Man of Her Match

by Sakshama Puri Dhariwal

  The entire team was in Delhi for the match against South Africa, and the first session in the nets was scheduled for the following morning. And while Vikram seemed relaxed with his teammates after his brief hiatus, he was not participating in the good-natured ribbing or friendly trash talk. The guys were on his case about his recent transgressions and Vikram had borne the jokes—their own and the ones they found on social media—with a sporting but half-hearted smile.

  Monty glanced up and saw the captain of the Indian cricket team walking towards him, and he immediately put his spoon down, bracing himself for the inevitable interrogation.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  Monty, who usually subscribed to the why-use-ten words-when-you-can-use-fifty philosophy in life, came straight to the point for the no-nonsense captain. ‘Girl trouble.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s in love.’

  ‘He’s . . . in love?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Walia is in love?’

  Monty held up his palms in a don’t-look-at-me gesture. ‘And it is one-sided.’

  ‘Impossible,’ Captain whispered in disbelief. ‘Natasha?’

  ‘No. Childhood sweetheart.’

  ‘Ouch.’ Captain turned around and strode purposefully towards Vikram, who, currently surrounded by six other players on a round table, was eating his dinner.

  ‘Yeh achha wala hai,’ the wicketkeeper chuckled, reading off his phone. ‘“Why will the entire South African line-up be wearing helmets? Because who knows when Walia will punch someone! #WaliaKoGussaKyunAataHai”’

  The rest of the guys laughed at that and Vikram gave a slight smile.

  ‘Chalo, that’s enough, boys,’ Captain said and the hearty laughter subsided into suppressed guffaws. ‘Come with me,’ he told Vikram, who put his fork down and followed his captain to a quiet corner.

  ‘I need to know you have your head in the game,’ Captain said bluntly.

  Vikram nodded emphatically. ‘Of course, I do.’

  ‘You’ll steer clear of ladai-jhagda?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ll cut down on gaali-galoch?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’ll handle your girl problems?’

  Vikram raised an eyebrow.

  The steadfast captain returned his glare.

  Vikram’s jaw tightened. ‘I don’t have girl problems.’

  ‘Then stop behaving like a goddamn chick on her period.’

  ‘I’m not—’

  ‘Whatever it is, Walia—fix it.’

  Vikram nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘I can’t have my star batsman moping around like this,’ Captain added, to take the edge off his reprimand.

  ‘May I get back to my dinner now?’ Vikram gritted.

  Captain nodded and watched him walk away, making a mental note to tell the rest of the guys to lay off Walia for a bit. The poor guy really did look whipped.

  Nidhi walked in through the gate of the Feroz Shah Kotla Stadium in Delhi, trying to hide her nervousness behind her oversized sunglasses. For the hundredth time since that morning, the sheer absurdity of her plan made her want to run away and lock herself inside her house.

  Risha was right. Nidhi should’ve just stalked Vikram at his hotel. But the security there was too tight.

  She had already tried.

  Since Vikram was avoiding her calls, she had tried to reason with Monty, but Monty was quite firm in his refusal to help her. ‘So sorry, Nidhiji,’ he had said sincerely. ‘I really want to help you, but I cannot. Vikram has banned me from talking about you and Captain Sir has issued strict instructions not to disturb-shisturb Vikram’s focus. I hope you understand.’

  She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand at all. But Monty had sounded so helpless that instead of shouting at him, Nidhi had thanked him politely and hung up the phone.

  And so she had to go with her last resort—confronting Vikram at the stadium after net practice.

  ‘Just flash your press card and walk in confidently,’ Sam had advised her last night. ‘Don’t make eye contact with the guard.’

  ‘I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb. Too bad there are such few female sports journos.’ Nidhi had sighed.

  ‘Yes, the players would definitely respond much better to them,’ he said with a pointed look at her legs.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I just hope I can get inside the stadium.’

  ‘I’ve already told Piyush to look out for you,’ he said, referring to the NT cricket correspondent on the field.

  She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Sam.’

  ‘Break a leg.’ He smiled.

