▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

━━ Shubman had been on the field since 4 AM.

His muscles already starting to feel the strain of hours spent perfecting his technique. The cool dawn had given way to the gentle warmth of the early morning sun, casting long shadows across the pitch.

Despite the fatigue creeping into his limbs, Shubman pushed himself harder, his focus unwavering. He was determined to drown out the noise—the relentless, buzzing cacophony of social media trolls who seemed to have nothing better to do than fabricate stories about his personal life and criticize his performance.

The media in India was relentless, always hungry for the next big story, the next piece of gossip that could capture the public's attention.

Shubman had learned early in his career that being a cricketer in India meant living under a microscope. Every action, every word, every gesture was scrutinized and analyzed, often blown out of proportion.

The media could be a double-edged sword, capable of elevating a player to god-like status one day and tearing them down the next.

He recalled the first time he had been thrust into the limelight, the exhilarating rush of seeing his name in headlines and the pride he felt knowing his hard work was being recognized. But with that recognition came a price.

Privacy became a rare commodity, something to be guarded fiercely. The media didn't just report on his performance on the field; they delved into his personal life, speculating on his relationships, friendships, and even his daily routines.

Social media had only amplified the situation. Platforms like Instagram and Twitter allowed for the rapid spread of information—and misinformation.

Fans and trolls alike had taken to commenting on his posts, sending him messages, and creating memes that ranged from humorous insults to downright hateful. It was overwhelming, and at times, it felt like there was no escape.

He had been practicing because the online hate had reached a fever pitch after his last match, where he hadn't performed as well as expected. It seemed that merely existing and not living up to the ever-growing expectations was enough to invite a storm of criticism.

By 8 AM, the field was bathed in golden light, and Shubman could hear the distant sounds of the city coming to life. And yet Shubman couldn't bring himself to care. He needed to be better, he needed to play, his fever be damned.

As he continued his relentless practice, each swing of the bat felt heavier than the last. His vision blurred slightly, and he could feel the sweat trickling down his back, but he refused to stop.

The fever he had been ignoring for the past few days was making its presence felt, but Shubman was determined to push through. He couldn't afford to let anything, not even his health, come in the way of his performance.

"Shubhi, abhi bas kar ja," Ishan's voice cut through the haze of Shubman's concentration, laced with concern and brotherly affection. [Shubhi, stop it now.]

Shubman turned to see Ishan Kishan walking towards him, a worried expression etched on his face. Ishan had always been like an older brother to him, someone who could see through the bravado and recognize when something was wrong.

Shubman could see the concern in his eyes, and for a moment, he felt a pang of guilt for worrying his friend.

"I'm fine, Ishu," Shubman replied, though his voice lacked the conviction he intended. He swung the bat again, but the effort felt monumental. His arms were leaden, and his head pounded with each movement.

"Fine? You look like you're about to collapse," Ishan retorted, grabbing Shubman's bat and pulling it out of his hands. "Take a break. You can't keep pushing yourself like this."

"Nahi, mujhe yeh shot perfect karna hai," Shubman insisted, turning his attention back to the bowler, nodding at Yashasvi to bowl to him. [No, I need to perfect this shot.]

Yashasvi Jaiswal, another young talent on the team, hesitated, glancing between Shubman and Ishan. He could see the tension and concern written all over Ishan's face but also the sheer determination in Shubman's eyes.

"Shubhi, tu samajh nahi raha. You're burning yourself out. Thoda rest kar le, baaki baad mein practice kar lena," Ishan urged, his voice softer now, almost pleading. [Shubhi, you don't understand. You're burning yourself out. Rest a bit, you can practice the rest later.]

But his plea fell on deaf ears as Shubman grabbed another bat from his kit bag and prepared to face the next ball. His stubbornness was legendary, especially when it came to cricket. He took his stance, squinting against the sun, and nodded to Yashasvi to continue.

Yashasvi, looking unsure but not wanting to argue further, bowled another delivery. Shubman swung, but his timing was off. The ball clipped the edge and went flying past him. He cursed under his breath, frustration evident in every line of his body.

With no hope of stopping Shubman, Ishan walked over to the other players who were watching Shubman with concern written all over their faces. He shook his head and sighed deeply, knowing that if Shubman didn't stop, he would drive himself into the ground.

"Bhaiyya, kuch karo, warna yeh ladka khud ko maar daalega," Ishan said, turning to Hardik, who was equally worried. [Bhaiyya, do something, or this boy will end up hurting himself.]

Hardik nodded, his face set in a grim expression. "Haan, Ishan, mujhe bhi yeh hi lag raha hai. Par yeh sunta hi nahi kisi ki," he replied, glancing over at Shubman, who was now preparing for another shot. [Yes, Ishan, I feel the same. But he just doesn't listen to anyone.]

