Homecoming

The victory in the third One Day International (ODI) was the sole triumph we managed throughout the entire tour. We couldn't secure any other win in the ODIs, and all the test matches resulted in a draw; no single match concluded the four innings.

Our team's morale was at a low point, with the bowlers bearing the brunt of the failure during this series. We packed our belongings and boarded our flights back to India. I found myself once again sitting between Yuvraj and Raina. Raina has a magazine over his face and Yuvraj was listening to something and was giggling all alone.

"Bhaiya, you're from Ghaziabad, right?" I asked Suresh Raina.

"Yes. Why? Anything in particular?" He responded, putting away the magazine he had resting on his face.

"Just wondering, why don't you use a sleep mask instead of a book to block out the light?" I inquired about his quirky habit.

"He ogles at the girls in the magazines and then places their photos over his face so he can dream about them. Trust me, I know the truth," Yuvraj Singh interjected into our conversation.

"My nose gets irritated by those masks," Raina replied, wrestling Yuvraj into a headlock. Their antics amused me, but as I was seated between them, I had to bear the brunt of their playful rivalry.

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We landed in Mumbai soon after and headed directly to our bus. The airport was buzzing with activity. Reporters and journalists had flocked the entrance, desperate for a statement or interview from any team member.

Despite the reporters' best attempts to engage us with questions and microphones, we remained silent, protecting ourselves from a storm of negativity. The sting of the disappointing tour was still fresh, and we didn't want to fan the flames.

Safely ensconced within the bus, we finally breathed a sigh of relief. Avoiding the reporters was a difficult choice, but we knew it was the right one. The long journey back to the hotel offered us a brief respite, an opportunity to reflect on our performance and figure out what went wrong.

The next few days were critical for our team. We needed to regain our confidence, address our weaknesses, and reignite the spark that had previously brought us victories.

During the team meeting, where we congregated to discuss our future strategies and plans, a surprise announcement broke the tension. The coach, with a grin, revealed that I had been selected to participate in the upcoming South Africa tour of India, scheduled to start in November. A wave of excitement surged through me at this news.

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I had precisely nine days off. While my team members were spending time with their loved ones in Mumbai, my family was still in Uttar Pradesh. I had considered asking them to move to Mumbai, but I hadn't saved enough to buy a house, and renting seemed too troublesome.

I dialed a familiar number. The phone rang for a while before a familiar voice emerged from the speaker.

"Hello?" the voice inquired.

"Hello. Everything fine?" I returned.

"Who is this?" The voice questioned.

"Bsdk, Forgetting your father already?" I retorted.

"Ah, Vipin, haha… Bro, how are you?" he answered.

"Pyaari Samajh gayi! How are you, Chiku?" I chimed in.

"I'm good. So, any special reason for your call today?" Virat queried.

"Bhench#, What now? What's gotten into you?" I asked, knowing he would grimace at the nickname Chiku.

"Nothing… Just the usual me. I've matured now. These things don't bother me anymore." He explained.

"You've matured rather quickly, haven't you? By the way, are you free next week?" I probed.

"I am, though I have practice sessions, I can make some time," he responded.

"Great, I'm heading home, and you're coming with me," I commanded.

"No way, I'm going there. I have practice sessions. I'm playing in the Ranji Trophy," he protested.

"Your next match is more than 22 days away. Just come with me for three days, that's all I'm asking," I pleaded.

"Sigh… Fine. Just tell me when you're coming."

"Good. Bye… Cheeku~" I ended the call, hearing him let out a sigh of relief on the other end. This conversation had me chuckling.

The following day, I packed my bags and took a flight to Delhi. Upon landing, I caught the metro straight to the train station and dialed Virat. He arrived shortly after, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He still hadn't developed the look he sports now, his round face a far cry from his future self. But after my Chhole Bhature incident, he'd cut back a bit.

Despite my superhuman metabolism, even I can't handle those Chhole Bhature before the match, but if it's any other day I can eat anything and still maintain peak athletic condition.

We boarded our train. The IRCTC online portal, launched just four years prior, had streamlined the booking process. As internet usage was still low, there were no server overloads during the Tatkal window.

Although the portal had several bugs and a rudimentary login process, I managed to book my tickets without authentication. The system was prone to SQL injection, but I didn't dwell on it. After all, I was a cricketer in this life, focusing solely on that, but this knowledge could prove useful.

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Upon arriving at my house, we caught a taxi. It was hot in the afternoon, and not many people were out in the open, so we reached my house without any disruptions.

My house was a simple open veranda, with a large tree in the middle and rooms lining the sides, resembling a school building. As we stepped into the veranda, an eerie silence hung in the air. "Ma? Nana?" I called out, expecting to hear familiar voices, but only locked doors answered us. A cold dread settled in my stomach. This was not the scene I had anticipated.

Virat placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, "They've probably gone out, Vipin."

Just as I was about to agree, my phone began to ring. An unnervingly unfamiliar number displayed on the screen. I picked it up hesitantly, my heart pounding, "Hello?"