Maybe it was residual guilt about what he was doing to his team; maybe it was fear at how they'd react; or maybe it was just because his brain had stopped processing everything with the clarity they did under more normal circumstances—but Virat Kohli did not inform anyone of his decision, not his wife, not his team, not his old captain and mentor, and typed out the tweet—and then retyped it five more times—before posting it, three kilometers away from their hotel in Cape Town, in a dingy roadside inn, and switched off the notifications on his phone, gazing at the sun setting over the horizon.

He knew the calls would start any moment now—any moment...but he really, really didn't want to talk to anyone. Nor justify his decision to anyone. They'd talk about his batting...he could hear them saying "But you haven't been batting badly of late—not your best maybe, but not bad..." in Rahul's voice. Nor did he want to defend himself...now he could hear them saying "But Virat, you're the best Test captain we could ever have," in Ash's voice, "Virat bhaiya, we need you as our captain!" in Jassi's voice.

Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe they didn't want him to be captain quite so badly as all that...

But no, he would not play the victim this time. He would not be unfair on his team.

He knew they wanted him as their captain. He knew they wanted it badly. He knew they had not imagined that changing—whatever might be going on in the limited overs, he knew his team had taken for granted, that in Tests, at least, 'nothing was going to change.'

But it wasn't about batting, it wasn't about anything really, except the fact that he'd promised to himself, once long back when he wasn't a tenth of the cricketer he was today, that he'd never continue doing anything for Indian cricket when he wasn't convinced he was able to do everything he was capable of. He'd never give 95% to Indian cricket; he would always give 100%.

Nothing less would do.

****************

"I hate him," Rahul's muffled voice screamed at the other end of Rohit's phone. "I hate him, I HATE HIM."

"You don't hate him, K," said Rohit, trying to speak calmly.

"I hate him more than I've ever hated anyone in the world."

"Have you told him that?" asked Rohit, wishing he was in South Africa with all of them, and not stuck alone at the NCA.

"Tell him? Are you mad?" said Rahul. "I'll never speak to him in my whole life. He can do whatever the hell he wants, the selfish, self-centered hypocrite."

Under normal circumstances, Rohit would have gone dancing to Virat, yelling 'your first kiddo is no longer your kiddo, he hates you, ahahahahaha and he loves me instead, don't you, K?'

"Try to breathe," he told Rahul instead, because he was pretty sure Rahul was too furious to breathe.

"No, I'll hold my breath till I die," said Rahul sarcastically.

"Virat's not selfish, K. And he's definitely not a hypocrite, that's the last thing—"

"Oh, yes?" demanded Rahul. "Doesn't he say he was dreadfully upset when Mahi bhai announced retiring from Tests without any prior warning? Wasn't he mad at Mahi bhai then? WHO ON EARTH GIVES HIM THE RIGHT TO DO THE SAME TO US? WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS?"

Thinking that Rahul had a fair point there, Rohit fell silent, wondering how he could defend Virat against this. He had pretty much passed on the worst experience of his life to his juniors, doing the exact same thing Mahi bhai had—a thing, that seven years later, no one had forgotten nor forgiven.

"And think—think of how selfish...how he...he didn't think of any of us, nor of the team—what good is a team without a captain? What would we—do without him being captain?"

Now Rahul was sniffling at the other end, the kind when you're trying extremely hard to stop yourself from breaking down into full-fledged, violent, ugly sobs. That made Rohit wish harder he was in South Africa, not so that he could punch Virat in his face, but so that he could just put an arm around his younger brother.

"The truth is I don't know, Rahuliya. I don't have the faintest idea what's going to happen to Indian Test cricket," said Rohit.

"Of course you don't," said Rahul. "No one knows. Not even god himself knows."

"Ah," said Rohit. "But Virat will be there in the team. What you said earlier...about Mahi bhai...he retired from Tests altogether, but Virat didn't. He'll still be with us. We can still take all the wrong reviews like he decides."

Rahul dissolved into tears.

Wrong thing to say.

"Sorry," said Rohit in distress. "I—Rahul, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"Taking wrong reviews, letting that idiot Siraj influence him," Rahul shouted through his sobs. "Losing tosses, defying probability. G-giving it back to the opposition when they're tried to sledge any of us. Leading us on—on to the field...motivational speeches...pep talks to...to the debutants..."

Rahul's voice trailed off into just sobs as he set the phone down on the table and collapsed on the bed. And then they were both crying.

It felt like the end of everything to Rohit—everything had changed, everything, and would never be the same again.

He was so mad at Virat he couldn't formulate the extent of it in his head, and yet, he was crying not out of fury but an aching, overwhelming sense of sadness.

No one ever knew what was going on inside Virat's head, but something must have been wrong, terribly, terribly wrong that he felt he wasn't able to give his 100% on the field. Rohit knew. That had to be the reason; not his batting, not his captaincy, not their team's results, but his conviction that he was not giving his all.

"Let's not blame him, Rahuliya," said Rohit, when he could finally speak.

"Yeah," said Rahul. "Let's not."

He got up to retrieve the phone again, still shaking, to put the loudspeaker mode off because Rohit's voice sounded so loud in the silent room that his head hurt.

That was when he noticed his captain—yes, he would persist in thinking of him as his captain, because he always would be—standing at the door, just a little outside like he was scared of entering. His expression was unreadable.

"Hello," said Virat tentatively.

Rahul lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave.

Now that he was sure of not being snubbed, Virat was by his side in an instant, almost flying through the room, giving him a fierce sort of hug.

"Because you know it must be harder for him that it is for us," Rohit was saying on the other end of the phone.

"Not—not possible," mumbled Rahul, holding on to Virat with every bit of strength he possessed.

Virat leaned into the phone. "Thanks for being so considerate, Ro."

"V-Virat?" Rohit sounded stunned.

"I just came," said Virat hastily. "Two minutes back."

"Listening in like a sneak as usual," said Rohit.

Somehow that made Virat grin.

"How're things?" asked Rohit.

"Not bad," said Virat, rubbing Rahul's back to let him know that he wasn't unwelcome in their conversation. "Just a little messed up."

"Just a little," said Rohit. "But remember? Things have been broken down into smaller pieces and jumbled up worse in the past. We've arranged them back in place, every time."

"Yeah, I remember," said Virat.

"So we will. Again."

"I know."

"Because we're—" prompted Rohit, his voice a mix of tears and a smile.

"—in this together," finished Virat.

"You too, Rahuliya," said Rohit, "and all of us."

"I know," said Rahul.