Shadows Of The Stumps

Staring onto Nothing

Laughter rang out in soft waves — warm, domestic, blissfully unaware of the bleeding edges of the world elsewhere.

In the living room, Athiya was cradling little Eva, the one-month-old cooing back at her with toothless delight, fists waving in the air. Anushka sat beside her, making exaggerated faces that had Eva hiccupping tiny giggles, while Ritika gently massaged the baby's feet, lost in the rhythm of a lullaby she barely remembered from her own childhood. Akaay and Ahaan ran around blissfully giggling while Samaira and Vamika were busy colouring.

Across the room, Shubman and Rohit were nursing cups of tea, quietly discussing the upcoming England tour. The banter was casual — bowling combinations, net strategies, and whether or not to rest certain players — but both were aware of the absence hanging just beyond their words.

Virat, curled up by the bookshelf, a novel in his lap, hadn't flipped a page in ten minutes. His eyes were on the print, but his mind was pacing miles away. Every time someone brought up "leave approvals" or "postings," his jaw tensed, ever so slightly. Meera's name had not been spoken aloud since breakfast.

And then there was Hardik.

Seated by the window, staring into the fading night beyond, his tea untouched, his fingers idle. He had said barely a word all evening. Not since the last call came through the encrypted line. His thumb rubbed slowly against the edge of the ring on his little finger — the one Meera had teased him about stealing back when they argued over who was more dramatic during storms.

Rahul, meanwhile, stood in the archway between rooms, watching them all. Watching him. The way Hardik didn't even blink as Eva squealed in joy. The way Athiya kept glancing at the wall clock. The way the house, no matter how full, felt wrong — like a body missing a limb.

Then it hit him.

Like a punch. Sharp, solid, unrelenting.

His chest seized — not metaphorically. Literally. Like someone had driven their fist straight through his sternum and squeezed.

His breath caught.

A flash — blood, stone, Meera's voice, barely above a whisper.

Rahul staggered slightly, one hand going to the wall to steady himself.

"Meera..." he whispered.

Heads turned.

Hardik straightened. So did Virat.

Athiya's eyes widened. The laughter died in Eva's throat as if sensing the shift in the air.

Rohit rose halfway from his seat. "Rahul?"

But Rahul didn't answer.

He just motioned toward Athiya, eyes tight, the slightest shake of his head — No. Don't panic. Don't speak.

But she saw it.

The way his jaw clenched. The way his hand lingered too long on the wall as he turned away. The storm behind his eyes.

And everybody understood.

Rahul barged out to the terrace, the door thudding shut behind him, his urgency quiet but cutting.
Hardik was right behind him, already rising the moment Rahul said her name. No words. Just instinct. The kind forged in trenches and long nights, in things unspoken.

As the two men disappeared beyond the terrace door, the stillness in the room shifted.

Athiya turned sharply to Virat, her voice brittle.

"Kuch hua?"

Her arms held Eva tighter now, a reflex of fear blooming in her chest. Her eyes had already begun spiraling, darting between the door and the window, searching for signs.