Just then, Virat Kohli, their ex-captain and mentor to Shubman, walked onto the field. He had been observing the practice from a distance, and the sight of Shubman pushing himself beyond his limits had not gone unnoticed. Virat's expression was a mix of worry and determination as he approached the group.

"Yeh kya ho raha hai?" Virat asked, his voice calm but authoritative. [What's going on here?]

Ishan looked up, relief evident in his eyes at the sight of Virat. "Virat bhai, Shubhi apne aap ko chhod hi nahi raha. Fever mein bhi practice kar raha hai," he explained, his voice filled with frustration and concern. [Virat bro, Shubhi isn't giving himself a break. He's practicing even with a fever.]

Virat nodded, his gaze fixed on Shubman. "Shubhi, bas karo," he called out, his voice carrying across the field. [Shubhi, stop it.]

Shubman, mid-swing, paused and looked over at Virat. "Virat bhai, main theek hoon. Bas thoda aur practice karni hai," he said, his voice strained but determined. [Virat bro, I'm fine. Just need to practice a bit more.]

Virat walked over, his expression softening slightly as he got closer. "Shubhi, yeh practice nahi, zid hai. Aur zid se tumhe kuch nahi milega, sirf aur zyada takleef," he said gently, placing a hand on Shubman's shoulder. [Shubhi, this isn't practice, it's stubbornness. And stubbornness won't get you anything, just more pain.]

Shubman sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He knew Virat was right, but the pressure he felt was immense. "Par Virat bhai, log kya kahenge? Agar main perform nahi kar paaya toh?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. [But Virat bro, what will people say? What if I can't perform?]

Virat's expression softened further, and he looked Shubman straight in the eye. "Log toh kuch bhi kahenge, Shubhi. Tumhe apne liye khelna hai, dusron ke liye nahi. Aur tumhara health sabse zyada important hai," he said firmly. [People will say anything, Shubhi. You have to play for yourself, not for others. And your health is the most important thing.]

It shocked Virat when Shubman shook his head. Shubman had always listened to his Virat bhaiyya, and Virat had thought his words would be enough to make him stop. But this time, the young cricketer seemed more stubborn than ever.

"Shubhi, samajh nahi aata tujhe? You need to stop this right now," Virat said, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and concern. [Shubhi, don't you understand? You need to stop this right now.]

Before Shubman could respond, another voice cut through the tension, loud and clear. "Arre Shubman, tu samajhta kyun nahi? Kya paagalpanti hai yeh?" [Hey Shubman, why don't you understand? What madness is this?]

Rohit Sharma, who had just arrived on the field, walked over with his usual swagger, but his face was serious and his voice carried the weight of experience and authority. Rohit had seen many young players come and go, their careers often derailed by their own unyielding drive. He wasn't about to let Shubman fall into the same trap.

Shubman turned, surprised to see Rohit there. "Rohit bhai, mujhe yeh shot perfect karna hai. Bas thoda aur practice," he pleaded, though his voice wavered. [Rohit bro, I need to perfect this shot. Just a bit more practice.]

Rohit shook his head, his expression a mix of frustration and empathy. "Yaar, Shubman, aise nahi hota. Tu apne aap ko chot pahunchayega. Aur agar tu fit nahi raha, toh match kaise khelega?" he said, stepping closer and placing a hand on Shubman's shoulder. [Man, Shubman, it doesn't work like this. You'll hurt yourself. And if you're not fit, how will you play the match?]

Shubman looked down, the weight of Rohit's words sinking in. He knew they were all right, but the pressure to perform, to prove himself, was overwhelming. He felt caught between his own expectations and the relentless scrutiny of the public.

"Par Rohit bhai, mujhe logon ko galat sabit karna hai," he muttered, his voice barely audible. [But Rohit bro, I need to prove people wrong.]

Rohit sighed, pulling Shubman into a brief, tight hug. "Log toh hamesha kuch na kuch bolte rahenge. Tujhe apna best dena hai, lekin apne health ka khayal rakhte hue. Yeh sab practice-wactice chod, aaja aaj Aai ne poha banaya hai," he said, a hint of a smile breaking through his serious demeanor. [People will always say something. You need to give your best, but while taking care of your health. Forget all this practice, come on, Mom made poha today.]

Shubman couldn't help but chuckle at that. The mention of Rohit's mother and her famous poha was enough to momentarily distract him from the heavy burden he carried. It was a reminder that beyond the pressures of the field, there was still a world filled with simple joys and comforts.

"Main samajh gaya, Rohit bhai," Shubman said finally, his voice hoarse but more relaxed. [I understand, Rohit bro.]

