15
Raina
GETTING OUT OF THE tube station, I sighed inwardly. When I left the house 20 minutes ago, the sun was hung high in the sky, but now it looked like it was ready to crack wide open.
I glanced at my phone, pulling up the directions to the stadium. It was a quick walk, and as I got closer and closer, I couldn’t help but watch it in awe.
The Oval was breathtaking. The red-brick entrance was classic yet charming. The archways were decorated with some plaques and signage with the long, rich history of this very pitch.
Entering the stadium, I almost expected the classic aesthetic, as the distinct sound of cricket balls being struck echoed the halls, but it was the perfect blend of history and modernity, depicting the story of past players while building the new generation.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” A voice called out as I trailed the frames on the wall, each capturing the pain, relief, heartbreak and passion of the moment immaculately. I turned to the voice and noticed a young guy—probably still at university, watching me in amusement.
“It really is,” I replied, giving him a polite smile before turning back to the frames.
The Oval.
Birthplace of modern English sport.
“The Oval’s been around since 1845 and has seen some of the most iconic matches played—including the first ever test match on English soil,” He continued, but my eyes were fixated on the picture of the two guys—which was only a couple weeks old—as they hugged each other while lifting the trophy. “That’s from the County Championship a couple of weeks ago. Oliver King and Rihaan Patel got a collective Players of the Match after winning us the championship on home ground. Are you here for the media tour?”
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 word KING in 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 went through my head was how much of 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 was alive. 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.”
“Do you want to move out?”
“I want you to stop running at the sight of me in your home.”
“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.
“Hey,” Oliver’s soft voice pulled me out of the spiral I was about to fall down in. “How was your tour?”
I met his eyes, and the same crashing and forceful feeling of a tide meeting a rock I experienced the first time I saw him filled me. I knew he could read me like a book, and it was evident in the creases that formed at the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t frowning, though his grin was slowly dropping the longer he watched me.
I don’t remember the day or the moment I realised it, but somehow I’d managed to understand that when it came to Oliver, he didn’t need me to tell him what I felt, or what I needed in the moment. Somehow, he just knew .
I’d convince myself that he was just more intuitive or that knowing what to say or what to be came naturally to him. But it was more than that. And as he watched me, his amber eyes glowing in the cloudy sky, I saw the same awareness run through him as though a sixth sense.
“What do you need?” He asked in a whisper, and a soothing chill ran through me.
“I’ll be okay.”
“I know, but what do you need right now?” He asked, his eyes connected with mine.
My fingers pressed tightly on the palms of my hands, applying soft pressure as I tried to steady myself. “Air.”
He didn’t question the fact we were standing in an open-top stadium, didn’t tease me like he would’ve if I’d said it on a different day, but instead just gave me a nod.
The concern in his eyes never dropped as he turned to look at Rihaan. I followed his gaze to notice that he was now sitting on the bench with his head hanging low, his elbows resting on his legs, and I looked away.
But when Oliver’s eyes met mine again, his expression was now a mix of conflict and concern.
“I get it,” My voice was a lot softer than I’d intended, but when his brows pulled together, I knew he heard me.
“Get what?”
“Alright, so now—O…Oliver!” Ethan’s voice washed over me like cold ice water, and I gulped.
“Raina,” Oliver’s eyes never left mine, his voice laced with the evidence that he could feel me pulling back.
“You guys know each other?” Ethan asked, and Oliver nodded instantly, almost as if he knew I wouldn’t have been as forthcoming about knowing him.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Ethan take a step back hesitantly, but I turned to look at him, and he paused. “We do, but I’ve never actually seen him play, so I was just about to tell him that I get that craze now.”
Turning back, I continued. “I only saw a couple of shots, but you were amazing.”
My phone rang before he could say something, but the look on his face told me that he knew that wasn’t what I was planning to say, but how could I have told him that I saw the same look in his eyes that I’d seen Vedant and Dev wear a thousand times before? He already looked like he saw pieces of me that I hadn’t realised I was wearing on my sleeve, but to tell him that I understood the conflict I saw in his eyes and that he didn’t have to worry about choosing sides felt like a lie.
When it came to my brothers, I always got it.
They had this special bond with each other that they’d managed to grow when I was no longer a part of their lives, and it never felt like I was a missing piece in their puzzle.
They all just… fit.
But I’d known Oliver for a short while, and yet each day we spent together, it felt like there was something beyond us that pulled us towards each other, and maybe for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to get it. I wanted to be the first choice.
But how could I ask someone to fight for me when I was the one always abandoning myself? Because no matter how hard I tried, I always made one person choose.
Me.
And I was always the one losing.