The day unfolded with the rhythm of routine, the familiar dance of daily chores marking the passage of time. As the clock struck 11:00, a sense of anticipation stirred within me. It was time to shed the mantle of the mundane and embrace the transformation that awaited in my room. The shower's embrace was a refreshing cascade, washing away the remnants of the morning's toil.

I emerged, ready to craft an image of poised elegance. My choice was a fitted black top, its short sleeves hugging my arms with a promise of sleek sophistication. The trousers were a symphony of beige, their wide-legged design flowing gracefully above my ankles—a statement of relaxed fashion. The ensemble was anchored by chunky black boots, their laces a bold declaration, their thick soles a testament to my readiness to conquer the world. On my left wrist, a golden bracelet shimmered—a whisper of luxury amidst the boldness of my attire.

With my hair swept back into a ponytail, a touch of makeup to enhance my features, I stood before the mirror. A smile of self-approval graced my lips. "Wow! I look so pretty in this outfit," I thought, capturing the moment with a photo sent to Aditi for her inevitable praise.

Descending the stairs, I announced my departure to Mumma, her maternal affection wrapped in a simple, "Okay, take care, baccha." The nod I offered her was a silent promise to do just that.

The cafe was my destination, a rendezvous point I had set with Shubman. True to form, I arrived fashionably late, finding him already there, engrossed in the world within his phone. "Hi Shubman," I greeted, breaking his digital trance.

His response was immediate, "Hello Sara." He was quick to apologize for our last encounter, regret tinging his words. "I am extremely sorry for that day. I did not even introduce myself properly."

I brushed off his concern with a wave of my hand. "No problem, Shubman." His curiosity was evident as he inquired, "Why did you call me here?"

"You seem very distant from everyone. What happened?" I asked, my voice laced with genuine concern.

His self-awareness was apparent. "Am I that obvious?" he replied, a chuckle escaping my lips at his candor.

"Yes. Your fans are thinking that you had a heartbreak," I teased, eliciting a light smile that revealed the charming dimples on his cheeks. "It is not a heartbreak for sure because I have not dated anyone," he clarified.

"Let's order something and talk about it," I suggested, steering the conversation towards a more comfortable territory. Over coffee, I finally broached the subject. "Tell me what happened."

The story he unfolded was one of loss and misunderstanding. "My sister ran away from home 2 years ago, and we don't know where she is. She blamed me for it. My parents do not talk to me, believing I am the reason she left," he confided, the pain evident in his eyes.

I reached out, placing my hand over his in a gesture of support. He calmed, then asked, "Why do you want to know about me, Sara?"

Driven by a simple curiosity, I sought to deepen our connection. "Friends?" I offered, a question and an invitation all in one.

He agreed, and we exchanged numbers, a modern-day pact of friendship. I saved his contact with affection—Shub💛. "And you are not calling me Shubman, but Shub," he insisted, a smile in his voice.

Our conversation meandered through various topics, a gentle stream of getting-to-know-you. As we parted ways, his caring nature shone through. "Text me once you reach home," he said, a protective note in his tone.

I carried his kindness with me as I returned home, a smile playing on my lips. In my room, I pondered over the perfect message to send, eventually settling on words that felt right.

The rest of the evening was spent in the warm embrace of family. With Papa, Mumma, and Arjun, I found myself enveloped in gratitude for the love that surrounded me—a love that was my foundation, my anchor, and my greatest blessing.

The evening's gentle embrace welcomed me home, a stark contrast to Sara's encounter I had just left behind. My room, a sanctuary of solitude, greeted me with the silent flicker of unread emails on my laptop screen. The Indian cricket team's emblem caught my eye, and my pulse quickened with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. I clicked open the email, and the words leaped out at me—I had been selected. A rush of elation surged through me, a dream crystallizing into reality. I hastily composed my response to the BCCI, a flurry of keystrokes sealing my fate.

With this news burning bright within me, I descended the stairs to share my triumph. Mumma and Papa sat there, their presence a familiar comfort. "I want to tell you something important," I began, my voice a mix of nerves and excitement. Their nods were my cue, and I unveiled my future. "I am selected for the Test Series in England. I will be leaving on the 24th."

Silence enveloped us, their reaction—or lack thereof—a cold splash on my fiery spirit. "Papa, Mumma?" I probed, seeking some semblance of pride or joy. Papa's words were curt, dismissive. "Done right? Informed us? Now please go." The absence of a simple 'All the best' stung more than I cared to admit.

Retreating to the kitchen, I found solace in Parvati Didi's poha, a comfort food that now felt like a companion in my silent contemplation. Why was my home still shrouded in coldness? Why did my parents harbor such disdain for me?

With a heavy heart, I washed my bowl and retreated once more to my room. A call to Ishan brought a glimmer of camaraderie. "Bhai, I am selected for the series," he shared, his voice a beacon of shared destiny. "Hmm...nice, even I am selected," I replied, my tone flat, betraying the turmoil within.

Ishan's concern pierced through the phone. "What happened Veere, you seem off?" he asked. I deflected, turning the conversation to his family's happiness, a stark contrast to my own.

The invitation to visit was immediate and warm. "Of course, come," Ishan urged. I accepted, the prospect of a welcoming environment too enticing to resist.

Arriving at Ishan's, the door swung open to reveal his mother's smiling face. The warmth of their home enveloped me, a stark contrast to the chill of my own. Uncle's question about my absence on a previous occasion left me fumbling for words. "I-I had some work, uncle," I managed, the lie sitting uneasily on my tongue.

Ishan's embrace was a lifeline, a reminder of the bonds that still held strong despite the fractures in my familial ties. "How are Keart and Lakwinderji?" Uncle inquired, his words a bridge over troubled waters.

"They are fine, uncle," I responded, the half-truth a balm to my conscience. Aunty's congratulations on my selection were a bittersweet salve, her words a stark reminder of what I yearned for from my own parents.

Lunch with Ishan's family was a tableau of warmth and laughter, a stark contrast to the silent meals at my house. As night fell, I returned home, the weight of my impending departure heavy on my shoulders. I began to pack, each item a step closer to a new chapter.

Dinner was a quiet affair, my parents' presence at the table a silent reminder of the gulf between us. I chose the couch over the tension-filled proximity, my meal a solitary ritual.

Retreating to my room, I donned my pyjamas and surrendered to the embrace of my bed. Exhaustion claimed me swiftly, and I drifted into sleep, my dreams a tapestry of cricket pitches and distant applause, a world away from the silence of my home.

Hey guys,
Double update today!!
Please keep showering the same love you are showing now.
Yesterday the match was abandoned and I wanted to see Shub batting in that Lavender Jersey. But I believe that there is a good reason for anything that happens.
Please vote, comment and share.
-Author.