Rohit nodded, giving Shubman a reassuring pat on the back. "Chal, ab kuch der ke liye rest kar. Hum sab tere saath hain, aur tujhe support karte rahenge," he said, guiding Shubman towards the benches. [Come on, now rest for a while. We're all with you, and we'll keep supporting you.]

As Shubman sat down, the weight of the past few days' pressure started to lift. His body ached, his fever burned hotter, but there was a comfort in knowing his teammates had his back.

"Aacha ji, Rohit ne bola toh practice band kardi aur maine bola tha tab toh meri baat nahi suni," Virat teased, a mock frown on his face. [Oh, so you stopped practicing when Rohit said, but not when I asked you to.]

Shubman managed a weak smile. "Sorry, Virat bhai. Aapki baat bhi sunta hoon, bas thoda der lag gayi," he replied, his tone light despite his exhaustion. [Sorry, Virat bro. I listen to you too, just took a little longer.]

The group chuckled, the tension easing as they shared a light moment. Bumrah handed Shubman a water bottle. "Yeh le, pehle yeh pee le. Dehydration ho jayega nahi toh," he said. [Here, drink this first. You'll get dehydrated otherwise.]

Grateful, Shubman took the bottle and sipped the cool water. The liquid soothed his parched throat, and he could feel some of his strength returning. He looked around at his teammates, their faces a blend of concern and brotherhood, and felt a surge of gratitude.

"Aaj ka din relax kar, Shubhi," KL Rahul chimed in, a playful grin on his face. "Kal hum phir se tere ko practice karne denge." [Take it easy today, Shubhi. We'll let you practice again tomorrow.]

Shubman smiled but shook his head, determination still flickering in his eyes. "Nahi bhai, bas thoda der rest karke, main Ishu ko wicket keeping mein challenge karne wala hoon," he said, his voice playful despite his fatigue. [No, bro, I'll rest for a bit, then I'll challenge Ishu in wicket keeping.]

Shubman smiled but shook his head, determination still flickering in his eyes. "Nahi bhai, bas thoda der rest karke, main Ishu ko wicket keeping mein challenge karne wala hoon," he said, his voice playful despite his fatigue. [No, bro, I'll rest for a bit, then I'll challenge Ishu in wicket keeping.]

"Aacha bete, baap ko baache karna sikha rahe ho?" Ishan shot back, his eyes twinkling with mock indignation. [Oh really, kid? Teaching your father how to make kids?]

The group burst into laughter, the banter lightening the atmosphere. Even Shubman, despite his exhaustion, couldn't help but laugh. The camaraderie among the team was palpable, each player contributing to the shared sense of brotherhood.

Virat, shaking his head with a grin, leaned in closer. "Dekh, Shubhi, yehi attitude hona chahiye, lekin apne limits samajh ke," he said. [Look, Shubhi, this is the right attitude, but understand your limits.]

Shubman nodded, his respect for the senior players evident. "Samajh gaya, Virat bhai," he replied, his tone earnest. [Understood, Virat bro.]

Rohit clapped Shubman on the back, a grin spreading across his face. "Chalo, ab bas kuch der rest karo. Aur haan, Aai ka poha mat bhoolna." he added, his eyes gleaming with mischief. [Come on, now rest for a while. And don't forget Mom's poha.]

Settling more comfortably on the bench, Shubman felt the comforting presence of his teammates around him. The city's hustle and bustle seemed distant compared to the close-knit bond he felt with the other players.

Each laugh, each teasing remark, and every word of encouragement reinforced that he wasn't alone in his struggles.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

By 2:30 PM, the intensity of the midday sun had settled into a more bearable warmth, casting a gentle, golden glow over the cricket field. The hum of activity had slowed, players taking a well-deserved break after hours of grueling practice.

The once bustling ground was now a scene of quiet relaxation, with some players lounging on the grass, chatting animatedly, while others took solace in the shade, sipping on water or sports drinks.

Virat could tell that Shubman, despite his earlier resolve to push through his exhaustion, was now reaching the end of his stamina. Shubman's earlier vigor had given way to a more subdued energy, his movements slower, his usual sharp focus softened by the physical toll of the day.

The older player's experienced eyes missed nothing, noticing the slight droop in Shubman's shoulders and the occasional wince that crossed his face.

"Shubh. Yeh le, paani pee le," Virat called out, tossing a chilled bottle of water towards Shubman, who caught it with a grateful nod. [Shubh, here, drink some water.]

Taking a long, refreshing gulp, Shubman felt the cool liquid revive him slightly, washing away some of the fatigue that clung to his body like a heavy cloak. He leaned back against the bench, letting out a deep sigh, his mind wandering to thoughts of the upcoming matches and the relentless expectations that came with them.

