Zaid exhaled sharply. "What do you want from me?"
Zoha grinned. "Maybe I just like annoying you."
He rolled his eyes. "Great. Then go find someone else."
He turned to leave, but—
"I can get you a bat."
Zaid froze.
Slowly, he turned back.
Zoha was watching him, arms crossed, completely serious.
"I have extra bats at home. Good ones. I can give you one."
Zaid's fists clenched.
He wanted to say yes.
But something inside him—his pride—held him back.
"Why would you help me?"
Zoha smirked. "Because I want to see if you're actually any good."
Zaid narrowed his eyes. "And if I say no?"
She shrugged. "Then you keep struggling, and I go back to my fancy life. Your choice."
Silence.
Zaid's heart pounded.
Accepting help from a rich girl?
It felt wrong.
But refusing meant wasting more time.
And he had already lost too much.
He exhaled. "Fine."
Zoha's smile widened.
"Good. Then meet me tomorrow. Same place."
She turned and walked away, leaving Zaid standing there—wondering what the hell he had just gotten himself into.
The next day, Zaid stood at the same spot, waiting.
His fingers twitched with unease.
He still wasn't sure if he had made the right decision.
Taking help from someone like Zoha—it felt like cheating.
But when she finally arrived, holding a bat wrapped in plastic, all his thoughts disappeared.
She tossed it to him casually. "Here. Your new weapon."
Zaid caught it, fingers tightening around the grip.
It was light but powerful. The kind of bat real cricketers used.
Not some cheap, heavy piece of wood from a roadside stall.
For a second, he just stared at it.
Zoha raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome, by the way."
Zaid swallowed. "I didn't say thank you."
She smirked. "I know. You're too stubborn for that."
He exhaled, running his fingers over the smooth surface of the bat.
This wasn't just a gift.
It was a challenge.
Zoha had given him this bat to prove himself.
And Zaid Khan never backed down from a challenge.
Zaid swung the bat lightly, feeling its balance.
It was perfect.
Better than anything he had ever held before.
Zoha watched him, arms crossed. "So? Does it feel like magic in your hands?"
Zaid scoffed. "It's just a bat."
But deep down—he knew it was more.
It was a chance.
A chance to step onto the field as an equal—not just some poor kid who couldn't even afford his own gear.
Zoha studied him. "You don't have to act so tough, you know."
Zaid looked at her. "And you don't have to act so generous."
She grinned. "Fair enough."
There was something about her.
She was rich, beautiful, and probably had a hundred things to do that didn't involve wasting time on a guy like him.
And yet—here she was.
Helping him.
Believing in him.
It made Zaid's chest feel tight.
Because now, he had to prove he was worth it.
He had to win.
For himself.
And for the girl who had just put her trust in him.
Zaid gripped the bat tightly.
The weight of it felt different now.
Not just because it was new.
But because it came with expectations.
Zoha had given it to him—believing he could use it well.
Now, it was up to him to prove her right.
"Alright," she said, tossing him a ball. "Show me what you've got."
Zaid caught it instinctively. "You want me to bat?"
Zoha smirked. "Unless you're scared."
Zaid narrowed his eyes. This girl knew exactly how to push his buttons.
Without another word, he stepped onto the practice pitch at the edge of the ground.
A few rich kids turned to look at him—some confused, some annoyed.
What's a guy like him doing here?
Zaid ignored them.
He planted his feet, raised the bat, and focused.
Zoha took her stance, ready to bowl.
She wasn't just here to watch.
She wanted to test him.
Zaid exhaled, his grip tightening.
This wasn't just a friendly game.
This was his first battle.
And he was going to win.
Zoha held the ball in her hand, rolling it between her fingers.
There was a playful glint in her eyes.
"You ready, street cricketer?" she teased.
Zaid didn't reply. He just raised his bat, eyes locked in.
Zoha smirked. Then, without warning—she bowled.
The ball darted toward him, fast and precise.
Zaid's muscles reacted instantly.
A sharp step forward—bat swinging.
CRACK!
The sound echoed through the ground.
The ball shot past Zoha—bouncing once before slamming into the boundary ropes.
A four.
Silence.
For a moment, even the rich kids watching from a distance froze.
Then Zoha's eyes widened.
"Well, damn," she muttered.
Zaid lowered his bat, breathing hard.
That shot—it had felt good.
Really, really good.
Zoha met his gaze, a grin spreading across her face.
"Okay," she said. "Maybe you're actually worth the trouble."
Zaid smirked. "Told you."
She picked up another ball. "Let's see if it was luck."
Zaid tightened his grip.
No.
It wasn't luck.
This was just the beginning.