ISHAN’S POV

Last night at home felt… strange.

I invited my in-laws for the match.

Ma was more excited than anyone.

More than Papa.

She held my hands and said softly,

“I always dreamt that one day I’d go to the stadium and watch a live match.”

I grinned. “You’re coming to support the wrong team though.”

She smiled proudly.

“I am an MI supporter.”

Traitor.

But I was still happy.

Because she was excited.

And she was coming because of me.

---

Next Day — Dressing Room

I opened my kit bag.

Paused.

Looked again.

Then—

“Fucking shiiittt!” I shouted.

Abhishek turned. “What happened?”

“I forgot my jersey.”

Dead silence.

Actual silence.

Like someone had announced retirement.

Nitesh blinked. “You’re joking.”

“I wish.”

Abhishek tossed his spare jersey at me.

“Borrow mine.”

The room immediately started buzzing.

Nitesh: “Ishan in Abhishek’s jersey? Wow. Grand chaos.”

I didn’t say yes.

Abhishek didn’t wait.

“You don’t have options.”

And that’s how I walked out wearing Abhishek Sharma’s jersey.

---

The commentator’s voice boomed:

“Interesting visual here— Ishan Sharma in Abhishek Sharma kholi’s jersey! Abhi-shan core, perhaps?”

The crowd LOST IT.

“ABHISHAN! ABHISHAN!”

The chaos didn’t embarrass me.

But someone in the VIP box?

Very much embarrassed.

I didn’t have to look.

Gill.

Sitting with sponsors.

And my in-laws.

Corporate calm.

Suit perfect.

Jaw tight.

I waved at Ma in the stands.

She waved back enthusiastically.

Papa nodded seriously.

Gill did not react.

---

Toss

MI wins.

They choose to bowl.

Fine.

We bat.

---

Batting

Something snapped inside me.

Maybe the crowd.

Maybe the teasing.

Maybe the silent stare from VIP.

Ball after ball—

I went brutal.

Shots clean.

Timing sharp.

No hesitation.

By the time I walked back—

76 off 29.

Abhishek — 59.

Nitesh — 10.

Scoreboard read: 180/3

Someone from the stands screamed:

“DANAVS OF SRH!”

I couldn’t stop smiling.

---

MI Batting

I was behind the stumps.

MI at 50/1.

Tilak leaned closer.

“Match ke baad Nitesh ko leke jao.”

I frowned. “Mere se kya puch raha hai? Woh nahi jayega.”

Tilak smirked. “Tu chal.”

Before I could reply—

“Aye! Woh mera hai! Kahi nahi jayega!”

Abhishek shouted from slip.

The stump mic caught everything.

The stadium erupted.

Even Tilak burst out laughing.

I buried my face in my gloves.

Somewhere in VIP—

I felt it.

That stare again.

Sharp.

Controlled.

Watching.

---

Match End

MI wins.

Doesn’t matter.

We started dancing anyway.

With MI players.

Shameless? Yes.

Regret? None.

Hardik bhai pulled me into the circle.

Tilak joined.

Abhishek jumped in.

We were laughing like kids who forgot rivalry existed.

Coach was glaring from the boundary.

We pretended not to see.

Because celebration is celebration.

Scoreboard doesn’t own joy.

---

And then—

Without warning—

Abhishek grabbed me.

Lifted me like a potato sack over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?!” I yelled, laughing.

“Taking my teammate back to dressing room!” he announced dramatically.

The crowd screamed louder.

I was upside down, waving at fans.

And as he walked toward our dressing room—

I looked toward the VIP section.

Just for a second.

Gill wasn’t clapping.

Wasn’t smiling.

Wasn’t angry.

He was standing.

Hands in pockets.

Watching.

Not the crowd.

Not MI.

Not sponsors.

Me.

Expression unreadable.

Calm.

But his eyes—

Not calm.

Not at all.

And for some reason—

That look stayed with me longer than the match did.

To be continue...

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Stay tuned 😉