The soft murmur of conversation around him was soothing, a gentle backdrop to his own thoughts. Ishan and Hardik were engaged in a playful argument about the merits of different training techniques, their voices rising and falling in a familiar rhythm. Nearby, Rohit was stretched out on the grass, his eyes closed, seemingly dozing but always alert to the needs of his team.

"Shubhi, bas ab bahut ho gaya," Rohit said, his voice firm yet kind as he sat up and looked at Shubman with concern. [Shubhi, that's enough now.]

"Haan, Shubhi. Ab chup chap jaa aur dressing room mein shower le," Virat added, his tone a mix of brotherly affection and stern authority. [Yes, Shubhi. Now quietly go and take a shower in the dressing room.]

Shubman, despite his stubborn streak, couldn't help but argue. "Arre Virat bhai, thodi der aur practice karne do," he pleaded, his eyes showing a glimmer of determination. [Oh, come on Virat bro, let me practice a bit more.]

Rohit shook his head, his expression softening with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Shubhi, tujhe fever bhi hai. Itna zyada push mat kar. Kuch nahi hoga agar aaj thoda rest kar le," he said, trying to reason with him. [Shubhi, you also have a fever. Don't push yourself so much. It's okay to rest a bit today.]

Shubman sighed, clearly reluctant to give in. "Par Rohit bhai, kal match hai. Main nahi chahata ki main perform na kar paoon," he muttered, his frustration evident. [But Rohit bro, there's a match tomorrow. I don't want to underperform.]

Virat stepped closer, placing a hand on Shubman's shoulder. "Shubhi, hum sab teri situation samajhte hain. Par abhi health pe dhyan dena zaroori hai. Tu rest karega toh hi kal acha perform kar paayega," he said, his voice gentle but firm. [Shubhi, we all understand your situation. But right now, it's important to focus on your health. You'll perform well tomorrow only if you rest now.]

Shubman looked between the two senior players, realizing that they are not gonna give up. With a resigned nod, he finally agreed. "Theek hai, Virat bhai, Rohit bhai. Main shower le kar thoda rest kar leta hoon," he said, starting to head towards the dressing room. [Okay, Virat bro, Rohit bro. I'll take a shower and rest a bit.]

As he walked away, Rohit called out after him, a teasing note in his voice. "Aur haan, garden mein dikhai dia na toh fir dekh lena," he warned, trying to keep a straight face. [And hey, if I see you in the garden, then just watch out.]

Shubman couldn't help but chuckle at that, shaking his head slightly. "Theek hai, theek hai, main chup chap rest karne ja raha hoon," he replied, waving a hand as he disappeared into the dressing room. [Alright, alright, I'm going to rest quietly.]

With each step he took away from the field, Shubman felt the weight of his exhaustion more acutely. The sounds of his teammates' laughter and the distant city noises faded into the background, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

As he made his way down the corridor leading to the dressing room, he reached up to pull off his sweaty shirt, the fabric clinging to his skin after the intense practice session.

His well-defined muscles, honed from years of rigorous training, glistened under the dim hallway lights, revealing the hard-earned 8-pack abs that were a testament to his dedication and discipline.

The cool air of the corridor provided a brief respite from the stifling heat outside, and Shubman relished the momentary comfort. His mind drifted to the events of the morning, the concern of his teammates, and the relentless pressure that seemed to follow him everywhere.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed the slight creak of the dressing room door as he pushed it open, stepping into the familiar space that now felt like a sanctuary.

Inside, the room was quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling field. He paused for a moment, enjoying the silence, before his eyes were drawn to an unexpected sight.

There, in front of the mirror, was a young woman, her delicate fingers struggling to tie the doree of her backless kurti. She seemed unaware of his presence, her focus entirely on the troublesome knot that eluded her grasp.

Shubman's breath caught in his throat, and he stood frozen in the doorway, his shirt still in his hand. The stranger girl, startled by the sound of the door, turned around abruptly, her big, doe-like eyes widening in surprise and alarm. She clutched the back of her kurti instinctively, trying to cover herself as best as she could.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Shubman and the girl stared at each other, both equally shocked and at a loss for words. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, a strange mixture of embarrassment and curiosity.

Shubman could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the unexpected encounter leaving him momentarily speechless. In that silent exchange, neither of them moved or spoke, both caught in a moment that felt oddly intimate despite the circumstances.

The soft light of the dressing room bathed them in a gentle glow, highlighting the contrast between Shubman's athletic frame and the girl's delicate, almost ethereal presence.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Hey, choozo!

Agar pasand aaya, toh vote aur comment zaroor karna. Aur agar tumhe story mein kuch aur add karwana hai, toh bhi bata dena.

Toh chalo, next chapter mein milte hain. Tab tak ke liye...

Radhe Radhe! 🙏🏻