The cricket field gleamed under the pale morning sun, the air filled with the familiar rhythm of bats striking balls and the sharp instructions of the coach. Abhishek Sharma’s form was impeccable, each swing of the bat a testament to his discipline. Shubman Gill, on the other hand, was resting on the bench, water bottle in hand, his sharp eyes scanning the field with a relaxed confidence.

"You’re getting lazy, Gill," Abhishek called out as he approached, sweat dripping from his forehead. "Bench-warming already?"

"Not lazy," Shubman retorted, smirking. "Just efficient. While you’re trying to impress everyone with brute force, I conserve my energy for when it actually matters."

Abhishek chuckled, tossing his gloves onto the bench. "Speaking of efficiency, I need you to come with me to KC Headquarters."

Shubman raised an eyebrow, leaning back. "Why would I willingly subject myself to a police station at this hour? I don’t even have speeding tickets to settle."

"Not for you," Abhishek clarified. "For me. I need to meet Vayra, and I’d prefer not to show up looking like some over-eager boyfriend who can’t stand five minutes apart."

Shubman’s smirk widened. "Newsflash, Abhi: you are that over-eager boyfriend."

"Call it what you want," Abhishek replied, shrugging, "but you’re coming. And besides, Kinjal will be there."

At the mention of Kinjal, Shubman’s easy demeanor faltered. Memories of their last encounter—a heated argument over something as trivial as a parking spot—flashed in his mind. Kinjal Mathur was, without a doubt, the most infuriating person he’d ever met. Her quick wit and sharp tongue made every interaction a battle, one he rarely walked away from unscathed.

"Yeah, no thanks," Shubman said, shaking his head. "I’d rather walk barefoot on this field than spend another minute being roasted alive by your girlfriend’s best friend."

"Exactly why you should come," Abhishek said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Consider it practice for when you inevitably say something stupid again."

After a few more rounds of banter, Shubman reluctantly agreed, though not without grumbling under his breath.

---

At KC Headquarters: The Battle Begins

The KC Headquarters exuded an air of authority, the polished floors gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Officers moved briskly through the hallways, their expressions focused, while the hum of activity created an almost palpable tension.

Abhishek and Shubman made their way to Vayra’s cabin, the door slightly ajar. The sight that greeted them was one Shubman wasn’t quite prepared for.

Kinjal was already there, leaning casually against Vayra’s desk. Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her uniform, though professional, did nothing to soften the sharpness of her presence. She was mid-sentence when her eyes flicked toward the doorway, narrowing slightly at the sight of Shubman.

"Oh great," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look who decided to grace us with his presence. Mr. Cricket Superstar himself."

Shubman didn’t miss a beat. "And you must be the self-appointed queen of unsolicited opinions."

Vayra groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You two haven’t even been in the same room for thirty seconds, and you’re already at it. Can we not?"

Kinjal ignored her, crossing her arms as she addressed Shubman. "I’m surprised you found the time to step away from your adoring fans. Let me guess, Abhishek dragged you here because he needed backup?"

"Backup?" Shubman echoed, stepping into the room. "No, I came to remind everyone that not all heroes wear badges. Some of us actually achieve greatness without barking orders."

Kinjal’s eyes flashed with annoyance, though a smirk tugged at her lips. "Greatness? Is that what you call scoring a few runs while the rest of us do the real work? Must be nice living in your little bubble of fame."

Abhishek glanced at Vayra, who was watching the exchange with a mix of exasperation and amusement. "Should we step out and let them fight it out?" he whispered.

"Absolutely not," Vayra muttered. "If we leave, they might actually kill each other."

"Don’t worry, Vayra," Shubman said, turning his attention back to Kinjal. "I’m not here to fight. Unlike some people, I don’t need to prove my worth by tearing others down."

"Prove your worth?" Kinjal shot back. "You mean like how you constantly remind everyone that you’re the face of Indian cricket? Trust me, Shubman, nobody cares."

"Nobody except the millions who watch me play," he said smoothly.

Kinjal opened her mouth to retort, but Vayra cut her off with a sharp clap of her hands. "Enough. Both of you. This is a police headquarters, not a comedy club. So unless you want me to put you both in holding cells, I suggest you behave."

The room fell silent, though the tension between Shubman and Kinjal was almost tangible.

Abhishek cleared his throat, trying to lighten the mood. "So... coffee, anyone?"

Vayra shot him a look but sighed, relenting. "Fine. Let’s get coffee before these two start throwing punches."

As they filed out of the cabin, Shubman and Kinjal lagged behind, their verbal sparring far from over.

"You know," Shubman said as they walked, "for someone who claims not to care about cricket, you sure have a lot to say about it."

"And for someone who’s supposedly humble, you sure like to remind everyone how amazing you are," Kinjal shot back.

"Just keeping the record straight," he replied, smirking.

"Of course you are," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Though their words were sharp, there was an undercurrent of something else—something neither of them was ready to acknowledge.