For- pagalwagalhaikyaa

The summer sun beat down mercilessly on the dusty Mumbai playground. Sweat beaded on eight-year-old Chandraprabha's forehead, mirroring the glistening dew drops on the blades of untamed grass. But CP, as everyone called her, didn't care. Her gaze was fixed on the chipped red tennis ball that bounced erratically in front of her. With a determined grunt, she lunged, her tiny hand connecting with the ball with a satisfying smack.

"See that, Dhruv? I'm going to be a cricketer, a real bowler, just like Jhulan Goswami!" she declared, her voice laced with pride.

Dhruv Jurel, sprawled beneath the shade of a peepal tree, chuckled. Ten years old and already taller than CP, he was the self-proclaimed cricket expert of their little gang. He propped himself up on his elbows, his gaze crinkling at the corners as he watched his best friend.

"Not a bowler, CP," he corrected, his voice laced with gentle amusement. "You're a natural batswoman. See how cleanly you hit that one? You'll be the next Sachin Tendulkar, leaving all the bowlers in the dust."

CP's chest puffed out with importance. Sachin Tendulkar was her idol, his posters plastered across her bedroom wall. A wide grin split her face, revealing a gap where a tooth was yet to erupt.

"We'll be a team, then," she declared, her dark eyes sparkling. "You'll be the captain, the best batsman in the world, and I'll be your star bowler, taking wickets like magic!"

Dhruv's grin mirrored hers. The dream painted a vivid picture in his mind - him and CP, conquering the cricket pitch together, the roar of the crowd a constant hum in their ears. He stretched out a hand, his fingers brushing against hers. A comfortable silence settled between them, the unspoken promise of their shared dream hanging heavy in the air.

"And then," CP chirped, breaking the silence, her voice barely a whisper, "we'll get married. Like Rahul and Anjali in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai."

Dhruv's cheeks flushed a bright red. He wasn't quite sure what marriage entailed, but the idea of him and CP, their lives forever entwined, sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

"Sure," he mumbled, scuffing his toes in the dirt. "We'll get married. But only after we win the World Cup, together."

CP squealed in delight, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. All that remained was the dusty pitch, the relentless sun, and the two best friends, bound by an innocent dream and a silent promise whispered beneath a summer sky.
The familiar sting of sweat prickled Dhruv's palms as he gripped the cricket bat. But the late afternoon game, usually filled with laughter and friendly competition, felt heavy. CP, usually a whirlwind of energy on the field, moved with a sluggishness that gnawed at Dhruv. He finally called a halt, the worn leather ball thumping onto the dusty ground.

"What's wrong, CP?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

CP kicked at a pebble, her dark eyes clouded. For a moment, she seemed miles away, lost in a world Dhruv couldn't see. Then, a choked sob escaped her lips.

Dhruv's heart lurched. He'd never seen his best friend cry. Rushing to her side, he knelt beside her, his calloused hand hovering awkwardly near hers.

"Hey," he said softly, "tell me what's wrong."

The tears spilled over then, fat and glistening on her cheeks. CP buried her face in her hands, her small frame wracked with silent sobs. Dhruv's own throat tightened. He hated seeing her like this.

"We...we're moving," CP finally choked out, her voice thick with tears. "Back to Jammu. Nani's not well."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Moving? Jammu? It was like ripping a page out of their shared story. The dreams of cricketing glory, the whispered promise of forever - it all felt like a fragile house of cards, teetering on the edge of collapse.

"Moving?" Dhruv echoed, his voice tight. "But...but what about cricket? What about our team?"

Anger, hot and unwelcome, bubbled up inside him. How could she just leave? Didn't their dreams matter? Didn't their friendship matter?

"There's nothing I can do, Dhruv," CP hiccuped, her voice barely a whisper. "Nani needs me."

"There's always something you can do, CP!" Dhruv shot back, his voice rising. "You can't just abandon everything we've built here!"

The anger in his voice seemed to startle CP. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and hurt.

"It's not abandoning, Dhruv," she said, her voice small. "It's..."

But Dhruv wasn't listening anymore. The betrayal, sharp and stinging, eclipsed everything else.

"Forget it, CP," he spat, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "Just go. Maybe you'll find your precious World Cup team up in the mountains."

The words hung heavy in the air. CP's eyes welled up again, but this time, there were no tears. Just a deep, wordless hurt that mirrored Dhruv's own. Without a word, she turned and walked away, her small figure disappearing into the throng of buildings that bordered the playground.

Dhruv watched her go, the bat slipping from his grasp, clattering onto the ground. The weight of his anger pressed down on him, suffocating, but beneath it, a cold dread coiled in his gut. He knew, with a sickening certainty, that this wasn't just a fight. It was the end of an era, the shattering of a dream they'd woven together under the summer sky.

Dhruv stared at the single red rose nestled in his locker, a bewildered frown etching itself onto his 22-year-old face. The pre-match jitters that usually buzzed in his stomach were momentarily forgotten, replaced by a strange curiosity. This wasn't the first time he'd found a rose after a match – it had become a peculiar tradition over the past year, ever since his stellar performance in the Ranji Trophy. But this was different. This was before a match, a silent, crimson premonition of his selection for the Indian squad.

A wave of nostalgia washed over him, transporting him back to the dusty playgrounds of Mumbai. He remembered CP, her dark eyes sparkling with dreams, a red rose tucked behind her ear – a victory sign after one of their fiercely contested backyard matches. A pang of something akin to regret stabbed at his heart. He hadn't spoken to CP since that day, the anger and hurt festering for years before being eclipsed by the relentless pursuit of his cricketing dreams.