  Now Nidhi was wishing that she had actually broken a leg. It would be less painful than a potentially public confrontation with Vikram. Nidhi smoothened an imaginary crease on her turquoise green dress, trying to brush away the sense of dread that had taken over her.

  What if Vikram didn’t want anything to do with her?

  What if he thought she was ‘disturbing-shisturbing’ his focus?

  What if he didn’t love her?

  Nidhi’s confidence dwindled with every step around the circumference of the boundary and she seriously reassessed the wisdom of showing up at the stadium. If their positions had been reversed, Nidhi would not appreciate Vikram confronting her at her office. After all, this was his ‘place of work’ and Nidhi didn’t want to make a scene in front of his ‘colleagues’.

  If at all there was a scene. Maybe he would just pretend not to recognize her like that first meeting at the NT office.

  Panic rose in her throat.

  Perhaps, she would just camp outside his hotel and pounce on him like all the other crazy people. What’s the worst that could happen? Nidhi was entertaining visions of jail time and restraining orders when she spotted Vikram.

  Her stomach gave a little flip as she saw him shuffle a football before passing it to one of his teammates. Nidhi presumed that the serious part of the practice session was over because the guys were tossing around a football, seemingly to unwind after a gruelling morning in the nets. Vikram laughed at something one of his teammates said and the familiar, throaty sound sent a jolt down Nidhi’s spine. She was about to turn around and make a run for it when he caught sight of her. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, Nidhi was certain that he’d seen her because he froze in his tracks.

  Nidhi took off her own sunglasses and waved to him, relieved when he did the same. He tipped his head towards the stands, away from the nets, and Nidhi walked in that direction, her legs watery and unstable.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Hi,’ he responded, his expression inscrutable.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked, yearning to touch his handsome face.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said coolly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  She glanced around the nets uneasily. ‘I’m sorry for bothering you here, but you haven’t been taking my calls.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve been busy.’

  Nidhi stared at something behind his shoulder and her jaw slackened. ‘Is that Virat Kohli?’

  Vikram stiffened. ‘Did you come here to ogle the players?’

  Even though his face was a mask of granite, Nidhi heard the jealousy in his voice and felt a stab of hope. Resisting the overwhelming urge to throw herself into his arms, she gave him a sweet smile. ‘Not originally.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ he demanded.

  ‘I came to apologize,’ she began bravely, hoping she was appealing to the laid-back raat-gayi-baat-gayi Punjabi half of him and not the staunch, unforgiving Rajput half.

  His expression softened a little. ‘For what?’

  ‘For what happened with Kuku. I’m glad it didn’t affect your discip—’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said abruptly. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  She nodded, looking down at the ground. ‘I know.’

  Vikram watched her carefully
, as though expecting her to say something else. When she continued to study the grass on the field, his face hardened. ‘If you don’t mind, I have to get back,’ he said tersely, turning around.

  ‘Wait!’ she cried, placing a hand on his arm.

  He jerked his arm away and snapped his gaze to hers. ‘Nidhi, if you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, I’d like to get on with my day. And my life.’

  ‘I do have something to say,’ she said, stubbornly raising her chin. ‘I’m really sorry about the things I said the last time I saw you, Viks.’

  Barring the clenching of his jaw when she addressed him by that name, his expression remained unreadable.

  ‘I didn’t mean it,’ she added softly.

  Vikram scoffed. ‘The part where you said you didn’t have feelings for me or the part where you said I was a spineless man-whore?’

  Nidhi cringed at the memory. ‘All of it.’

  He gave her an indifferent shrug. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It matters to me,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Why?’

  She met his eyes. ‘Because I’m in love with you.’ Vikram stared at her and she gave a helpless laugh. ‘I’m so in love with you, Viks. I’ve loved you since I was eight years old. I never stopped loving you. And now I’ve screwed up every—’

  Vikram’s mouth descended on hers and he pulled her against his chest in one swift motion. He kissed her like his life depended on it. He kissed her as though kissing her was the only way to keep her from disappearing again. And Nidhi kissed him back urgently and brazenly, pouring her soul into that one kiss. When they finally parted, Vikram cradled her face between his palms. ‘I thought I’d lost you, Nidhi,’ he said gruffly. ‘I thought I’d lost you forever.’

  Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. ‘Me too.’

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered achingly, touching his forehead to hers. ‘I love you so damn much.’

  ‘Let’s not screw this up again, okay?’ she murmured against his mouth.

  Vikram raised his head and gave her a pointed look. ‘Does your father know?’

  Nidhi knew instinctively that the answer to that question was important to Vikram, because it would help him gauge how sure Nidhi was about him. But Nidhi had never been surer of anything in her entire life. ‘He has the gist, but I postponed the closing argument until later. I thought we could do it together.’

  ‘Great. I’d like nothing more than to see his expression,’ Vikram growled.

  ‘Be nice,’ Nidhi warned. ‘You’ll be dating his daughter.’

  He gave her a tender grin. ‘I intend on doing a lot more than just dating her.’

  ‘Best to keep that to yourself,’ she muttered.

  A loud clicking sound made Vikram pull away from her. ‘Shit. I forgot about the press!’ he said, absently rubbing his jaw.

  ‘The what?’ she gasped.

  ‘There are a bunch of reporters right behind us,’ he said.

  Nidhi groaned. ‘Is there any chance they didn’t . . .’

  She looked so distraught that Vikram almost wanted to lie. ‘There’s a chance,’ he evaded.

  ‘My face is going to be in tomorrow’s newspaper, isn’t it?’ she ventured.

  ‘It’s probably already on Twitter,’ he admitted, searching her face for signs of regret.

  ‘So much for taking it slow,’ she said dryly.

  Vikram gazed into her eyes. ‘I’ve waited twelve years for this, Nidhi. I’m done taking it slow.’ He saw the shy longing in her green eyes and started to reach for her, but Nidhi took a step back, cocking her head towards the press enclosure. He sighed and let go of her with great reluctance. ‘I should get back before the guys notice I’m gone.’

  Nidhi cleared her throat and pointed behind him. ‘Ummm, I think they already did.’

  Vikram turned around to find the entire Indian cricket team standing in a row watching him and Nidhi. The moment they caught his eye, they started hooting and whistling wildly.

  Nidhi blushed and Vikram shot his teammates a disgusted look. ‘Very mature, guys,’ he called to them, following it up with a rude gesture, but the cheering only got louder.

  Vikram shook his head, muttering under his breath. ‘Goddamn world champions behaving like a bunch of chu—’

  Nidhi gave him a look and he grinned sheepishly.

  ‘I think you’d better go.’ She sighed.

  Vikram nodded and turned around. Then he turned back. ‘Nidhi?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t go too far, okay?’

  She heard the poignant implication in his request and shook her head. ‘Never.’

  His face broke into a boyish smile as he sprinted back to his teammates, only to face louder cheers, friendly chokeholds and back slaps.

  It almost felt like they had won a match.

  But to Vikram, it felt a whole lot better.

  Two months later . . .

  ‘Bhimsen?’

  Bhimsen continued to snore.

  ‘Bhimsen? Unlock the gate!’

  ‘Dekha Hai Pehli Baar, Saajan Ki Aankhon Mein Pyaar . . .’ continued to blare in the background.

  ‘Bhimsen!’

  Clearly, this was not working. The only option was to jump over the gate and call the trusted comrade to the rescue.

  ‘Hello?’ Nidhi whispered into the phone.

  ‘Hey,’ Vikram whispered back. ‘I’m going to jump over the gate now. Can you unlock the side door?’

  ‘I’ll be right there.’

  Vikram climbed over the Marwahs’ metallic gate with practised ease and jogged up the driveway to the side entrance.

  ‘Hey,’ Nidhi whispered when she opened the door.

  Vikram shoved his hands in her hair and started to pull her forward for a kiss, but Nidhi placed her hands on his chest and gave him a little push. ‘Papa is still awake, so we need to be super quiet.’

  Vikram groaned. ‘I thought you said he was warming up to me?’

