mana ke hum yaar nahi

+1 time: where it all began

January 2036

The first thing Ishan noticed was the grey at Shubman's temples. A decade had left its marks on both of them – laugh lines around their eyes, a mature fullness to their faces, shoulders that carried the weight of choices made and unmade. Shubman had grown more handsome in his late thirties, his boyish charm replaced by a quiet gravitas that made heads turn even now.

"Welcome home," Shubman said softly, extending his hand at the Legends League practice session. The familiar calluses, the warmth – some things hadn't changed.

Mumbai welcomed Ishan back like a lover scorned, with suffocating heat and memories at every corner. The city had evolved, but Wankhede remained unchanged, still echoing with ghosts of cover drives and stolen glances.

Nine-year-old Inaya sat in the stands during practice, her eyes tracking every movement with an intelligence that reminded Ishan of her father. She had Shubman's smile, the kind that lit up entire rooms.

"She asks about you sometimes," Shubman mentioned during warm-ups. "Remembers the videos you'd send from Wellington."

"Does she know about—" Ishan hesitated.

"Sara? Yes. She's handling it better than most adults would. Kids see love differently, don't they? Simpler. Clearer."

The news of Sara and Shubman's separation had been handled with dignity. She'd found love with her company's CEO, and Shubman had given her his blessing. Modern India has evolved enough to celebrate their mature handling of divorce.

The practice was a study of avoided glances and calculated distance. Until Rohit, now greying but sharp as ever, commented: "Some things never change, eh? You two still have that telepathy."

It was true. Even angry, even hurt, their bodies remembered. Ishan's gloves still made the same soft sound catching Shubman's edges. Their running between wickets remained instinctive, bodies moving in a familiar rhythm.

"Must be nice," Shreyas remarked, "having your favorite partner back, Shubman?"

The words hit like a bouncer. Ishan's gloves hit the ground before anyone could blink. He was halfway to the lockers when he heard footsteps behind him.

Sensing something awfully wrong, the team quietly packed their gear and left early for the meeting hoping that these two knuckleheads finally sorted it out. Virat also eyed the groundsmen to secure the area for privacy. Shreyas grabbed Inaya under the ruse of taking her for ice cream.

"Running away again?" Shubman's voice echoed in the empty corridor. "That's your solution for everything, isn't it?"

Ishan whirled around. "Don't you dare—"

"Don't I dare what? Point out how you abandoned everything. How you leave without a word?" You had no right," he snarled, years of contained anger finally breaking free. "Ten years, Ishan. Ten fucking years of silence. Not even a goodbye. Just headlines and rumors and watching you build a whole new life through Instagram posts."

"I was protecting you!" Ishan shot back, his restraint crumbling. "Your career, your family—"

"Protecting me?" Shubman's laugh was ugly, wounded. "You were protecting yourself. I waited. Every single day, I waited. When Inaya was born, I waited. When she took her first steps, I waited. Do you know what it's like, watching your child grow while your heart lives in another country?"

"At least you had a child to raise!" Ishan's voice cracked like a broken wicket. "I had empty apartments and memories and fucking Wellington rain! I watched you play on muted TV screens at 3 AM because I couldn't bear to hear your voice. I typed out messages every day – every single day – and deleted them because you were married, you were happy—"