Maeve
THE FEbrUARY SUN WAS already climbing over Abu Dhabi, even at barely half past nine in the morning. The sports hub was bathed with a warmth that seemed to cling to skin rather than simply touch it. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight, just an endless blue sky stretching over the sky.
As predicted, two days with the endless sun and I was already regretting every curse word I’d uttered about the rain—alongside the complaints of barely getting any sun whilst in the UK.
It was like every time I left the country, I realised just how much I preferred the unpredictability that came with the predictable and reassuring rain.
This relentless sunshine, on the other hand made me feel like there was nowhere to hide. It exposed everything, including stubborn egotistical cricketers.
I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that had hoped that somehow a two week break help Rihaan get over the fact I’d been promoted to be his professional baby-sitter.
While I hated the term itself, there hadn’t been another way to describe my role better.
When I’d shown up for work next day—thankfully, with the players on a break—I’d made the mistake of assuming that this role would be like my last one, or at the very least, similar.
Instead, along with the basic onboarding, I was made to sit through in media training, do multiple pieces for the team’s official Media Partner NexGen as they did a profile on me, and sit through multiple useless meetings with the marketing department as they explained how best to handle this “PR Nightmare”, all the while I worked on preliminary reports on the players based on my own research and their first check-up.
Yet, when I’d finally stepped on to the pitch this morning before the warm-ups, Rihaan had given me one look before deciding he’d rather get his initial screening by Faroq instead.
Strangely, there was a part of me that was certain something had changed, only it hadn’t been something positive. I wondered if he’d finally remembered the night. The night that no matter how hard I tried, didn’t seem to let go of me.
I folded my arms, my tablet tucked beneath one elbow as I stood just beyond the nets, watching the morning session unfold.
The bowlers rotated through their spells in the nets while fielders worked through catching drills on the adjacent square.
My father barked instructions every few minutes, punctuated by the occasional ripple of applause when someone pulled off a particularly sharp stop.
The air carried the smell of freshly cut grass mixed with sunscreen and the faint grit of desert dust that settled over everything by midday.
My attention wasn't really on any of it.
It kept drifting back to Rihaan.
When he’d gone to Faroq instead of me, I’d chosen to ignore it. Simply because it was day one, and I was patient enough for one day. But mostly because, at least he hadn’t brought Doreen along with him.
I was sure there was some book where it counted as a win. Still, that didn’t mean I wasn’t irritated.
My frown deepened as Rihaan began a bowling spell. Even though he was considered an all-rounder, I’d quickly realised, he preferred to be a bowler. So when one became two, and two became three, I couldn’t help but pick apart when his follow-through had dropped.
Where his pace hadn’t dropped, his landing foot lingered a fraction longer than it had twenty minutes ago, his left shoulder rolling once between deliveries before he did it again.
Fatigue compensation.
Swiping between screens, I pulled up his worksheet logged in by Faroq earlier.
He was already beyond the volume they'd discussed that morning.
Of course he was.
My fingers tightened around the tablet before my gaze flicked back to Rihaan.
Maybe I had imagined it.
The thought made me halt, something close to frustration bubbling inside me. All throughout my career, there hadn’t been a single time where I’d known myself to doubt my instincts.
My gaze found it’s way to Faroq who stood a few feet away, watching the same net with his hands tucked into his pockets.
As if sensing my stare, his eyes snapped to mine and I tipped my head ever so slightly towards the bowler in question.
Are you seeing this?
Faroq's eyes returned to the nets. He watched another delivery, expression unreadable. The next ball followed with the same slight hitch in the follow-through.
His eyes met mine again, and he gave a small nod.
“Go,” he said simply, making me frown.
“You sure?”
“It's what we were told, isn't it?” He smiled, though there was something knowingly resigned about it. “Technically, he’s your player for the next couple months.”
I held myself from rolling my eyes as I murmured. “Maybe you can pick this battle for me too.”
He snorted as I walked away without waiting for a response, merely because I’d simply thrown his own words from earlier back at him.
Weaving around a cluster of fielders stretching as they waited for their turn, I kept a clipped smile framed on my face.
I’d been around enough to not expect anything from the players.
