Rohan's expression had changed.
The arrogance was still there, but now—there was something else.
Annoyance.
Frustration.
He wasn't expecting Zaid to be this good.
Zoha grinned from the side. "Looks like you made him mad."
Zaid didn't reply.
His focus was locked in.
Rohan charged in.
This time, there was no holding back.
The ball came in fast—a perfect yorker.
A delivery meant to break stumps.
Zaid's eyes snapped to the ball.
His front foot moved.
The bat angled down—just in time.
THUNK!
The ball met the middle of his bat, deflecting smoothly toward square leg.
A single run.
Safe. Controlled. Calculated.
Rohan narrowed his eyes.
He wasn't playing against some random street kid anymore.
Zaid Khan was the real deal.
And now, the battle had truly begun.
Rohan caught the ball, his jaw clenched.
He wasn't smiling anymore.
The casual arrogance from before? Gone.
Now, it was just focus. Determination. Frustration.
Zaid had forced him to take this seriously.
And that meant one thing—
Rohan was going to come even harder.
Zoha leaned against the fence, arms crossed, watching.
Her smirk hadn't faded.
"This is getting interesting," she muttered.
Zaid adjusted his grip on the bat.
His breathing was steady. His heart was calm.
This was exactly what he wanted.
To be tested. Pushed to his limits.
Rohan ran in.
This time, it wasn't just speed.
The ball came at an awkward angle.
A sharp bouncer—rising fast toward Zaid's ribs.
A trap.
Meant to force a mistake.
Zaid reacted instantly.
He twisted, angled his bat—and guided the ball over the wicketkeeper's head.
A six.
The rich kids watching let out a gasp.
Zoha's eyes widened slightly.
Even Rohan froze.
Zaid stepped forward, meeting Rohan's glare.
"Your turn," he said, tapping the bat against the pitch.
The challenge was clear.
I'm not just here to play.
I'm here to win.
Rohan stood frozen, the ball still in his hand.
The murmurs around the ground had shifted.
The rich kids who had been smirking before were now whispering.
"Who is this guy?"
"He's actually insane."
Even Zoha, who had been watching with amusement, now had a different expression.
Not just impressed—but curious.
Zaid turned, walking back toward the crease, his heartbeat steady.
He had proved his point.
But as he adjusted his gloves, he felt a pair of eyes on him.
Zoha.
She was watching him, her lips slightly parted as if trying to figure something out.
Before he could say anything, she suddenly grabbed his wrist and pulled him aside.
"Hey," she said, her voice softer now. "Can we talk?"
Zaid blinked. "Now?"
"Yeah."
She didn't wait for a response—just led him away from the group, near the side of the practice nets where they were alone.
For the first time since he had met her, she looked… serious.
"You're really good," she said, arms crossed. "Like, really good."
Zaid scratched the back of his head. "Uh… thanks?"
She narrowed her eyes. "So why do you look like you don't believe it?"
Zaid stiffened.
For a second, he didn't know what to say.
Then he sighed, looking down.
"…Because guys like him belong here," he muttered. "And guys like me don't."
Zoha was quiet.
Then she suddenly flicked his forehead.
"Ow—what the hell?"
"Shut up," she said, rolling her eyes. "That's the dumbest thing I've heard."
Zaid rubbed his forehead, scowling. "I was being serious."
"So am I."
Her voice was firm.
"You think this game cares where you come from? That bat in your hand, that ball coming at you—it doesn't give a damn about rich or poor."
She took a step closer.
"It's just you. Your talent. Your skills. Your will to fight."
Zaid swallowed.
No one had ever said that to him before.
For a second, he didn't know how to respond.
Zoha just smirked.
"Come on, street cricketer," she said. "Go shut him up properly."
Zaid let out a breath.
Then—he smiled.
A real smile.
"…Yeah."
He turned back toward the pitch, his shoulders a little lighter.
Because maybe, just maybe—
Zoha was right.
Zaid walked back to the crease, his fingers tightening around the bat.
But something felt different now.
Zoha's words still echoed in his head.
"It's just you. Your talent. Your skills. Your will to fight."
For the first time, the weight in his chest felt lighter.
He wasn't just playing to prove something anymore.
He was playing because he loved this game.
Rohan tossed the ball up, glaring at him.
"You done with your little chat?" he sneered.
Zaid lifted his bat. "Yeah."
"Good," Rohan growled. "Because I'm about to make you regret showing up here."
Zaid didn't flinch.
He just smiled.
"Try me."
Rohan charged in, his run-up aggressive.
The ball came blazing in—full and fast.
But Zaid was ready.
His front foot moved effortlessly, bat swinging through—timing it perfectly.
CRACK!
The ball exploded off his bat—straight back over Rohan's head.
One bounce.
Four.
The rich kids watching stared in disbelief.
Zoha whistled, shaking her head.
"Now he's playing properly."
Zaid exhaled, rolling his shoulders.
He was just getting started.