33
Rihaan
EARLY APRIL HAD FINALLY given London its first proper taste of spring, though the city still couldn’t quite commit to it.
The sun kept slipping in and out behind thin veils of cloud, as if even it wasn’t sure it wanted to stay.
Pavements still held the damp memory of rain that had passed too recently to forget, and people moved through the streets half-dressed for warmth, half-dressed for hope.
I didn’t trust hope in London.
Not anymore.
The café was too warm for the coat I hadn’t taken off, the kind of warmth that clung to your skin and made you forget the outside world for a second too long. Coffee, cinnamon, toasted bread—everything soft and domestic in a way that always made me feel slightly out of place.
I told myself I was only here for Raina.
Her list had been precise, as always.
Coffee.
Ariyanka’s special sourdough.
And something sweet—preferably donuts.
With a small note that said, don’t come back with protein bars for yourself and call it breakfast.
I’d taken it seriously.
There were other bags too—special Tales & Lattes cupcakes, along with small things for the family gathering later. Raina had insisted on it being at the townhouse. She wanted everyone there when she told them.
Not just about the baby, but that it was a boy.
The thought of it still landed somewhere deep in my chest, warm and unfamiliar, like something I hadn’t realised I’d been waiting for.
And then there was the engagement.
I collected the last drink from the counter, balancing everything carefully in my hands, and let my eyes drift without meaning to.
The café had a small “Book of the Week” corner tucked away near the window—wooden shelves, neatly lined up, even though, to me they all just looked like books leaning into each other like they were trying not to fall.
I didn’t know why I walked over.
I just did.
Maybe it was the quiet.
Maybe it was the way my mind had started filling silence with her without asking permission.
I set the drinks down for a second and picked up a book.
Minimalist cover. Clean font. The kind of design that looked like it was trying too hard not to be noticed.
Maeve would’ve called it boring.
Then she would’ve read it in one sitting.
My thumb brushed the edge of the cover.
Would she like this?
The thought came too easily.
Too naturally.
I put it back and reached for another.
She used to read constantly in the cabin. Always with a book somewhere on her—on the sofa, in the kitchen, half-buried in blankets, left open on the counter like she’d just stepped away for a second and might return any moment.
Sometimes I’d find them in places she hadn’t even been.
Like she was leaving pieces of herself behind without noticing.
A faint smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it, before a voice snapped my attention.
“It's not her best work.”
Everything in me went still.
I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
But I did anyway.
Maeve stood a few steps behind me.
Coat folded over one arm. Book in the other. Hair tucked behind her ear like she’d done it without thinking, like she hadn’t just walked into the exact place I was trying not to think about her.
My chest tightened so sharply it felt physical.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe properly.
“How do you know?” I asked, and my voice came out flatter than I meant it to.
She gave a small shrug. “I’ve read it.”
I placed the book back on the shelf like it had burned me. “Good for you.”
The words were automatic, the emptiness not forced. Just present.
Her smile flickered, then faded. “Rihaan.”
Hearing my name in her voice did something I didn’t have the patience to deal with. Grabbing my bags, I turned away, already looking for a way to move past her for the exit.
She stepped closer. “Can we talk?”
The question hit harder than it should have.
I didn’t look at her. “No.”
She blinked, like she hadn’t expected it. “I just wanted—”
“I already said what I wanted.” Silence stretched between us. I could feel her there without looking. That was the problem.
I didn’t need to see her to feel her.
“What?” she asked quietly.
I finally turned. And the moment I did, something in my control slipped. Because she looked the same. And not the same at all. And I hated that my body reacted before my mind could catch up.
I wanted to touch her.
That was the first thought.
Immediate. Uninvited.
The second was worse.
I wanted to kiss her.
“I gave you a chance to talk like an adult.” Her expression shifted—small, careful, like she was bracing.
“I told you exactly how I felt. I told you I couldn’t do be a test before you took a chance.
You had every opportunity to tell me what your side of it was.
And before we could even discuss it, you left while I was in the shower. ”
Something in her face tightened immediately.
“You didn’t even respect me enough to say goodbye.”
Her gaze dropped for half a second.
“I didn’t think—”
“I know.”
The interruption came out harsher than I meant.
“That’s the problem. I know I’ve made my fair share of impulsive moves on you, but I’ve always given you a moment to make your mind. But, all you do is just react. You don’t think about it until later. That may work for you, but it doesn’t for me.”
I looked away, jaw tightening, the café suddenly too loud around us.
The barista called out an order number somewhere behind me.
I didn’t move.
“Rihaan—”
“I didn’t deserve that.”
That made her go still.
Completely.
The anger I’d been holding didn’t rise.
It just…thinned.
Like it had nowhere left to go.
“I gave you everything,” I said quietly. “I told you things I’ve never told anyone. I let you see me without all the bullshit I’ve spent years building around myself.”
A short, humourless breath left me.
“And you left.”
Her voice came softer now. “What other option did we have?”
That question.
It landed exactly where I didn’t want it to.
I looked at her properly.
Because I’d been waiting for it.
“I looked into the contract—or Raina had looked into it and told me about it.”
Her brows pulled together. “What?”
“The clause you’re worried about?” She didn’t move “I looked into it.”
