For More Future Chapters: -
My Patreon: -
https://www.patreon.com/c/Kynstra
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Please Donate Power Stones and Join My Patreon.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The vibe inside the Indian dressing room at the Vijay Khel Maidan was absolute chaos in the best way possible.
The heavy tension that had hung in the air just hours ago was completely gone, replaced by blasting music, half-eaten protein bars, and the loud, echoing laughter of a team that had just annihilated their biggest rivals.
Aarav was sitting in his corner, untying his spikes, his official 'Player of the Match' trophy resting casually by his kitbag. He was exhausted but grinning from ear to ear as Shubman Gill kept throwing empty water bottles at him from across the room.
"Enough, Shubi, I'll hit you with this trophy," Aarav laughed, ducking another bottle.
"You should! It's the only thing you didn't hit today," Gill fired back, making KL Rahul and Hardik burst into laughter.
Suddenly, the music was paused. T. Dilip, the fielding coach, walked into the center of the room. The boys immediately knew what time it was. The banter died down, replaced by a collective, excited 'Ooooooh' from the squad.
"Alright, boys, settle down, settle down!" Dilip shouted with a massive smile on his face, clapping his hands.
The team gathered around, some sitting on the floor, others leaning against the lockers. Mohammed Siraj, who wasn't in the playing eleven today but had the energy of ten men, was already hyping it up from the back, drumming his hands on a kitbag.
"First of all," Dilip started, pointing around the room. "What a shift today. Seriously. We played like a proper unit. The bowlers set the tone early, and we squeezed the life out of them in the middle."
He turned to the corner. "And what a chase. When we were two down for nothing, it could have gone south real quick. But the way Virat and Aarav handled that pressure... absolute masterclass. Congrats on the well-deserved Player of the Match, Aarav. Phenomenal century, mate."
The room erupted in applause. Aarav gave a small salute from his seat.
"But," Dilip raised a finger, his eyes twinkling. "We all know why we are really standing here right now."
"MEDAL! MEDAL! MEDAL!" Siraj started chanting from the back, and soon Ishan Kishan and Axar joined in.
Dilip reached into his pocket and pulled out the heavy, golden 'Fielder of the Match' medal attached to a thick blue ribbon. It was an internal team tradition, but the boys fought for this piece of metal harder than they fought for actual trophies.
"Today was tough," Dilip said, pacing around the circle like a game show host. "We had some fantastic efforts on the field. Shreyas, you covered the outfield like a cheetah today, saved at least ten runs. Brilliant."
Shreyas Iyer smiled, accepting the applause.
"Gill, that diving stop at point in the 40th over? Top tier commitment," Dilip added, nodding at Shubman.
"Give it to me then!" Gill joked, holding his hands out.
"Patience, kid," Dilip laughed. "Those were great, but there was one moment that completely shifted the momentum. A fast, moving ball. A thick edge. And a reaction time of less than 0.4 seconds."
Everyone in the room instantly knew who it was. All eyes shifted to the man sitting quietly next to Rohit, sipping on an energy drink.
"A diving catch, moving low to his left at first slip, to give us our first breakthrough," Dilip announced, raising his voice. "Today's Fielder of the Match... Virat Kohli!"
The dressing room completely lost its mind.
"KING HAI BHAI! KING HAI!" Siraj screamed at the top of his lungs, jumping out from the back and hitting a flawless, high-energy Cristiano Ronaldo "SIUUUU!" right in the middle of the dressing room.
The whole squad cracked up. Hardik and Rohit were whistling, while Aarav and Gill were banging their bats on the floor to make as much noise as possible. "Hail the King! Hail the King!" they chanted.
Virat stood up, a massive, goofy grin on his face. He walked to the center of the room with a swagger that only he could pull off. He bowed theatrically to Siraj, who was still hyping him up.
Dilip placed the heavy gold medal around Virat's neck.
Instead of just shaking hands, Kohli grabbed the medal, looked straight at the team photographer's camera, and bit down on the gold like he had just won an Olympic event. He flexed his biceps, striking a ridiculous pose, which sent the entire squad into another fit of uncontrollable laughter.
"Easy there, old man, don't break a tooth!" Rohit joked from his seat, throwing a towel at him.
