For avnim_23 hope you like it😊
________________________________________
Rohit Sharma had stopped smiling.
It was like someone turned off the light behind his eyes and forgot to flick it back on
Once the sun of the dressing room—chubby cheeks, loud laughs, teasing younger boys with a lazy grin—he now sat in corners, silent, phone face-down, refusing post-match celebrations, press interactions, even chai breaks.
And it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Bhaiya ko kya ho gaya?” Tilak whispered one evening, peeking toward the corner where Rohit stared blankly at a wall, the empty cup in his hand long forgotten.
“Maybe he’s fasting?” Shreyas offered weakly.
“For a funeral?” Rishabh muttered. “He hasn't eaten biryani in three weeks. That’s illegal.”
They all tried.
Hardik brought him whiskey-glazed wings from his favorite hidden joint in Bandra. Jasprit offered a puppy—an actual puppy. KL Rahul attempted poetry.
Rohit blinked, nodded, thanked them all softly, and then walked away.
“Yaar, kuch toh karo,” KL sighed to Ishan, who was sitting cross-legged, staring at Rohit like he was trying to summon a spirit.
“I tried!” Ishan whined. “I did the dolphin dance! Shirtless!”
“Yeah,” Rishabh added dryly. “He didn’t even flinch. I think we need divine intervention.”
Which, apparently, meant Virat Kohli.
The former captain stood by the window that evening, arms folded, eyes narrowed at Rohit.
“He’s spiraling,” Virat muttered. “And none of you idiots can fix it.”
“Excuse me?” Jaddu snapped. “I literally did a backflip for that man.”
"You’re not what he needs"
Virat’s voice was low. Dangerous
"What does he need then?" KL asked, tiredly
Virat's lips curled in something between a smirk and a threat "He needs a monster"
Shubman Gill wasn’t normal.
Golden boy of Indian cricket, yes. Rising star, yes. Poster child, yes.
But beneath the perfect smile, the 6’3 stature, the Greek statue face… he was a menace.
A heartless, calculating, untouchable menace.
And, secretly, a billionaire mafia prince no one dared to cross. Except maybe his three friends: Yashasvi, Ishan, and Abhishek—though even they knew when not to test him.
So when Virat called him at midnight, voice serious, breath clipped, and said, “Your captain is breaking. Do something,”—Shubman simply exhaled and said:
“Where is he?”
---
The plan was simple.
Infiltrate. Extract. Claim.
The next day, Rohit found himself wrapped in a warm, too-expensive trench coat and shoved into the backseat of a bulletproof Maybach by Shubman Gill himself.
"What the f—" Rohit muttered to himself
"You need to breathe cap" Shubman said calmly, pushing a cup of hot adrak chai into Rohit’s hands "You’re going to die if you don’t"
