The stadium was packed. The semifinal had drawn a massive crowd, and scouts from major teams were watching.
Zoha arrived with her driver, stepping out of her sleek BMW 7 Series. Her presence turned heads, but her eyes were fixed on only one person—Zaid.
She waved. "All set?"
Zaid nodded. "Yeah. Let's do this."
The captain walked to the center. Zaid's team lost the toss and was asked to bat first.
"Bat first? Good. We put up a big score and crush them," Sameer grinned.
Zaid agreed. He was set to bat at No. 5.
The openers started cautiously. Runs were slow.
By the time Zaid walked in, the scoreboard read: 85/3 in 22 overs.
Zoha watched from the stands, nervous.
Zaid took guard. First ball—short, outside off. He leaned in and cracked it through the covers.
Four!
The crowd erupted.
He built his innings, balancing caution with aggression.
When the innings ended:
• Zaid's Score: 67 off 52 balls (8 fours, 2 sixes)
• Team Total: 271/8 in 50 overs
A competitive total.
Second Innings - Bowling Attack
Zaid took the new ball. First over—maiden.
Second over—wicket! The batsman misread his inswinger and heard the dreaded rattle of stumps.
His spell was ruthless. 8 overs, 3 wickets, just 21 runs conceded.
The opposition crumbled under pressure.
Final Score: 198 all out.
Zaid's Team Wins by 73 Runs!
Zaid was named Man of the Match.
Zoha ran up to him after the match, her eyes shining with pride. "You were incredible!"
Before Zaid could reply, she took a step closer, placed her hands on his shoulders, and—without hesitation—pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.
Zaid froze. His ears burned.
Zoha giggled at his reaction. "A special gift for a special performance."
Zaid coughed, looking away. "…T-Thanks."
Her laughter filled the air. For once, winning the match wasn't the best part of his day.
The Finals Were Next. The Biggest Game Yet.
Could Zaid complete his journey?
The semifinal victory sent shockwaves through the tournament. Zaid's name was now on every scout's radar. One step away from the championship.
Back home, Zaid's mother was in tears—tears of pride.
"You've made us so proud, beta," she said, ruffling his hair.
Even his father, usually distant about cricket, gave him a nod of approval. "Finals next. Play well."
It wasn't a grand speech, but coming from his father, it meant the world.
Zoha had texted him too.
Zoha: Still blushing, Mr. Cricketer?
Zaid: Shut up.
Zoha: Admit it, you liked it.
Zaid: …I didn't hate it.
Zoha: Good. Because I plan on giving you another one when you win the finals.
Zaid stared at his screen, his heart pounding.
The next morning, Zaid was back at the academy. The coach wasn't letting them slack off.
"Finals are different. More pressure, bigger expectations. You need to be at your peak," he warned.
Zaid pushed himself harder—extra batting sessions, perfecting his yorkers, working on his fielding.
Every moment counted.
One evening, Zoha showed up at the academy.
"You're overworking yourself," she said, holding out an energy drink. "Drink."
Zaid took it, gulping it down. "I have to be ready."
Zoha sighed. "I know. But don't forget to breathe."
For the first time that day, Zaid smiled.
Their final opponents were the defending champions.
"They haven't lost a final in three years," Sameer muttered.
"They also haven't played against us yet," Zaid replied, fire in his eyes.
The biggest match of his life was only days away.
The Finals Were Set.
The Pressure Was Immense.
Could Zaid Lead His Team to Glory?
The excitement for the final was reaching its peak. Everyone around Zaid—the academy, the media, even his neighborhood—was talking about it. The expectations were sky-high, but for Zaid, this was more than just a match. It was a chance to prove to himself, to his parents, to his coach, and to the world that he belonged at the top.
The night before the match, he couldn't sleep. His mind replayed different scenarios—stepping onto the pitch, facing the fastest bowlers, hitting the winning shot. But there was also fear. What if he failed? What if, after all the hard work, he crumbled under pressure?
A message popped up on his phone. It was Zoha.
Zoha: Nervous?
Zaid: Yeah.
Zoha: You shouldn't be. You're Zaid Khan. The guy who doesn't give up. The guy who fights till the last ball.
Zaid: What if I lose?
Zoha: Then you'll stand back up and try again. But you won't lose. Because I believe in you.
He stared at the message, then took a deep breath. He couldn't afford to let doubt creep in. He had trained too hard for this moment.
The next morning, as he walked into the stadium with his teammates, something felt different. The nervous energy was still there, but beneath it, there was a new sense of calm. This was his moment.
The team was huddled in the dressing room, waiting for the coach to give the final speech. But before the coach could say anything, Zaid spoke up.
"Listen, guys," he said, standing in the center. "I know how big this match is. I know how strong the other team is. But we didn't come this far just to be scared of them. We've trained every day, we've worked harder than anyone else in this tournament. So when we step onto that field, we don't hold back. We play like we deserve this."
A few heads nodded. Sameer grinned. Even the coach raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.
When they walked onto the field, the stadium was packed. The noise was deafening. The atmosphere was electric. Zaid took his place in the lineup, rolling his shoulders. The match was about to begin.
And he was ready.