. Ishan wasn't one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but when it came to family or close friends, his emotions always ran deep.

Rohit tapped him on the shoulder, squeezing it as he continued, his tone taking on a sharper edge. "Abey, tension kyun le raha hai tu? Yeh koi emotional drama ka scene nahi chal raha hai—yeh tere life ka game hai. Tere bas ka hai yeh. Aaj sirf game pe dhyan rakh, aur doosra sab kuch bhool ja."

"Rohit bhai, par—" Ishan started, but Rohit cut him off, leaning in closer.

"Koi par-aur-var nahi sunne ka aaj! You're on the field, toh bas khopdi me game chalna chahiye, samjha? You think I'm putting you out there if I don't trust you to do this? Apan log sabko dekha denge ki Ishan Kishan kya cheez hai!" Rohit's tone softened just a bit, his voice dropping lower. "I know you're still processing things, but don't lose yourself in that, haan? Tere andar ka aggression aaj pure game pe nikaalna. Show 'em what you're made of."

Ishan gave a hesitant nod, some of his resolve returning, but Rohit wasn't quite finished. With a knowing grin, he added, "Aur ek cheez aur... chhakka maarte waqt bhoolna mat, woh boundary sirf ek line hai. And tu hai Ishan Kishan. Woh line ko cross karna toh tera janam ka haq hai!"