Walls | ShubIsh

If I Could Fly

The sound of the alarm wakes Ishan up if you consider his 30 of slumber after two days as sleep. He must go to the field. He must distract himself otherwise it'll take a huge toll on what he thought was the number one and only dream. Oh, well now Ishan could only dream of one thing which he shouldn't even desire to have. The empty side of the bed was a constant reminder. Ishan could feel the lyrics now,

"Nothing wakes you up like waking up alone"

He forcibly pushes these thoughts out of his head and gets ready for the practice sessions. Ishan couldn't be more grateful that IPL was going on rather than some series of the Indian team because if it was then he had to see (his face) No.NO.NO. Not going down that path right now.

When Ishan reached the Mumbai Indians few of his teammates were already there. He saw Sky and Tilak chatting together. If he could again be his usual self he would have joined the conversation and lit up the whole ground. But he assumes that this is what happens when you cut off the only source of light and happiness in your life.

It was all in his head. He snorted at the thought of what Shubman would think if he heard all these 'KABIR SINGH' coded sappy lines. (What would Shubman think if he heard all these 'KABIR SINGH' coded sappy lines?)

He would've said "I see I have made you a Saccha Ashique. Will my name also go down in the page of history with you?"

His terrace of thoughts was broken by Rohit Bhaiya calling the whole team to gather up. The first few hours of practice went well for Ishan. No distractions. No foul thoughts. No sappy heartbroken thoughts. He laughed mentally that it didn't need another person to do the job of heartbreaking for him to experience the poetic and prosaic feeling of misery. He had done the job himself.

'There you go, again', Ishan scolded himself and went back to the nets again even though Rohit tried to stop it. But the only thing that was helping him through this misery was cricket. Cricket kept in form, in routine. The routine was nice it kept him distracted from all his thoughts.

He played a few balls and started to feel dizzy. One loose delivery hit the stumps. He couldn't comprehend his thoughts with all those black spots revealing in front of his eyes. His mind was racing in different directions world Cup, Shubman, the board meeting, Shubman, those eyes, the walk. The noise is getting more buzzy with each passing second. He could only hear two words Liar Traitor. And he embraced the feeling of numbness. Because he deserved every bit of it.