Leading with Heart: Rohit's Bonds

Always ro-always

The evening sky was painted in soft hues of orange and pink as Virat climbed the stairs to the terrace, his footsteps quiet. He had been searching for Rohit all day, knowing full well that his friend was somewhere trying to avoid the heavy weight of everything that had gone wrong lately. India's unexpected defeat at home against New Zealand had shaken the team—and the fans—even more. It was the first home series loss in 18 years, and the weight of that failure had landed squarely on Rohit's shoulders.

As captain, Rohit had been the face of the criticism, relentlessly trolled and questioned by fans and critics alike. The praise and love from just a few months ago, after lifting the T20 World Cup and ending India's 17-year trophy drought, felt like a distant memory. It hurt to see his best friend go from hero to villain in the public eye so quickly.

Rohit had done his best to hide it. He'd buried himself in spending time with the juniors, chatting with Tilak, Shubman, and Ishan, acting like nothing was wrong. Virat had watched him closely, though. He saw through the smiles, through the forced laughter Rohit put on for his "kiddos." He could see the burden his friend was carrying, no matter how well Rohit tried to hide it.

When he finally found Rohit on the terrace, sitting alone with his eyes fixed on the sky, Virat paused for a moment. Rohit looked different—older, wearier. The face that had been beaming with joy not so long ago now seemed distant, lost in a mix of frustration and pain.

Without a word, Virat walked over and sat beside him. They sat in silence for a while, each letting the quiet settle around them. The gentle breeze carried faint sounds from below, the life of the city carrying on, indifferent to the turmoil within the two friends sitting up above.

"Why are you here, Virat?" Rohit's voice was soft, almost tired.

Virat took a deep breath. "Why do you think?"

Rohit chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "I'm fine. Really, it's just... a rough series. Happens to everyone."

"Does it?" Virat asked gently, not looking away. "Ro, we've been through some low moments, but you and I both know this is eating you up."

Rohit didn't respond right away. He kept his gaze fixed on the sky, and for a moment, Virat thought he might not answer at all. But then he let out a sigh, almost as if the weight he'd been carrying finally cracked open a bit.

"They're right, you know," Rohit murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I am just a clueless captain. Maybe... maybe I got lucky with that World Cup win. Now look at us—losing a home series after almost two decades. How am I supposed to explain that?"

"Rohit," Virat said firmly, turning to face him. "Don't do that to yourself. You're not a 'clueless captain,' and this isn't your fault alone. You know that, right?"

Rohit's laugh was hollow. "Try telling that to everyone who thinks otherwise. All they see is failure—and it's my failure, Virat. My failure as captain, as a player. I worked so hard to bring that trophy home, and it's like it doesn't even matter now."

Virat placed a hand on Rohit's shoulder. "You did more than anyone could ask for, Ro. You brought us a victory we'd been waiting for since forever. People have short memories, yes, but that doesn't erase what you did. We all know it wasn't just luck. You're a damn good captain, and no one can take that away from you."

Rohit finally looked at him, his eyes reflecting the vulnerability he had tried to hide for so long. "It just feels like... nothing I do is enough. Like one loss wipes out everything."

"You know, I used to think the same way," Virat said softly, his voice filled with understanding. "Every bad series, every defeat... it used to feel like I wasn't good enough. But you were always there, reminding me that one series doesn't define me. And now, it's my turn to remind you of that."

Rohit took a shaky breath, his shoulders finally easing a little. "I just... I don't want to let them down, Virat. I don't want to let you down."

Virat tightened his grip on Rohit's shoulder. "You could never let me down, Ro. Not even if you tried. And as for the fans... they'll come around. You know how this works. For now, focus on what really matters—our team, your 'kiddos.' They look up to you, and they still believe in you. We all do."

Rohit managed a small smile, nodding. "They were trying so hard to cheer me up earlier," he admitted. "Shubman brought me coffee, Tilak kept talking my ear off about cricket strategies, and Ishan even offered to teach me how to dance. They don't know how much that means."

"Because they love you, Ro. And I do too," Virat said quietly. "We're family. And family doesn't give up on each other."

They sat in silence for a while longer, the weight on Rohit's shoulders finally easing as he allowed himself to believe Virat's words. The world outside might be harsh and unforgiving, but up here, surrounded by those who knew him best, he didn't have to be strong all the time.

"Thanks, Virat," he said eventually, his voice soft but filled with gratitude. "For always being here."

Virat grinned, giving him a light punch on the arm. "Always, Ro. Always."

And as the two of them sat there, watching the stars slowly take their place in the night sky, Rohit felt the familiar warmth of hope return, reminding him that he wasn't alone in this journey—and that, maybe, he never would be.

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