I could see the moment she realised I wasn’t guessing.
“All it requires is a signature confirming a consensual relationship,” I said. “And if it ends, neither of us can speak to the media about it.”
Her expression shifted—something like surprise, something like alarm. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” I held her gaze. “So, the only thing really stopping you, are your own fears. And I can’t help you with those. Not if you aren’t even going to talk to me.”
Her entire body went still.
But I didn’t stay to see what it did to her.
Moving past her, I walked towards the exit. The bell above the door rang as I stepped outside. Cold air hit my face like a reset I didn’t want.
I adjusted my grip on the drinks and kept moving.
Mayfair was busy in the way it always was—people moving like they had somewhere more important to be than the present moment.
Rain started again, lighter at first, before it turned heavier.
I didn’t look back.
Because I already knew what I’d see if I did.
And I didn’t trust myself to keep walking away if I did.
Maeve
THE PRESSURE IN MY chest didn’t ease when I stopped.
The words stayed with me for days.
Not in the dramatic way I might have expected.
They didn’t arrive every morning like some grand revelation.
They simply sat there.
Quietly.
Patiently.
I won’t have that from the person I love too.
I could hear them in the shower.
In the car.
When I was working.
When I laid awake at night pretending I wasn’t wondering whether he had made it back to the townhouse, whether he was sleeping, whether he had thought about me at all.
The worst part was that I knew he was right.
I’d left without a word.
I had chosen silence instead of a conversation.
I’d told myself it was because I was protecting my career, because I needed to protect the fragile progress I’d made with my father, because I’d been frightened of what would happen if everything I’d worked for suddenly became collateral damage.
All of that could be true.
And I’d still hurt him.
There was no clever explanation for that.
No professional clause that softened the human part of it.
I’d walked away while he was in the shower because I hadn’t known how to look him in the eye and choose between the two things I wanted.
Him.
And the life I’d spent years building.
By the end of the week, I was so tired of thinking in circles that I almost welcomed the distraction when Dad asked me to come in for a catch-up.
His office had always felt too polished to be comfortable.
Everything had a place.
I sat across from his desk.
He studied me. “You look miserable.”
“Thank you.”
His mouth twitched. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
He leaned back. “What's happening?”
“Nothing.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Maeve.”
I sighed. “Yeah?.”
“You’ve just spent the last forty five minutes catching me up on my players progress. Without so much so sharing a fact.” He paused. “So, I’m asking again. How’s everything else?”
I looked down at my hands. “Fine.”
He didn’t believe me, but he also didn’t push.
Instead, he reached for a folder on his desk.
“I wanted to talk to you about the apology.” I looked up.
“Yes?”
There was something almost pleased in his expression. “I was proud of you.”
The words should have warmed me.
They didn't.
I frowned. “Why?”
His expression changed.
“Why, what?”
“Of all the things I’ve done that have made you proud, that’s the one you’re choosing?”
He studied me. “You did the right thing.”
I looked away. “You’re talking about the paper.”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
He continued, “And because I know Rihaan, I knew there was obviously something bigger to it.”
My head snapped towards him.
He gave me a small, knowing smile. “I was just going with my gut, trouble.”
I shook my head. “I didn't do it for you, or because you asked me to.”
His expression softened slightly.
“I did it for myself.” I folded my hands together. “At some point I had realised the reasoning, and I did what I felt was right. ”
He nodded once. “Fair enough.”
I didn’t know why that irritated me.
Maybe because I wanted him to understand what it had cost me.
He couldn’t.
He hadn’t even asked me what the paper was about. Still.
Was this really worth not picking Rihaan over? This long over standing of broken misunderstand?
He watched me for another moment. “So why are you upset?”
“I'm not.”
“Maeve.”
I exhaled. “Nothing for my father.”
It was easier than explaining.
“How about the Coach, then?”
I pressed my lips together. “What’s the update on my prohibition period?”
He looked up. “Why?”
“I’m thinking of transferring back to the Women’s team.”
His brows pulled together.
“Why?”
I shrugged. “You’ve got what you needed from me. Rihaan’s PR nightmare fixed.”
“Do you want to leave?”
The question caught me off guard.
I looked down. “I wouldn't mind it.”
Silence.
His expression changed. “While you are correct about the board are happy with you. We also like the progress you’ve made with the squad.”
“Okay?”
“So you can’t leave until after the World Test Championship.”
I stared at him. “And the transfer?”
“There won’t be one.”
My stomach tightened. “What if I quit?”
He sighed. “Your notice period is two months.”
I looked at him. “So that would take me around then anyway.”
“Exactly.”
He set the folder down.
“You can think about it.”
I nodded. “I will.”
He studied me. “You're sure this is what you want?”
I didn’t answer.
Not because I didn’t understand the question.
Because I did.
I stood.
“Can I be excused?”
His expression tightened. “Maeve.”
I picked up my bag. “I have work.”
He didn’t stop me.
I walked out.
The door closed behind me.
I made it halfway down the corridor before the pressure in my chest became impossible to ignore.
I stopped beside one of the windows, the Lord’s Cricket ground stretched beneath me.
Empty.
Green.
Endless.
I pressed my palm against the glass.
He was proud of me.
I’d finally heard him say it.