They were in their zone, and it was our job as PTs to make sure when they strayed far away from their goal, we snapped them back to reality.
Once I reached the nets, I halted as Rihaan began his next spell.
Interrupting the middle of a delivery would achieve me nothing except maybe a glare from every single coach and assistant coach that was present on the field.
The ball thudded into the wicket keeper's gloves.
Rihaan turned, his expressions turned thin as he walked back to his mark, rolling his shoulder once he did.
And this time, I was sure the pain had positively increased.
Because his actions weren’t there to soothe that feeling, instead it had been a correction he’d made to his body, like he was protecting himself before his brain told him to tap out.
“Let’s go, Rihaan.” The bowling coach called. “Next round.”
I bit back a sigh, as Rihaan nodded and started his run.
This time when he charged in, he hit the deck hard before realising another full-length delivery.
It wasn't slow by any means, but the effort looked different now.
There was more force to his delivery, his left leg unable to brace quite as cleanly, and he shook out his bowling arm almost absentmindedly as he wandered back.
Before a third person jumped in and encouraged him to continue, I stepped forward.
As though just sensing my presence near him, he startled before I spoke. “Can I have a word?”
His expressions darkened. “I’m in the middle of a spell.”
“I need thirty seconds.”
He barely moved a muscle. “Is this about this morning?”
“It’s about what I’m seeing now.”
He raised a brow, resting his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling steadily. I forced myself to not let my gaze wander at the tattoos that inched his brown skin.
“What’s going on?” The bowling coach reached us, his words wrapped in a tone that made sure none of the other players would pay any attention to us, no matter the proximity.
Keeping my expressions schooled, I met his eyes with the same bite.
“Rihaan’s pushing past the allotted volume.
It’s the first day of training, and no matter how much it pushes the players on the other side of the pitch, can we rotate players?
He’s considerably your best asset, and forcing him to overdo now will only cost you and the team. ”
Coach blinked, almost like he hadn’t expected me to say anything, least of all, this.
When my eyes landed back on Rihaan, he was watching me with a murderous glare, his jaw clenched.
I didn’t dare to back down. Hell, if I really was supposed to babysit him—then I needed boundaries, and quick.
As I stared him down, it was clear then, there were only two outcomes to this.
He’d either back down, or the Coach would get riled up and instead get me fired. Both options, I was at peace with.
“Patel, listen—” Coach began, but Rihaan was already turning back around and stepping up to his marking.
I shook my head as he began another one his spell, and Coach simply sighed. Without giving me another look, he walked over back to the spot, his eyes laser focused on Rihaan as he bowled his delivery.
Anger bubbled up my skin, but every single part of me refused to give him the satisfaction as he walked back. “I’m finishing the over.”
“By all means,” I shrugged, making him pause. “With the way you’re going, you clearly have limited ones left in your career, anyway.”
Brown eyes sparked, the anger in them was as clear as the day and this time, I made no effort to hold back my expression. A victory smile tugged at my lips as he neared me instead of his mark.
“I’m fine.” He bit out through clenched teeth.
“Okay.” I nodded. “Prove it.”
He frowned. “What?”
“If you’re so sure about your ability to continue,” I started. “Let’s get you to do a shoulder stability test.”
“You’re not serious.” The bewilderment in his expression would’ve been funnier had I not been the one involved in the situation.
“As a heart attack,” I replied—even though, since the saying was coined in the 60s, it was statistically less accurate, I thought.
“What?” he asked, making me realise I’d said the latter part out loud as well.
When I remained silent, he looked at me expectantly. His expression mirrored the look he’d worn the night—
“Nothing,” I shook myself once, convincing myself that I’d made up. Before he could push me to elaborate, I asked. “So, what’s it going to be? Stability test or a break?”
“And if I say, neither?” He asked after a beat of silence.
“My report later will say you skipped mandatory screening, and—”
“What?” He cut me off, his voice a higher pitch than it had been before but I continued over his voice.
“And, continued with training after reaching allowed volume—even after warnings.”
Disbelief coated his expressions. “I did not skip screening.”
“Well, you went to Faroq, instead of me.”
“He’s the senior physio.”