Rohan never took off his faded blue baseball cap. His teammates joked that it was glued to his head, but he just shrugged. "It's lucky," he'd say.
No one knew the truth.
The Gift
The cap had been his brother Arjun's. On the morning of his final deployment, Arjun tossed it to 12-year-old Rohan. "Keep this safe for me," he said. "I'll need it when I get back."
Arjun never came home.
The Promise
Rohan wore the cap every day after that. To school. To his first job interview. To his college graduation. It smelled like dust and old sunscreen—like Arjun.
Sometimes, when the wind blew just right, the brim would tap his forehead twice. Pat-pat. Like Arjun used to do when he was proud of him.
The Game
Now 22, Rohan stood on the pitcher's mound for his first major league game. The crowd roared, but all he heard was the wind whispering through his cap.
Bottom of the ninth. Bases loaded. One strike left.
As he wound up for the final pitch, he felt it—pat-pat—right above his eyebrows.
The ball left his fingers like lightning.
STRIKE THREE!
The stadium exploded. Teammates mobbed him, but Rohan just touched his cap and looked up. Somewhere beyond the lights, he knew Arjun was smiling.
