mana ke hum yaar nahi

3rd time: the night when everything fell apart

December 2024

The news broke on a Tuesday.

Shubman was at practice when his phone started buzzing incessantly. Jugnu, his childhood friend and constant confidant, had sent a flurry of messages with links to news articles. The headlines made his blood run cold:

"RISING CRICKET STAR BRUTALLY ATTACKED BY TEAMMATES AFTER COMING OUT" "GAY CRICKETER FACES EX-COMMUNICATION FROM DOMESTIC CIRCUIT" "CRICKET BOARD SILENT ON HOMOPHOBIC ASSAULT" "FAMILY DISOWNS PLAYER: 'NO SON OF OURS'"

His hands trembled as he read the details. A young domestic player, barely twenty, had trusted his teammates with his truth. They had responded with fists and slurs, leaving him bleeding in the locker room. The cricket board's silence spoke volumes.

The boy's name was Arjun. Just yesterday, he'd been a promising all-rounder from Maharashtra. Today, he was a cautionary tale.

"Quite shocking, isn't it?" Jugnu's voice made him jump. His friend had driven to the stadium after Shubman hadn't responded to his messages. "Can you imagine? In 2024?"

Shubman couldn't speak. All he could think about was Ishan's smile that morning when they'd shared breakfast, how their fingers had brushed while passing the toast, how he'd wanted to lean across the table and kiss the stretch of his lips that appeared when Ishan laughed at his terrible jokes.

"Though honestly," Jugnu continued, oblivious to Shubman's internal turmoil, "what did he expect? Cricket isn't ready for this. Remember that player from the '90s? The one who never played again after rumors started? At least back then they were discrete about it."

Each word was a nail in Shubman's coffin of dreams. He thought about his father's pride when he made the national team, his mother's tears during his first century, and the billions who watched his every move. The weight of expectations – from family, from fans, from a nation that treated cricketers like demigods – pressed against his chest until breathing felt like a conscious effort.

He thought about Ishan, beautiful Ishan, who deserved better than a love that had to hide in shadows. Ishan, who cuddled his pillows but would fight anyone who mentioned it. Ishan, looked at him sometimes like he held all the answers to questions they were both too scared to ask.

"And with selection coming up..." Jugnu shook his head. "Poor timing. Though I suppose there's never a good time for... that."

"I... I need to go," Shubman managed to say, already pulling out his phone. His fingers trembled as he typed out a message to Sara.

The drive to her house was a blur of honking horns and red lights that seemed to last eternities. News channels on the radio were discussing Arjun's case, each comments more vitriolic than the last. "Cricket is a gentleman's game," one commentator declared. "Certain lifestyles have no place here."

Sara opened the door in pajamas, her face concerned. "Shubman? What's wrong?"

He crashed into her arms, tears finally breaking free. Sara led him inside, to the couch where they'd spent countless evenings watching matches and sharing dreams. Now those dreams felt like ashes in his mouth.

"I can't," he choked out. "I can't be who I am. I can't love who I love."

Sara held him tighter, and he remembered why she'd always been his closest female friend. She never pushed, never demanded explanations. She just understood.

"Is it Ishan?" she asked softly.

Shubman's head snapped up. "How...?"

"The way you look at him," she said simply. "Like he hung the moon and stars just for you. The way you always sit next to him in team photos. How do you check your phone first thing every morning – I'm guessing for his good morning text?"