The stadium buzzed with anticipation as fans filled the stands, their cheers rising in unison like a symphony of excitement. The 2nd test match between India and New Zealand was underway, and the stakes were higher than ever. The 1st test had ended in a tense draw, leaving both teams hungry for victory.

But beneath the surface, tensions were running high—not just between the teams, but within them.

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The tension in the Indian dressing room was stifling, like a storm brewing under the fluorescent lights. Shubman sat on the bench, his fingers moving with mechanical precision as he tied the last knot on his pads. Every breath felt heavy, and his thoughts drifted like a restless tide—toward Tara, toward Matt, toward the suffocating weight of everything left unsaid.

The hum of voices in the corner barely registered until Rohit’s sharp command cut through his haze.

“Focus, Gill,” Rohit said, his tone brooking no argument.

Shubman straightened, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to meet Rohit’s eyes.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual. “I’m focused.”

But even as he said it, the words felt hollow. He wasn’t focused—not on the game, not on his strategy, and definitely not on the fact that Matt would be on the other side of the pitch today.

The dressing room door creaked open, breaking the heavy silence.

Shubman’s head instinctively snapped up, his heart skipping a beat when Tara walked in, accompanied by Ritika Sajdeh. Tara wasn’t supposed to be here—not today, not after everything.

Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she wore a simple pale yellow kurta that somehow made her glow. She didn’t look like someone who had spent sleepless nights crying over a shattered relationship, but Shubman could see it—the faint shadows under her eyes, the stiffness in her movements.

“Tara!” Hardik’s voice boomed, cutting through the tension like a ray of sunlight.

Tara smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hey, guys,” she said softly, stepping further into the room.

Hardik was the first to stride forward, pulling her into a quick, brotherly hug. “Good to see you,” he said, his tone warm but firm, like he was trying to convey a thousand unspoken reassurances.

Virat followed, his usual sharp demeanor softening as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “You holding up?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

Tara nodded, glancing around at the team. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But what about you guys? The mood in here feels like a funeral.”

Bumrah chuckled, his rare smile lighting up his face. “It’s just pre-match nerves. Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Right,” Tara said, crossing her arms as she looked pointedly at Shubman, who was still sitting on the bench. “Even Gill looks like he’s about to face a firing squad.”

The room fell silent for a moment, her words hanging in the air. Shubman finally met her gaze, his expression softening. “Just... thinking about the game,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

“Don’t think too much,” Tara said gently, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned to the rest of the team. “You guys have got this. And for the record...” She hesitated, her expression hardening slightly. “Don’t worry about Matt. He’s not worth it.”

The room shifted almost imperceptibly.

Virat straightened, his expression sharpening. “He might not be worth it, but he’s not getting away with it either,” he said firmly.

Hardik’s grin returned, but it was laced with something colder. “Don’t worry, Tara. We’ll deal with him on the field.”

“Exactly,” Rohit added, his tone resolute. “He’s not going to walk away from this match feeling like he’s untouchable.”

Tara’s eyes widened slightly, but there was something comforting in their protectiveness. She hadn’t expected this—this fierce loyalty, this unspoken promise to stand by her.

“You guys don’t have to—” she began, but Rohit cut her off.

“We’re family,” he said simply, his voice steady and firm. “And family looks out for each other. End of discussion.”

Tara blinked, her chest tightening. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear that until now.

Bumrah stepped forward, his calm presence grounding her. “Don’t overthink it,” he said softly. “Just be here. That’s enough.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

As the players began to gather their gear, the tension in the room seemed to ease just slightly. Shubman watched as Tara exchanged a few more words with Hardik and Virat, her smile returning little by little.

When she finally turned to leave, she paused, her gaze lingering on Shubman.

“Good luck,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a warmth that made his chest tighten.

Before he could respond, she stepped forward and leaned down, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

Shubman froze, his breath catching as her arms encircled him. The room seemed to blur, the hum of voices and the shuffle of gear fading into the background. All he could focus on was the warmth of her embrace, the faint scent of jasmine that clung to her.

“It’s just a hug, Gill,” Tara murmured, her voice teasing but soft. “Don’t overthink it.”

