Page 52 of Game on, Love
I nodded, turning to him and extended my hand. “Raina, from NexGen.”
“Ethan, I’m your guide for today.” Ethan smiled, before shaking my hand and turning quickly. He walked down the narrow hallway before leading me down to their memorabilia section. Wasting no time, he started pointing out the significance of each.
He spoke with excitement and glee, the love of the sport evident in his voice as he pointed to the signed bats and jerseys by some iconic players, along with balls that were part of some historic matches displayed behind the glass. Once again, my eye caught on to one specific jersey—it was white, the number 22 and the wordKINGin bold red colours.
“That’s from his first match. He scored a century on his debut.” Ethan caught my gaze before commenting.
Of course, he did.
He then pointed to the shelves opposite us. “It’s a bit of a shame we have to display them through the years because I honestly think it would look so cool if it were among them. That’s where his Dad’s, Grand-Dad’s and Great-Grand-Dad’s jerseys are from their debut matches. From A Five-Wicket Haul to records for setting the fastest scores, they all made sure that they told exactly where they came from, right from the moment they stepped onto the field.”
Ethan continued speaking about the other stuff around us, and I was suddenly glad I’d decided to bring my recorder instead of trying to jot everything down at once because all that wentthrough my head was howmuchof his family legacy really lived on in this sport, in this place.
The traditions tied to his name, and the matches won before him. He had said he was born into it, and yet how much he loved it. But not once had he let on the history—not the kind which you see in museums or read about in textbooks, but the kind that wasalive.Standing in the media centre, I watched the rolling display and how often his family name flashed on the screen, and I felt it. The way it was woven into history in a way bigger than I had imagined.
In that moment, I couldn’t help but think about the pressure he must’ve felt and understood why there were parts of him he kept hidden because he was being constantly watched, and under the spotlight.
The display suddenly turned to a montage of what looked like his dad, with Oliver just a kid standing next to him without a care in the world, with a grin I realised I’d never seen on his face.
As the images went on, the smile was still there. He was still him. Cheeky, infuriatingly charismatic, and confident to the point it turned into cocky, but there was something in his eyes that I couldn’t name.
Ethan took us to the press boxes and player lounges, which equally held the different pieces of history, but it was evident the value they put into making sure the players were settled—both for domestic and international teams before we stepped onto the edge of the pitch.
My heart fluttered as I noticed him.
Oliver was stood at the crease, lifting the bat once, before tightening his grip and hitting it back into position. It was subtle, but his head moved slightly as the player in front of him did his run-up, the muscles in his arms taut. He shifted ever so slightly, swinging the bat with precision, connecting with the ball in a perfect arc, sending it flying into the air.
“I’ve never seen anyone with the discipline these two have before,” Ethan said, his voice hinting at the same mesmerisation I had gained in that moment. As the bowler turned, I realised it was Rihaan. “I mean, it’s their break, but they are still here each morning, doing light training or playing for fun.”
I watched them both as they played another ball. Rihaan’s run-up was slower than before but smooth and his arm turned in an arc, but Oliver was ready for it, shifting as though muscle memory before sending it flying across, and I found myself lost in the rhythm of the game. So much so, I didn’t even notice when Ethan had left my side to take a call, and in that moment, I understood what Oliver had meant. When you’re in tune with the environment and notice the subtle shifts and changes, it doesn’t feel like just another sport. It feels like a dance, a swift display of grace and strategy in an athletic way, where each move and each decision matters.
It was a snap of a second, but just like they had done before—his gaze landed on mine, and I knew he had realised it was me. My heart raced as I watched him step closer to Rihaan, unsure if they would be upset seeing me here or not.
To my surprise, it was Rihaan who jogged over to me first. “Hey, you alright?”
His voice was thick with concern, and momentarily, I wondered if he thought something was wrong. It shouldn’t have been the first thing to come up in my head, but our lack of relationship inadvertently implied us reaching to each other in times of emergencies and even then, we knew we were each other’s last choice.
“Yeah, everything is fine. I just came here because of work.” I watched him, and something cracked in my chest. “But, now that you’re here, can I ask something?”
Rihaan nodded sharply, his brows pulling up in a frown. “What is it?”
“Be honest, do you prefer if I move out?” I hadn’t intended to ask it, but this was the first time in weeks that he hadn’t disappeared at the sight of me, and clearly, the way his eyes widened, he hadn’t expected me to ask it either. “If I look now, I could probably be out in a week or two.”
“Doyouwant to move out?”
“I want you to stop running at the sight of me inyourhome.”
“It’s fine.”
“You’ve been away most days—”
“That’s nothing new. If you had been around for longer, maybe you would’ve known.”
I knew he was lying. I’d had enough conversations with Oliver to know that. “Well, at least that makes us even.”
Rihaan watched for me a beat in silence, his expressions completely unreadable, before turning around.
I watched him walk to where they’d left their gear, but I couldn’t help but feel my chest tighten. The familiarity of the hurt I felt the last time I watched him walk away like this. I hadn’t thought about it in years, but the way it crept up on me, it was like it was etched into my brain chemistry.