Page 51 of Dream On, Liar

11

Maeve

THE FEBRUARY SUN WAS already climbing over Abu Dhabi, even at barely half past nine in the morning. The sports hub was bathed with a warmth that seemed to cling to skin rather than simply touch it. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight, just an endless blue sky stretching over the sky.

As predicted, two days with the endless sun and I was already regretting every curse word I’d uttered about the rain—alongside the complaints of barely getting any sun whilst in the UK. It was like every time I left the country, I realised just how much I preferred the unpredictability that came with the predictable and reassuring rain.

This relentless sunshine, on the other hand made me feel like there was nowhere to hide. It exposed everything, including stubborn egotistical cricketers.

I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that had hoped that somehow a two week break help Rihaan get over the fact I’d been promoted to be his professional baby-sitter. While I hated the term itself, there hadn’t been another way to describe my role better. When I’d shown up for work next day—thankfully, with the players on a break—I’d made the mistake of assuming that this role would be like my last one, or at the very least, similar. Instead, along with the basic onboarding, I was made to sit through in media training, do multiple pieces for the team’s official Media Partner NexGen as they did a profile on me, and sit through multiple useless meetings with the marketing department as they explained how best to handle this “PR Nightmare”, all the while I worked on preliminary reports on the players based on my own research and their first check-up. Yet, when I’d finally stepped on to the pitch this morning before the warm-ups, Rihaan had given me one look before deciding he’d rather get his initial screening by Faroq instead.

Strangely, there was a part of me that was certain something had changed, only it hadn’t been something positive. I wondered if he’d finally remembered the night. The night that no matter how hard I tried, didn’t seem to let go of me.

I folded my arms, my tablet tucked beneath one elbow as I stood just beyond the nets, watching the morning session unfold.

The bowlers rotated through their spells in the nets while fielders worked through catching drills on the adjacent square. My father barked instructions every few minutes, punctuated by the occasional ripple of applause when someone pulled off a particularly sharp stop. The air carried the smell of freshly cut grass mixed with sunscreen and the faint grit of desert dust that settled over everything by midday.

My attention wasn't really on any of it.

It kept drifting back to Rihaan.

When he’d gone to Faroq instead of me, I’d chosen to ignore it. Simply because it was day one, and I was patient enough for one day. But mostly because, at least he hadn’t brought Doreen along with him.

I was sure there was some book where it counted as a win. Still, that didn’t mean I wasn’t irritated.

My frown deepened as Rihaan began a bowling spell. Even though he was considered an all-rounder, I’d quickly realised, he preferred to be a bowler. So when one became two, and two became three, I couldn’t help but pick apart when his follow-through had dropped.

Where his pace hadn’t dropped, his landing foot lingered a fraction longer than it had twenty minutes ago, his left shoulder rolling once between deliveries before he did it again.

Fatigue compensation.

Swiping between screens, I pulled up his worksheet logged in by Faroq earlier.

He was already beyond the volume they'd discussed that morning.

Of course he was.

My fingers tightened around the tablet before my gaze flicked back to Rihaan.

Maybe I had imagined it.

The thought made me halt, something close to frustration bubbling inside me. All throughout my career, there hadn’t been a single time where I’d known myself to doubt my instincts.

My gaze found it’s way to Faroq who stood a few feet away, watching the same net with his hands tucked into his pockets.

As if sensing my stare, his eyes snapped to mine and I tipped my head ever so slightly towards the bowler in question.

Are you seeing this?

Faroq's eyes returned to the nets. He watched another delivery, expression unreadable. The next ball followed with the same slight hitch in the follow-through.

His eyes met mine again, and he gave a small nod.

“Go,” he said simply, making me frown.

“You sure?”

“It's what we were told, isn't it?” He smiled, though there was something knowingly resigned about it. “Technically, he’s your player for the next couple months.”