But how could he not?

When she pulled back, her smile was faint but genuine. “Thanks for always being there,” she added before turning and walking out the door.

Shubman sat there, his chest tight, the memory of her touch lingering like a ghost.

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The hug stayed with him, haunting him as he walked onto the pitch. His mind kept drifting back to the way she had looked at him, the softness in her voice, the way her arms had felt around him—like he was something solid, something steady in a world that seemed to be crumbling around her.

It was infuriating.

“You’re distracted,” Rohit said sharply as they took their positions.

Shubman didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he focused on the field.

The match began, and the tension between India and New Zealand was almost tangible. Matt was on the opposing side, his smug expression only adding to the simmering anger beneath the surface.

When Matt bowled his first delivery to Shubman, their eyes locked, and for a brief moment, it felt like the entire stadium held its breath.

The ball came fast, sharp, and precise—but Shubman’s response was sharper. He sent the ball flying over the boundary, the crowd erupting in cheers.

But even as he walked back to his crease, his mind wasn’t entirely on the game.

Tara’s voice echoed in his head: “Don’t overthink it.”

But how could he not, when every glance at the stands made him wonder if she was watching him, if she was thinking about the hug the way he was?

And when Matt sneered at him after a particularly close call, Shubman’s jaw clenched.

“You’re distracted, Gill,” Matt said low enough for only him to hear.

Shubman’s grip on the bat tightened, his jaw clenching as the words sank in. He took a slow breath, stepping back into his stance. But before the bowler began his run-up, Shubman glanced over his shoulder, his expression calm but his words cutting.

“Worry about your own game, Matt,” he said coolly. “I’m just getting started.”

Matt’s smirk faltered for a split second, but he quickly masked it with a mocking laugh.

“Oh, I’ll worry about my game,” Matt shot back, pacing back to his mark. “But don’t think I don’t see it. You’re shaken.”

Shubman’s lips curved into a faint, almost taunting smile. “You’re the one who’s rattled, mate,” he replied. “I can see it in your eyes. Must be tough, knowing you’ve already lost before the game’s even over.”

Matt’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with tension.

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From her seat in the stands, Tara couldn’t take her eyes off the field. The match was riveting, each delivery a nail-biter, but her focus remained on one player—Shubman.

He moved with a quiet confidence, his every shot precise and deliberate. But Tara noticed the occasional flicker of tension in his movements, the way his shoulders stiffened when Matt bowled to him. She didn’t have to guess why.

Her chest tightened as she watched Shubman exchange words with Matt, his expression calm but his eyes stormy. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the way Matt’s face darkened told her everything she needed to know.

She clenched her hands in her lap, a mixture of guilt and frustration bubbling inside her. This wasn’t just a game for Shubman—it was personal. And though she hadn’t asked for it, she knew her presence in his life had added fuel to the fire.

But as she watched him square up for the next delivery, his focus sharpening, Tara felt something else. Pride.

He wasn’t just playing for himself. He was playing for something bigger—for the team, for her, even if he didn’t realize it.

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Matt bowled another sharp delivery, this time aiming for Shubman’s body. But Shubman was ready. He stepped forward with perfect timing, driving the ball through the covers with a crisp, elegant shot.

The ball raced to the boundary, the crowd erupting into cheers once more.

Shubman didn’t react to the applause. He didn’t even glance at Matt as he walked back to his crease, his bat resting lightly in his hands. But inside, he felt a surge of satisfaction.

Matt’s frustration was evident. His grip on the ball was tighter, his movements less fluid. And Shubman thrived on it.

“You look tense,” Shubman called out as Matt returned to his mark.

Matt glared at him, his jaw working as he tried to come up with a retort. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Gill,” he shot back. “It won’t last forever.”

Shubman smirked, his voice calm but cutting. “Long enough to leave you chasing shadows.”

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During the lunch break, the Indian dressing room was alive with chatter. Shubman sat in the corner, his pads still on as he downed a bottle of water. His mind, however, was still on the match—and on the hug Tara had given him before it all began.

Rohit walked over, clapping him on the back. “Good job out there, Gill,” he said, his tone warm but tinged with approval. “You kept your head.”