  Nidhi shushed him and he followed her into the house, tip-toeing his way across the long lobby. He was mentally congratulating himself on yet another successful attempt at sneaking into his girlfriend’s house undiscovered, when . . .

  ‘Hello, Vikram.’

  Vikram froze at the sound of Balraj Marwah’s voice. The man was seated on the couch in the living room, strangely enough, with his back towards Vikram.

  Does Balli the Bully have eyes at the back of his head?

  ‘Hi, Uncle,’ Vikram called to him sheepishly, and Nidhi leapt behind the large mahogany door, clamping a hand over her mouth to keep from exploding into giggles.

  Balraj stood up and turned around, striding out to the lobby. He held out his hand formally. ‘Good to see you.’

  ‘Same here,’ Vikram said, struggling to keep a straight face.

  ‘How long are you in town?’ Balraj asked, his tone lacking its usual curtness.

  ‘I’m flying to England tomorrow, so I just, uh, came to say bye to Nidhi,’ Vikram improvised.

  Balraj raised an eyebrow. ‘I see. Like you’ve been saying bye for the last three nights?’

  Shit.

  Vikram started to fabricate an explanation, but Balraj pre-empted the lie with a shake of his head. ‘Let’s talk when you return from England. We need to reach a mutually agreeable arrangement.’

  Vikram stiffened.

  ‘An arrangement,’ Balraj added hastily, noticing the ominous glitter in Vikram’s eyes, ‘that will hopefully put an end to all this sneaking around.’

  Vikram blinked. ‘Huh?’

  ‘I’m going to bed now,’ Balraj said meaningfully, walking up the stairwell. ‘Goodnight.’

  And though Vikram wasn’t certain, he thought he saw Balraj’s shoulders shaking.

  Vikram turned to Nidhi in utter bewilderment. ‘Was your dad laughing?’

  ‘Told you he’s warming up to you,’ Nidhi teased, taking his hand and pulling him up the stairs. She flopped on the bed inside her room, and was surprised
when Vikram didn’t immediately jump in next to her and claim her mouth in a long, torrid kiss.

  ‘Something on your mind?’ she asked, watching his dazed expression.

  ‘Did your dad mean what I think he meant?’ Vikram asked.

  ‘Given that you’ve dropped the M-word two thousand times in the last two months, I thought it was best to prepare him,’ Nidhi said awkwardly. Ignoring the uneasy sense of foreboding, she added, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll take it one step at a time.’

  Vikram sat next to her on the bed. ‘Am I to understand that you think I’m getting cold feet?’

  ‘Are you?’ Nidhi asked.

  He took her hand in his and gazed into her eyes. ‘If it were up to me, I would marry you this minute. You know that.’

  Nidhi smiled at that. When he still seemed distracted, she shifted uneasily. ‘Is there a problem?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. A very big one.’

  ‘What?’ she asked, watching a grin tug at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘I could never live in Delhi,’ he said, pressing his lips to her fingertips.

  ‘I could never live in Mumbai,’ she breathed.

  He sobered. ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘So am I. I can’t leave Papa alone, he doesn’t deserve that.’

  Vikram opened his mouth to tell her exactly what Balraj Marwah deserved, when Nidhi slipped her arms around his waist and snuggled into his chest. Even though he could feel his resolve crumbling, he glanced down at her and raised a challenging eyebrow.

  Suddenly, Nidhi pinned him to the bed and straddled him between her legs. Vikram looked up at her in surprise. She leaned down and whispered against his mouth. ‘It would mean a lot to me.’

  Vikram’s face broke into a lazy smile. ‘When you put it that way . . .’

  Acknowledgements

  Several individuals deserve special mention for helping me through this project.

  To my family—thank you for being my most ardent cheerleaders.

  Thanks also to my amazing friends—Nidhi Arora and Rohan Sehgal—for dropping everything to text or video-chat with me at odd hours.

  I am grateful to Sakshi Bahadur Oberoi and Arjun Fauzdar for lending their faces to the cover of this book. And to the immensely talented Angad B. Sodhi—only you could bring out the best in them!