1
Rihaan
OVER THE COURSE OF my career, I’d been called a lot of things.
Cricket’s golden legacy. A legend in the making. World champion. The fastest bowler alive. Arrogant. Egotistical. Golden boy.
And this morning, I got a new title to add to the list.
A case study.
If you’ve never seen your entire career reduced to a few clinical paragraphs, published for the world to review and take apart—I don’t recommend working in a field that takes public scrutiny to another level.
There was something about the black-and-white text that striped everything down. No crowd noise, no context, no adrenaline to…drown it out. Just decisions, dissected like they meant nothing at the time.
I’d read the paper once.
Then again.
By the third time, I wasn’t reading anymore…I was memorising.
And every match I shouldn’t have played, every practised I’d pushed through, every PT I’d ignored and replaced, and every time I’d said I was fine when in reality deep down, I knew I wasn’t, replayed in my head like a broken record.
Case-Study in Risk: Ego-Driven Behaviour and Chronic Injury in Athletes
By Maeve Knox
My name hadn’t just been tossed in, hidden between the six thousand words of this paper, left for the world to read in between the lines.
No.
It sat right there in plain-sight.
My phone buzzed in my hand, again.
VIKRAM PATEL CALLING…
Releasing a deep breath I let my phone slip onto the couch and closed my eyes.
The irony wasn’t lost on me that my father hadn’t picked up his cell once to ring me the day before to wish me.
It wasn’t like I’d expected it anyway, but the fact that he’d already called me three times in the last hour since the news broke was telling.
I knew he’d just leave a voicemail, instructing me to call him back. It’s what he said on the first one, and each one after that.
My phone silenced besides me, but her words didn’t go anywhere. They stayed, etched somewhere behind my eyes, replaying with a kind of clarity I couldn’t switch off.
Rihaan Patel’s recent injury profile reads less like misfortune and more like a case study in accumulated strain compounded by stubborn self-governance.
Over the past two years, he has missed more time than any other member of the squad, a pattern that correlates uncomfortably well with an apparent reluctance to modify workload or technique.
What was once framed as competitive edge increasingly resembles inflexibility dressed up as resilience. England’s broader reset, leaning into emerging players willing to adapt and be managed should’ve resulted in….
The TV across the living room flashed again, taking my attention as the words brEAKING appeared on the screen, my face frozen mid-stride as the debate panel picked up on the story.
I didn’t move to unmute the screen—it’s not like it would’ve helped.
Silence had already made enough space for the parts she’d gotten right and sat in the air less like opinions, but more like a mirror I hadn’t asked for. A part of me that almost felt like a stranger screamed at me to put myself out of my misery and turn it off.
But if there were a few things that I understood about the inner workings of my brain—it was that I was a certified masochist.
So, I watched them discuss and dissect my career, the subtitles feeding my self-deprecating thoughts as the panel agreed that, even though I was among the best, alongside Oliver King, that the team had seen in years, I had no business being in the sport if I was only going to keep injuring myself before I could deliver on what I'd been hired to do.
The sound of the front door opening pulled my attention away from the television, my head snapping up in surprise because Oliver and Raina had left early this morning, so I hadn’t expected them back so soon.
Feet shuffled through the townhouse with a familiar hesitation, the kind that usually followed Raina and I having taken our bickering too far—more often than not because I’d crossed a line or pushed things further than I should have.
Maybe I should’ve been surprised, but ever since my little sister had moved in and decided to shack up with my best friend, Oliver King, it had become a common occurrence.
Oliver, or the Prince of English cricket, as the media liked to call him, was also a legacy player.
Only his lineage stretched back four generations, threaded through names that hadn’t just played the game but had shaped it into what it was today.
I’d known Ollie since I was thirteen, but over the past sixteen months, his relationship with Raina had changed our friendship.
On the days I felt myself be affected by the fact, I convinced myself that maybe I was just overprotective of the few good relationships I had left in my life.
Deep down, though, I knew things had changed for the better, not the worse.
I was simply too stubborn to admit it. Or maybe sabotaging my own relationships was another part of being a masochist.
Whispers drifted through the hallway, and I caught my name in them.
They’d seen it.
Of course they had.
Great.
I held back an eye roll as footsteps moved down the front hall of the townhouse, slow at first, before they stopped just short of the entry way of the open space that connected the kitchen and the living room.
It was as though they weren’t exactly sure of what they’d find once they entered the space.
I wasn’t sure I could blame them…especially considering my track record.
The thought vanished from my mind as my whole body stiffened at the low hiss of Raina's two cats entering the room.
Sensing my presence, Lilli, a grey British Shorthair, approached me first. Her eyes narrowed the way they always did whenever I was around before she turned and walked away. Thankfully.
Unfortunately, her brother, Milo, wasn't nearly as tolerant. The darker British Shorthair regarded me with the same judgement, only his was laced with something far stronger. From his spot beside the armchair, he let out a sharp hiss.
It didn't matter that they'd lived with us for over a year, or that they travelled the world with us for matches. Both cats still looked at me as though I was the intruder, trespassing in a space that had never belonged to me.
When, in reality, they had been the ones to intrude on my space.
After a pipe burst in Raina’s flat, Vedant had brought her here. Here being the London townhouse owned by the King family, the one I’d shared with Oliver and Vedant for the past five years.
Then, it had been a temporary solution to her problem.