Shubman gave him a small nod, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

“You looked like you were ready to take Matt’s head off,” Hardik said with a grin, plopping down on the bench next to Shubman.

Shubman smirked faintly. “Would’ve been satisfying, not gonna lie.”

Virat chuckled from across the room. “Don’t waste your energy on him. You’re already living in his head rent-free.”

The players laughed, the tension easing as they bantered. But as Shubman leaned back against the wall, his mind wandered again—to Tara.

He could still feel the warmth of her arms around him, the way she had looked at him before she left. It was distracting, frustratingly so. But no matter how hard he tried to push the memory away, it kept creeping back, making his chest tighten and his focus waver.

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The match resumed after lunch, the stakes higher than ever. Matt was still bowling, his frustration evident in every delivery.

Shubman, on the other hand, seemed unshaken—at least on the surface. But with every shot he played, every run he scored, he couldn’t help but glance toward the stands, searching for Tara’s face.

When he finally spotted her, her eyes locked on him, he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. She wasn’t smiling, but there was something in her gaze—something steady, unwavering—that made him feel like he wasn’t alone.

Matt bowled another delivery, this one wide and sloppy. Shubman didn’t miss the opportunity. He stepped forward and sent the ball soaring over the boundary, the crowd erupting in cheers as he raised his bat.

As he walked back to his crease, he glanced toward the stands again. Tara was clapping, her expression soft but proud.

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The final whistle blew, signaling the end of the match. The Indian team had edged out New Zealand with a narrow but satisfying win, and the stadium erupted in cheers. The players on the field exchanged handshakes and congratulatory pats on the back, but the atmosphere was tinged with unspoken tension—especially when Shubman and Matt came face-to-face.

Shubman extended his hand, his grip firm as their eyes locked.

“Good game,” Matt said, his tone clipped.

“Yeah,” Shubman replied, his voice steady but sharp. “Could’ve been better for you, though.”

Matt’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. “Careful, Gill. You wouldn’t want to get too comfortable.”

“I’m not the one struggling to keep up,” Shubman shot back, his tone calm but pointed. He released Matt’s hand and turned away, not waiting for a response.

As Shubman walked toward the dressing room, he couldn’t help glancing toward the stands. Tara was still there, standing near the edge of the railing. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes followed him, and for a brief moment, the noise of the crowd seemed to fade.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

The Indian dressing room was alive with celebration, the players’ laughter and cheers filling the space. Hardik was the loudest, of course, waving a bottle of water in the air like it was champagne.

“Victory tastes so sweet, boys!” Hardik yelled, pulling Ishan into a bear hug.

“You didn’t even bat today,” Ishan retorted, laughing as he tried to wriggle free.

Across the room, Rohit and Virat were deep in discussion, analyzing key moments from the match, while Bumrah stretched in the corner, looking quietly satisfied.

Shubman sat on the bench, peeling off his pads. His face was calm, but his mind was restless. The hug from Tara earlier, her lingering presence in the stands, the confrontation with Matt—it all swirled in his head, refusing to settle.

“Gill,” Rohit called, tossing him a bottle of water. “Good knock out there. You held your ground.”

“Thanks, skip,” Shubman replied, managing a small smile.

“You okay?” Virat asked, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Shubman.

Shubman hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Just... long day.”

Virat didn’t push, but his knowing glance lingered for a moment before he turned back to Rohit.

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As the locker room began to empty out, Shubman stayed rooted to the bench, the events of the day playing on a loop in his mind. The hug from Tara, her quiet support, and the tense moment with Matt—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t put together.

Every thought circled back to her, to the way she looked at him, as if she saw right through the calm façade he wore like armor.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling aimlessly, hoping the distraction would help. But when her name flashed on the screen—Tara Arora—his heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t even a message, just her contact at the top of his call log. Still, it was enough to make his chest tighten.

“Gill, you coming?” Rohit called from the door, his tone casual but questioning.

“In a bit,” Shubman replied without looking up, his voice steady, even as his insides churned.

When the room was finally silent, Shubman let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He couldn’t shake the feeling that things were shifting, that whatever he had with Tara was barreling toward something he couldn’t ignore—or stop.