The stadium was a sea of anticipation as India faced New Zealand in the first Test match of the series.

The pitch glistened under the morning sun, promising an eventful day of cricket. The stands were alive with the buzz of excited fans, their flags and cheers creating a charged atmosphere.

Tara sat in the VIP box, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. The photoshoot’s success and the team’s camaraderie had eased her nerves, giving her a rare moment of peace.

For the first time in months, she wasn’t thinking about Matt’s cold messages or her parents’ expectations.

Today, her focus was on the game—and, unexpectedly, on Shubman Gill.

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India won the toss and elected to bat. Rohit Sharma and Yashasvi Jaiswal, the opening pair, strode confidently to the middle.

Tara watched as they adjusted their helmets and exchanged a fist bump before taking their positions.

Matt Henry opened the bowling for New Zealand. His first delivery to Rohit was sharp, zipping past the edge of the bat and into the keeper’s gloves.

Matt’s intensity on the field was undeniable, and Tara found herself watching him closely, trying to reconcile the man she knew with the fierce competitor before her.

Rohit and Yashasvi settled quickly, rotating the strike with ease. Yashasvi, with his youthful energy, punished anything short, sending the ball racing to the boundary.

Rohit, ever the veteran, played with calm precision, steering India to a solid start.

By the time the score reached 80 for no loss, the partnership was beginning to frustrate the New Zealand bowlers.

Matt’s frustration was evident as he adjusted his field placements, but nothing seemed to work.

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When Matt finally broke through, dismissing Rohit with a sharp inswinger, Shubman Gill walked to the crease.

The applause that greeted him was deafening, the crowd eager to see one of India’s most promising young batters in action.

Tara leaned forward in her seat, her heart skipping slightly as she saw Shubman adjust his gloves, his usual calm demeanor masking the determination in his eyes.

“Come on, Gill!” Ishan called from the dugout.

Matt’s first delivery to Shubman was a beauty, swinging away just enough to beat the edge of his bat.

“Nice leave, Shubman,” Yashasvi said, walking over to him.

Matt smirked, running a hand through his hair. “Careful, Gill. It only takes one.”

Shubman grinned, tapping his bat on the ground. “Thanks for the reminder, Matt. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tara couldn’t help but smile at the exchange. She raised her camera instinctively, capturing Shubman mid-stance. The determination etched on his face made for the perfect shot.

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Shubman’s innings began cautiously. He left deliveries outside off-stump, his composure unwavering.

But when Matt overpitched on middle, Shubman leaned forward and drove elegantly through the covers.

The crowd erupted as the ball raced to the boundary.

“Flawless shot!” Hardik muttered, clapping from the dugout.

Yashasvi, inspired by Shubman’s fluency, continued playing aggressively. He smashed a glorious six over long-on but fell a few overs later, caught behind while attempting another expansive shot.

“It's alright, Jaiswal!” Virat called as Yashasvi walked back.

Virat Kohli joined Shubman at the crease, and the two batted brilliantly, mixing caution with aggression. Virat’s quick singles and Shubman’s crisp drives kept the scoreboard ticking.

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By lunch, Shubman was on 48, just two runs away from his half-century. As the players walked off the field, Tara noticed Shubman glancing toward the VIP box. Their eyes met briefly, and he gave her a small nod.

Tara’s cheeks warmed, but she quickly turned her attention to her camera, pretending to check her settings.

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The afternoon session began with renewed intensity from New Zealand. Matt bowled a fiery spell, testing Shubman with bouncers and sharp inswingers.

One particular delivery rose sharply, almost catching Shubman’s gloves, but he managed to sway out of the way just in time.

“Still standing, Gill?” Matt called out, his tone light but pointed.

Shubman smiled, his focus unbroken. “Enjoying the view, Matt?”

The banter earned a few laughs from the fielders, but it was Shubman who had the last word.

Matt pitched one slightly short, and Shubman rocked back, pulling it effortlessly to the boundary to bring up his half-century.

The applause was thunderous, and Shubman acknowledged it with a subtle wave of his bat.

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As the day wore on, Shubman’s batting grew more assured. His timing was immaculate, and his ability to find the gaps frustrated the New Zealand bowlers.

Virat, too, played his part, rotating the strike and keeping the partnership alive.

When Shubman reached the 90s, the crowd’s excitement reached fever pitch. Tara found herself gripping her camera tightly, her heart racing with every delivery.

Matt returned to bowl, his expression set. His first ball was pitched full, and Shubman drove it down the ground for four.