Considering the day she’d had—some of which I was to blame for—Vedant didn’t want her living with his once best-friend-turned-nemesis or go around searching for a hotel late at night that would let her crash with her cats while she found a new place to live.
But then she’d gone and fallen in love with my best friend, Oliver, and well, I was now stuck with her and her two cats.
As much as I’d moved past my self induced issues with Raina, her cats were an entirely different problem.
In the past year, I’d come to the slow realisation that her and Oliver’s relationship wasn’t just something for the foreseeable future, but something far bigger.
Truthfully, even when I’d started to suspect that something was going on between them, I knew it would be serious—considering they were the two most guarded people I knew, and there wasn’t a chance either of them would start something that wasn’t meaningful—but now that I had been around for longer than a breath around them, I’d realised just how much they meant to each other.
Which is why, I knew that eventually, I would need to follow in Vedant’s footsteps and move out.
Granted, it wasn’t like the F1 schedule allowed him to be home much, and even during his breaks, he always preferred to stay back in Monaco.
Over the years, this place had become another one of his pit stops, but between that and his recent engagement, it made sense for him to fully move out.
I wasn’t sure why it had bothered me so much. It wasn’t like I saw much of them when we were on a break, anyway. And we spent pretty much all the time on tours together. But still, it triggered old memories.
The ones that liked to remind me of when Ma had chosen Raina to go with her when she’d moved away, abandoning…me.
Between Vedant’s regional and European championships, and Dev’s Boarding School…I’d been the only one who had been around to feel the direct impact of her actions. Though, I was certain, my brothers were left to live in the aftermath too.
In a different world, I would like to believe that I didn’t see her as someone who held meaning to every cruel thing I’d made our Mother to be.
Or better yet, serve as a reminder of being the chosen one.
I knew she had no true control of the decision Ma had made, but as a kid, it’s hard to believe that.
And if you tell yourself something long enough, it… sticks.
And between the lies that were told, and the brilliant job of being a parent our Father did, it only fuelled that fire.
There were days that I liked to believe that he did in fact do a brilliant job, but recently it’s been harder to do that.
For starters, who lies to their kid just to make sure they don’t find about the affair they had, and the secret love child it brought to this life?
The one that ultimately decided the fate of his marriage, ensuring I was left abandoned by the one parent who’d balanced out his hard relationship with a softer one.
Vikram Patel.
That’s who.
“Rihaan.” Oliver called my name at a pitch I’d rarely heard from him before and an aggressive tap to the side of my head snapped me back to reality. The volume suggested he had called my name more than once, but the tap had been all my little sister.
Clearly, after a decade of being estranged, we were making up for lost time.
Maybe that’s why it bothered me.
Now, I wouldn’t be leaving just my best friend, but also a sibling I’d felt had abandoned me in the many ways I’d abandoned her.
Yeah…I came with a touch of abandonment issues. Whole package, really.
I blinked, focusing back on the two pair of eyes that were narrowed in concern.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?” Raina asked. It wasn’t what she’d planned to ask when she’d first walk inside the door, that much was clear. But, obviously, my zoning out had done more than just raise a few red flags.
“Sure.” I replied dryly. “My career is just being split open and dissected by every Sports reporter in the world who cares about Cricket, and I’m completely okay with that.”
“Hey.” Oliver snapped and I forced myself to suppress the eye roll. I knew I was being a dick, I just didn’t care.
Thankfully, it didn’t bother Raina.
Or, maybe it’s what she expected of me.
“I’m willing to bet my entire career that, that—,” she waved her hand around my stance, as though pointing out my attitude as she continued. “Is the reason you’re in this mess in the first place.”
“My glowing attitude? Or my ability to point out the obvious?” I prodded, ignoring Oliver’s pointed gaze on me.
“Well, it’s not your charming personality.” Raina stated, a hint of discomfort flashing through her expressions, making me frown. It wasn’t like our back and forth was something new, but maybe I was missing something.
“Raina?” Oliver’s gaze turned towards his girlfriend, his expressions morphing into one of concerned. “Do you—”
“I’m fine.” She replied firmly, before they exchanged silent words through their expressions. “I’m gonna freshen up.”
Oliver nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on her as she crossed the room and left us. When his eyes met mine, he simply shook his head before dropping down on the couch.
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked, making sure my tone was sincere.
“She’ll tell you if she wants,” He replied, the tone of concern just as evident in his voice, as Milo settled in his lap.
I glared, realising this was not something small, and considering the history of secrets and lies our family had—something he also knew—it only raised my guard. “You’re my best friend.”
“Yes. And I’m her boyfriend,” His usual calm tone irked me, unbothered by my clear frustration. We’d done this more times than I could count, but Oliver King had the patience of a saint.
“At least tell me she’s okay.” I snapped after a moment of silence.
A rare flicker of doubt passed through his features as he dragged a hand over his jaw, the movement sharp, distracted. “She will be.”
Part of me knew he’d said those words to reassure me but it was clear he didn’t believe them much, just something he hoped.
Before I could push further, both of our attention was pulled on the moving screen as my father appeared on the panel.
My heart dropped to the acid of my stomach.
Oliver frowned. “Did he tell you he was doing this?”
I shook my head, my hands moving with a mind of their own, picking up the remote.
But there was something deep in my gut, screaming at me to not do it. To turn it off and spare myself the pain.
I wished I had listened to it, instead of pressing the unmute button.