Zoha tossed the ball in the air, catching it with ease.
"That was decent," she admitted. "But can you do it again?"
Zaid smirked. "Try me."
She stepped back, adjusting her grip. This time, her expression was serious.
No teasing.
She was actually testing him.
Zaid tensed. He could feel the eyes on him now—the rich kids who had ignored him before were watching.
Waiting to see if his shot had been a fluke.
Zoha ran in and bowled again—this time, the ball spun sharply.
Zaid reacted instantly.
His front foot moved forward, bat meeting the ball at the perfect angle—sending it flying over mid-wicket.
The ball landed beyond the boundary.
A six.
Silence.
Then, a whistle.
One of the rich kids watching muttered, "Damn. Who is this guy?"
Zaid stepped back, his heartbeat steady.
This was it.
His first real moment on a proper ground.
And he had made them notice.
Zoha picked up another ball, grinning.
"Okay," she said. "Now I really want to see what you can do."
Zaid tightened his grip.
Then let's find out.
Zoha spun the ball in her fingers, her grin widening.
"Alright, street cricketer. Let's see how long you can keep this up."
Zaid didn't respond. He just raised his bat again, his stance solid, his eyes locked in.
This wasn't just about proving himself to Zoha anymore.
The other kids—the rich, polished players—were watching now.
Some with curiosity.
Some with doubt.
Some with annoyance.
One of them, a tall guy with a branded jersey and expensive gloves, muttered under his breath, "Lucky shots. Let's see him handle a real bowler."
Zaid ignored him.
He wasn't here to talk.
Zoha ran in again, her steps light but controlled.
This time, the ball dipped late, fast and tricky.
A perfect off-cutter.
Zaid saw it—just in time.
Instead of playing aggressively, he waited.
Let the ball come to him.
Then—a delicate flick.
The ball rolled past the fielders, cutting through the grass—a perfect placement.
It raced toward the boundary.
Another four.
Zoha straightened, raising an eyebrow.
The tall rich kid scoffed, crossing his arms. "Alright. Enough playing around. Let me bowl."
Zaid turned to him, eyes unreadable.
Zoha stepped aside, tossing the ball to the new challenger.
And just like that—
The real game had begun.
The tall rich kid, whose name was Rohan, stepped forward, spinning the ball between his fingers.
Unlike Zoha, he wasn't smiling.
He looked annoyed.
Like he couldn't believe someone like Zaid had the nerve to bat like that.
"You got lucky with her," Rohan said casually. "Let's see if you can handle a real bowler."
Zaid's grip on the bat tightened.
He had dealt with guys like this before.
People who thought their money and status made them better.
He wasn't intimidated.
Rohan smirked. "Hope you're ready, street boy."
Then he ran in.
Fast.
Zaid barely had time to react before the ball was hurling toward him.
Short-pitched. Aggressive. A bouncer aimed right at his body.
The kind of delivery meant to intimidate.
But Zaid didn't flinch.
He adjusted.
With a last-second shift, he swayed back—letting the ball zip past his helmet.
It thudded into the wicketkeeper's gloves with a loud snap.
The rich kids watching murmured.
Zoha's eyes sparkled with amusement.
Rohan scoffed. "Not bad."
He picked up another ball. "But let's see how long you can survive."
Zaid exhaled slowly.
His heart was steady.
His mind was clear.
He wasn't here to survive.
He was here to win.
Rohan smirked as he walked back to his mark.
"You got reflexes, I'll give you that," he said. "But let's see if you can handle real pace."
Zaid didn't reply.
He just gripped his bat tighter.
He could feel the eyes on him now.
The rich kids, Zoha, even the other players on the field.
Some were waiting for him to fail.
Some were just curious.
But it didn't matter.
Because he knew who he was.
And he knew what he had to do.
Rohan ran in—this time, even faster.
The ball came screaming toward Zaid's off-stump.
Full. Fast. Deadly.
Zaid's body reacted on instinct.
A clean step forward—bat coming down straight.
CRACK!
The ball raced past Rohan, straight back down the ground.
A bullet drive.
The fielders didn't even move.
Four runs.
Silence.
Even Rohan's smirk faded for a second.
Zoha let out a low whistle. "Damn."
Zaid stepped back, rolling his shoulders.
"You were saying?" he asked coolly.
Rohan's jaw clenched.
Then he picked up the ball, his fingers tightening around it.
"Alright," he muttered. "Now, I'm serious."
Zaid exhaled, eyes burning with focus.
So am I.