"Form is temporary, reflexes are permanent!" Virat shot back, winking as he caught the towel one-handed. He walked back to his seat, kissing the medal dramatically and showing it off to Aarav. "See this, rookie? Player of the match is cool, but this right here? This is the real trophy."
Aarav just shook his head, laughing as he leaned back against his locker. The pressure of the World Cup opener was immense, the expectations of a billion people were crushing, but sitting here in this room, surrounded by this chaotic, incredible family... he wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The carnival of the ICC World Cup had moved from the ultra-modern, high-tech utopia of Patra City to the historic, bustling heart of the nation: New Delhi.
The Arun Jaitley Stadium was packed to the rafters. The air was thick with the distinct, electric humidity of the capital, and the stands were a vibrating sea of blue, dotted with the proud red, green, and black flags of the passionate Afghan supporters.
India had won the toss and elected to bowl first. The pitch in Delhi looked like a classic batting paradise with a lightning-fast outfield, but under the afternoon sun, it promised just enough early moisture for the seamers. Rohit Sharma had named an unchanged playing eleven. Why fix a machine that had just perfectly dismantled Australia?
Up in the elite commentary box, three of the finest voices in the game looked down at the pitch.
"Hello and a very warm welcome from the Arun Jaitley Stadium in Delhi!" boomed the unmistakable, energetic voice of Ravi Shastri. "The atmosphere here is absolutely electric! We are moments away from the first ball. India, coming off a spectacular win, up against a dangerously talented Afghanistan side. I'm joined by Ricky Ponting and Nasser Hussain. Ricky, what do you make of this Afghan opening pair against the lethal duo of Aarav Pathak and Jasprit Bumrah?"
"It's the ultimate test of character, Ravi," Ponting replied, his tone analytical and sharp. "Ibrahim Zadran and Rahmanullah Gurbaz are not your traditional, timid openers. They like to play their shots. But facing Aarav and Bumrah with new white balls... that's a different beast altogether. You have to survive before you can thrive."
"And survive they must," Nasser Hussain chimed in, his crisp English accent cutting through the broadcast. "Because if you expose that Afghan middle-order to this Indian attack in the first ten overs, this game will be over before the stadium lights even come on."
Down in the middle, Aarav Pathak marked his run-up. The Delhi crowd roared his name, though it lacked the unified "Aarav Seth!" chant of Patra city, replacing it with a deafening, continuous wall of noise.
He steamed in for the first over.
Surprisingly, the Afghan openers didn't fold. Gurbaz and Zadran showed immense grit. While they respected the sheer pace of Aarav and the awkward angles of Bumrah, they were incredibly decisive when the bowlers slightly missed their lengths.
In the fourth over, Bumrah pitched one slightly short and wide. Gurbaz pounced on it like a tiger, slashing it over point for a cracking boundary. In the next over, Zadran played a glorious straight drive off Aarav that raced to the fence like a tracer bullet.
"Would you look at that!" Shastri exclaimed on the mic. "Straight out of the textbook from Ibrahim Zadran! He's presenting the full face of the bat to the number one bowler in the world. They are not backing down!"
"That's exactly what they need to do," Ponting noted. "If you just defend against Aarav Pathak, he will eventually find your edge. You have to show him you're willing to counter-punch."
But playing aggressive cricket against the Indian Vice-Captain always came with a ticking clock.
By the 7th over, Afghanistan had moved to a very respectable 38/0. Aarav, realizing the pitch wasn't offering the massive lateral movement he had in Patra City, changed his tactics. He decided to hit the deck harder.
On the fourth ball of the 7th over, Aarav bowled a heavy, skiddy delivery that angled sharply into Zadran from just outside the off-stump. It was clocked at 151 km/h. Zadran, trying to replicate his earlier straight drive, found the ball rushing onto him much faster than anticipated.
He tried to defensively push it, but the extra bounce caught the splice of the bat. The ball popped up softly into the hands of Rohit Sharma at mid-wicket.
"Got him! Caught him!" Nasser Hussain's voice echoed through the broadcast. "You live by the sword, you die by the sword against absolute quality! Aarav Pathak adjusts his length, gets that heavy ball to rush the batsman, and Zadran has to walk back. India draws first blood!"