He picked up the rose, its velvety petals cool against his fingertips. The scent, sweet and delicate, seemed to whisper a forgotten promise. Was it just a coincidence? Or could it be...? The thought was quickly dismissed. After all, CP was in Jammu and Kashmir, a world away. Yet, the weight of the rose in his hand felt strangely significant.

Dhruv shook himself out of his reverie. He had a match to win, a place in the Indian team to secure. With a determined glint in his eye, he placed the rose carefully in his cricket bag, a silent tribute to a past friendship and a newfound determination to prove himself worthy, not just on the field, but also of the dreams they once shared. Maybe, just maybe, this rose wasn't just a token of admiration, but a nudge from the past, urging him to chase not just cricketing glory, but also the chance to mend a broken bond.

The cacophony of the celebratory party swirled around Dhruv, the cheers and clinking glasses a dull roar in his ears. He cradled his drink, the ice clinking emptily against the glass. The victory, the culmination of years of relentless pursuit, felt hollow somehow. He had everything he'd ever dreamt of – fame, recognition, a place in the Indian cricket team – yet a deep emptiness gnawed at him.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the soft voice at first. "Excuse me, Mr. Jurel? Can I have your autograph?"

Dhruv turned, his gaze landing on a woman his age. Her dark eyes, framed by familiar kohl-rimmed lids, widened in surprise. "CP?" he breathed, the name tumbling out on a wave of disbelief.

Chandraprabha, her fiery spirit dimmed by a touch of maturity, stood before him, a hesitant smile playing on her lips. Before either of them could speak, a throng of well-wishers materialized, demanding his attention. He signed autographs, posed for pictures, all the while stealing glances at CP, who remained patiently at the edge of the crowd.

Finally, a lull descended. Dhruv excused himself and approached her, his heart hammering a familiar rhythm against his ribs.

"Where have you been all these years, CP?" he asked, his voice thick with unspoken emotions. "Did you just...forget about me and all our dreams?"

CP's smile faltered slightly. "Never," she said softly. "I wasn't there, physically, but..." she trailed off, her eyes flickering towards the counter.

Dhruv followed her gaze, landing on a lone, wilting red rose nestled amongst the empty bottles. Recognition dawned on him.

"The roses," he breathed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "They were from you?"

CP nodded, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "A little reminder of our promise."

The weight of the past year, the unspoken longing, all melted away in that shared moment. The rose, a symbol of their shattered dreams, now bloomed anew, signifying a second chance, a rekindled hope. 

Dhruv reached out, his hand hovering over hers. "We never stopped dreaming, did we, CP?" 

A slow smile spread across CP's face. "Never," she whispered, her fingers brushing against his. The party, the noise, faded away. In that shared touch, a universe of unspoken words hung in the air, a promise whispered not on a dusty playground, but amidst the din of a celebratory night, a chance to rewrite their story, together.

The roar of the crowd was a deafening symphony in Dhruv's ears as he drove the final ball to the boundary. Three runs required, three runs achieved. A century, his first in international cricket, a dream come true. As the elation washed over him, a single image flickered in his mind – CP, her eyes shining with pride, a red rose tucked behind her ear, just like in their childhood days.

He raised his bat high, a triumphant gesture. Then, a mischievous grin spread across his face. He leaned down, brushing his lips against the willow, and blew a kiss in the direction of the pavilion. The crowd roared even louder, their confusion mixing with amusement.

Later, during the post-match presentation, Harsha Bhogle's voice boomed across the stadium. "Dhruv, that century was phenomenal! But something even more interesting caught everyone's eye – that celebratory kiss. Who was the lucky recipient, if you don't mind sharing?"

Dhruv adjusted the microphone, a nervous flutter in his stomach. This wasn't part of the plan, but the moment felt right.  With a deep breath, he met Harsha's gaze.

"That kiss," he began, his voice ringing out over the stadium, "was for the girl who shared my dream from the very beginning. The one who believed in me even when I doubted myself. My best friend, my confidante, my everything."

He paused, letting his words sink in. A hush had fallen over the crowd, their eyes searching the stands. Then, a familiar figure emerged from the sea of faces – CP, a single red rose clutched in her hand, a wide smile gracing her lips.

Dhruv's gaze locked with hers, and the years that had separated them melted away. He could see the little girl with fire in her eyes, the girl who dreamt of conquering the cricket pitch with him by her side. In that moment, he knew their story wasn't over; it was just beginning, a new chapter filled with the promise of forever.

As the crowd erupted in cheers, Dhruv stepped off the stage and walked towards CP. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.  On one knee, under the watchful gaze of the stadium lights, he opened the box to reveal a dazzling diamond ring.

"Chandraprabha," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "you once said we'd get married after winning the World Cup. Maybe that dream can wait a bit, but there's another one I can't wait to fulfill. Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in CP's eyes, a radiant smile breaking through. She reached out, her fingers gently brushing his cheek.

"Yes, Dhruv," she whispered, her voice trembling. "A thousand times, yes."

The roar of the crowd reached a crescendo, a fitting soundtrack for a love story rekindled, a promise whispered on a dusty playground finally coming true. As Dhruv slipped the ring onto her finger, the stadium lights seemed to twinkle a little brighter, celebrating not just a cricketing victory, but the triumph of a love that had weathered time and distance, a love that had finally found its way back home.