The sprawling lawn of the Wellington cricket stadium had been transformed into a vibrant photoshoot set.

Bright lights, sleek cameras, and a mix of props littered the area, while a team of photographers and stylists buzzed around in organized chaos.

Tara stood near the center of it all, clipboard in hand, her eyes darting from the wardrobe tent to the makeup station as she coordinated the last-minute details.

This was her moment. Months of work designing the team’s jerseys had led to this shoot, where every thread, every detail, and every stitch of her designs would be on display.

But even with the buzz of excitement around her, a part of her couldn’t shake the unease that had been building over the past few days.

“Tara! Looking like a boss!” Hardik’s teasing voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

She turned to see him grinning as he approached, already dressed in his full cricket kit. The jersey—bold blue with geometric accents and gold trim—fit him perfectly, the design catching the light beautifully.

“You clean up well,” Tara replied, smiling despite herself.

“Don’t I always?” Hardik shot back, striking a mock pose.

“Save it for the camera,” she said, shaking her head.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

The photoshoot began with individual shots of each player. Tara stood behind the main photographer, her camera in hand as she captured candid moments.

Virat was first, his confident presence commanding the lens effortlessly.

“Turn a little to your left,” the photographer instructed. “Perfect.”

Virat delivered a sharp, intense look that oozed leadership. Tara couldn’t help but admire how natural he was in front of the camera.

“Next up—Rohit!”

Rohit’s easygoing charm brought a lighter energy to the shoot. He cracked jokes with the crew, even making the typically stoic photographers laugh.

Tara captured a candid moment of him mid-laugh, his eyes crinkling in genuine amusement.

As the shoot progressed, the atmosphere grew livelier. Ishan and Siraj posed together, their playful banter making it nearly impossible for the crew to get a serious shot.

“Guys, focus!” Tara called, though she couldn’t suppress her laughter.

“Hey, we’re giving the fans personality!” Ishan quipped, striking an exaggerated pose while Siraj mimicked a bowling action behind him.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

When it was Shubman’s turn, Tara couldn’t help but linger by the camera. He stepped onto the makeshift stage with quiet confidence, his movements fluid and effortless.

“Looking good, Gill,” the photographer said, adjusting the lens.

Shubman didn’t need much direction. His focus was unshakable, and every frame seemed polished.

Tara found herself captivated, raising her own camera to capture a few candid moments of her own.

He finished one pose and glanced over at her, his expression softening. “How am I doing, Coach?”

Tara smiled, lowering her camera. “Not bad. You might have a future in modeling if cricket doesn’t work out.”

Shubman smirked, walking closer. “High praise coming from you.”

“It’s just the truth,” she replied lightly.

He leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice. “So, how’s the shoot going on your end?”

“Busy, but good,” Tara said, glancing at the clipboard in her hand. “You guys are making my job easier.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, his tone genuine. “You deserve to enjoy this. It’s your work coming to life.”

The sincerity in his words caught her off guard. For a moment, she forgot about the chaos around her, lost in the quiet warmth of his gaze.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Shubman smiled, stepping back as the photographer called him for another pose. Tara watched him go, a strange mix of emotions swirling in her chest.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

The team shots were the most challenging part of the shoot. Coordinating eleven players—each with their own personalities and quirks—was no easy task.

“Hardik, stop making faces at Siraj!” Tara called from behind the camera.

“Not my fault he can’t handle the pressure,” Hardik shot back, grinning.

“Focus, everyone,” Virat said, his captain mode kicking in. “Let’s make this quick.”

The group finally settled, and Tara captured the perfect shot: the team standing shoulder to shoulder, their jerseys gleaming under the afternoon sun, exuding unity and strength.

“Got it!” the photographer announced.

A cheer went up from the team, and Tara felt a wave of relief.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

During a break, Tara wandered over to the refreshment table, helping herself to a bottle of water. The shoot was going well, but the weight of her personal life lingered.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Shubman said, appearing beside her.

Tara glanced at him, surprised. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy hiding, maybe,” he said lightly, though his gaze was searching.

She sighed, twisting the cap of her bottle. “Just a lot on my mind.”

Shubman leaned against the table, his tone softening. “You know, you don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, Tara considered telling him everything—the doubts, the frustration, the growing sense that her life was spinning out of control.

But she stopped herself, unsure of how much she could reveal.

“Thanks,” she said instead, offering a small smile.

Shubman nodded, his expression thoughtful. “You’re stronger than you think, Tara. Don’t forget that.”

Before she could reply, the photographer called for him again, leaving her standing alone with her thoughts.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

Later in the afternoon, while reviewing the day’s shots, Tara’s phone buzzed with a message from Matt.

Matt:
How long is this shoot going to take?

Tara frowned, typing back quickly.

Tara
We’ll be wrapping up in a couple of hours. Everything okay?

His reply came seconds later.

Matt
Just checking. I figured you’d be busy.

The words, though seemingly neutral, carried a coldness that Tara couldn’t ignore. She sighed, pocketing her phone and turning back to her laptop.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

The final segment of the shoot involved action shots, with the players replicating game scenarios. Tara watched as Hardik executed a perfect pull shot, the photographer capturing the moment mid-swing.

When Shubman’s turn came, Tara found herself drawn to the set again. His movements were precise, his focus unwavering as he swung the bat, sending the ball flying.

Click.

Tara snapped the moment, her breath catching as she reviewed the image on her camera.

Shubman mid-swing, his expression fierce and determined, the jersey hugging his frame perfectly. It was the kind of shot that told a story all on its own.

He walked over to her afterward, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “Got something good?”

She turned the camera so he could see.

“Not bad,” he said, his smile teasing.

“Not bad?” Tara echoed, feigning offense. “It’s perfect.”

Shubman chuckled, leaning slightly closer. “I guess you know what you’re doing after all.”

His tone was light, but Tara felt a spark in the air between them, one that lingered even as he stepped away.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

That evening, back in her room, Tara reviewed the day’s photos, her emotions a tangled mess.

The images were perfect—every pose, every shot—but her thoughts kept drifting to the candid moments she had shared with Shubman.

Her phone buzzed with another message from Matt.

Matt:
Hope your "work" is done now. Call when you can.

The message was curt, and Tara felt the weight of it pressing on her. She picked up her phone and began typing a response.

Tara:
I’ll call soon. It’s been a long day.