The Keeper of My Heart

Chapter 3

As the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, Shubman's alarm pierced the silence of the early morning, sounding off at precisely 5:00 am. He stirred from his slumber, his eyes opening to the serene sight of Aditi, his wife, who lay beside him, her breaths even and calm in the tranquility of sleep. With a gentle sigh, he extricated himself from the warmth of the bed, careful not to disturb her peaceful repose.

In the solitude of the bathroom, Shubman engaged in the morning rituals of brushing and showering, the water cascading down his body serving as a bracing prelude to the day's exertions. He donned his practice attire, a uniform that felt like a second skin, symbolizing both discipline and passion for the sport that was the axis of his world.

Descending the stairs with his cricket kit in tow, the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted him, a scent that spoke of home and heart. Lakwinder and Keart, his parents, were already up, partaking in the quiet companionship that only a shared cup of coffee in the early hours could afford.

Lakwinder's eyes met his, an unspoken understanding passing between them. "Practice?" he inquired, his voice a low rumble in the stillness of the morning. Shubman offered a nod, his response tinged with the anticipation of the day ahead. "Yes, papa. I'll be back a bit later today; we've got plans after practice."

Understanding flickered in Lakwinder's eyes as he nodded, but it was Keart who voiced the concern that lingered unspoken. "What about Aditi?" she asked, her tone laced with maternal worry.

Shubman's brow furrowed, a shadow crossing his features. "What about her?" he replied, the question hanging in the air like a challenge.

"Shub, she's your wife. You should take her along," Keart pressed, her words a gentle chiding.

"Maa, it's cricket practice and a boys' outing," Shubman countered, the finality in his voice brooking no argument.

With a last glance at his parents, Shubman picked up his car keys and stepped out into the breaking day. The drive to the Wankhede Stadium was a solitary journey, one that allowed him to gather his thoughts and focus on the game that was both his livelihood and his life's joy.

Upon arrival, the sight of his teammates infused him with a sense of camaraderie and purpose. He navigated the familiar corridors of the dressing room, stowing his bag and suiting up in his cricket gear with practiced ease. The field called to him, a verdant expanse where victory and defeat were but two sides of the same coin.

A light smile graced his lips as he greeted Virat, a fellow warrior in the arena of cricket. Yet, his expression shuttered as he caught sight of Rohit, the man whose actions had unwittingly woven a web of complication in Shubman's personal life. The smile faded, replaced by a mask of indifference that belied the turmoil within.

The match was a crucible, each swing of the bat and dash across the pitch a release for the pent-up aggression that simmered beneath Shubman's calm exterior. Eventually, exhaustion claimed him, and he found solace on the bench, his body demanding respite.

It was there that Rohit approached, his words cut short by Shubman's abrupt departure. The hurt ran deep, a wound inflicted not by malice but by misguided intentions. Rohit had known of Shubman's past, of Sara and the bond they shared, yet he had steered him towards matrimony with Aditi.

The confrontation was inevitable, a clash of emotions and unspoken grievances. "What's wrong with you?" Rohit demanded, concern etched into his features.

"I'm fine," Shubman lied, his voice a brittle facade of composure.

"You're not yourself, Shub," Rohit persisted, his frown deepening.