The stadium erupted as the scoreboard flashed 100.

Shubman removed his helmet and walked to the center of the pitch, bowing slightly toward the crowd in his signature celebration.

Tara couldn’t suppress her smile as she captured the moment—Shubman standing tall, his bat raised, his expression a mix of pride and calm.

“Lets go Gill!” Ishan yelled from the dugout.

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New Zealand fought back in the evening session, led by Matt’s fiery bowling. He claimed Virat’s wicket with a stunning delivery that swung late, rattling the stumps.

The celebration was subdued but fierce, Matt’s focus entirely on the game.

“Matt’s really turning it on now,” Hardik said, watching as Matt dismissed two more Indian batters in quick succession.

By the end of the day’s play, Matt had taken five wickets, restricting India to 320 all out.

Shubman’s century had been the highlight, but Matt’s fifer had brought New Zealand back into the contest.

As the players walked off the field, Tara noticed Shubman glancing up at the VIP box again. Their eyes met briefly, and he gave her a small, knowing smile.

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That evening, the team gathered for dinner at the hotel. Tara joined them, her presence feeling more natural than it had in weeks.

The banter was light, with the players reliving the day’s highlights.

“Gill, that pull shot for your hundred—textbook stuff,” Hardik said, clapping him on the back.

“And what about Matt’s swing?” Rohit added. “Guy was unplayable toward the end.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t give him too much credit,” Ishan joked. “Gill had him running in circles for most of the day.”

Shubman laughed, shaking his head. “He bowled well. It’s always a good challenge facing Matt.”

Tara listened quietly, her gaze drifting between Shubman and Matt.

She couldn’t ignore the stark contrast between them—Matt’s intensity felt heavier, while Shubman’s lightheartedness was oddly comforting.

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Later that evening, as Tara walked back to her room, the day’s excitement and emotions swirled in her mind.

Shubman’s century, Matt’s fiery spell, the banter over dinner—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle she was still trying to fit together.

Her phone buzzed with a message from Matt.

Matt
Can we talk tomorrow?

She hesitated before typing back.

Tara
Sure. Great game today.

The reply felt neutral, but it was all she could manage. Placing her phone aside, she stepped out onto her balcony, letting the cool night air wash over her.

The lights of Wellington sparkled in the distance, a stark contrast to the quiet that surrounded her.

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A knock at the adjoining door pulled her out of her thoughts.

When she opened it, Shubman was standing there, his hair damp from a quick shower, his relaxed smile making her heart skip.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft.

“Hey,” she replied, feeling a little breathless. “Everything okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I just... wanted to say thanks.”

“For what?” Tara asked, genuinely puzzled.

Shubman’s gaze flickered to the side for a moment before settling on her. “For being there today. It’s nice having someone rooting for you. Makes a difference.”

Tara blinked, caught off guard by his sincerity. “I mean, the whole team is rooting for you. It’s not just me.”

“Maybe,” Shubman said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “But it feels different when it’s you.”

The words hung between them, unspoken emotions filling the silence. Tara felt her cheeks warm, the air suddenly heavier.

“Well,” she said finally, her voice quieter. “You played brilliantly today. That pull shot for your hundred—it was perfect.”

Shubman chuckled softly. “Perfect, huh? Coming from you, I’ll take it.”

Tara smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m serious. Watching you out there... it was inspiring.”

“Inspiring?” Shubman raised an eyebrow, his teasing tone returning. “Careful, Tara. You’re going to give me a big head.”

She laughed, the sound easing the tension. “You’ll be fine. I think you’ve earned it.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the distant hum of the city filling the space between them.

“Are you okay?” Shubman asked after a moment, his tone softening again.

Tara looked at him, surprised. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “You’ve had a lot going on lately. Just wanted to check in.”

The kindness in his words made Tara’s chest tighten. For all his quiet confidence on the field, there was a warmth to Shubman that she hadn’t expected.

“I’m... better,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Today helped.”

“Good,” he said simply, his smile gentle. “You deserve to feel that way.”

Tara opened her mouth to reply but found herself at a loss for words. Instead, she nodded, her throat tightening with emotion.

Shubman straightened, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer. “Goodnight, Tara.”

“Goodnight, Shubman,” she replied, her voice soft.

As he stepped back into his room, the door clicking shut behind him, Tara leaned against the frame, her heart racing.

For the first time in a long while, she felt seen—not as a designer, or someone’s fiancée, or the Arora heir—but just as herself.