Score: 38/1.
Rahmat Shah walked in at number three. He was a classical accumulator, entirely different from the explosive Gurbaz who was still at the crease.
Bumrah came steaming in for the 10th over. Gurbaz was looking dangerous, batting on 28 off 24 balls. He wanted to maximize the final over of the Powerplay.
Bumrah bowled a deceptive slower bouncer. Gurbaz, committing entirely to the pull shot, realized the lack of pace too late. He went through with the shot anyway, resulting in a massive top edge.
The ball swirled high into the hazy Delhi sky, seemingly falling perfectly into the empty pockets of the deep mid-wicket boundary.
But suddenly, a blue blur entered the frame. Shreyas Iyer, stationed inside the 30-yard circle at mid-wicket, had turned and sprinted the moment the ball hit the bat. He ran back, never taking his eyes off the ball dropping over his shoulder. At the very last second, Iyer launched himself into a full-length horizontal dive.
He plucked the ball out of thin air just inches from the grass, tumbling and rolling twice to break his fall, holding the ball aloft.
"OH, WHAT A CATCH! UNBELIEVABLE!" Shastri roared, his voice cracking with excitement. "He flew like a bird in the Delhi sky! Shreyas Iyer, take a bow! That is one of the catches of the tournament! Bumrah gets the dangerous looking Gurbaz!"
"That is pure athleticism, Ravi," Ponting marveled on the replay. "Look at the ground he covers! Running backward is the hardest thing to do in the outfield, and to finish it with a dive... spectacular. The fielding standards of this Indian team are just ruthless."
Afghanistan was suddenly 51/2.
The pressure of the double strike brought the captain, Hashmatullah Shahidi, to the crease.
Rohit Sharma, sensing more wickets especially to create more pressure, immediately deployed his spin twins. Kuldeep Yadav and Ravindra Jadeja came into the attack.
Kuldeep, operating from the pavilion end, was tossing the ball up beautifully. Rahmat Shah, trying to rebuild, looked completely clueless against the wrist spinner. In the 15th over, Kuldeep tossed one wide outside the off-stump.
"Watch the hand, watch the hand," Nasser Hussain advised the viewers just as Kuldeep released it. "That's the back of the hand. It's the googly!"
Rahmat Shah didn't read it. He lunged forward for an expansive cover drive, playing for the standard leg-break. The ball landed, bit into the surface, and spun viciously in the opposite direction, sneaking right through the massive gap between bat and pad to crash into the middle stump.
"Bowled him! He's completely bamboozled him!" Hussain declared. "Rahmat Shah had no idea which way that was turning. Kuldeep Yadav weaves his magic, and Afghanistan are in deep, deep trouble at 74 for 3."
But just as the Indian fans expected a collapse, the Afghan veterans dug their heels in.
Mohammad Nabi joined his captain, Shahidi, in the middle. What followed was a lesson in application and resilience. The two experienced campaigners absorbed the pressure. They played out Kuldeep and Jadeja with soft hands, rotating the strike relentlessly and punishing the occasional loose delivery from the fast bowlers when they returned.
Shahidi, in particular, was playing a captain's knock. He didn't have the flamboyant strokes of Gurbaz, but he had a wall-like defense and a beautiful, sweeping pull shot against the pacers.
The partnership blossomed. 50 runs. Then 100 runs. The Delhi crowd grew slightly restless as the sun set and the floodlights took over.
"You have to admire the grit of Hashmatullah Shahidi," Ricky Ponting said as the match crossed the 40th over. "He walked in when his team was completely on the ropes against a rampant Indian attack. He hasn't panicked. He's just ground them down. This is proper, old-school ODI batting."
Nabi eventually fell for a well-made 42 off Hardik Pandya, but Shahidi pushed on.
In the 46th over, facing Aarav Pathak, Shahidi tucked a ball to square leg for a quick double.
The Afghan dressing room erupted. Shahidi took off his helmet and kissed the turf. It was a magnificent World Cup Century. 100 runs under immense pressure.
"A brilliant hundred from the skipper!" Shastri applauded. "He has led from the front today. He's given his bowlers a fighting chance!"
But his heroic innings came to an end in the very next over. Mohammed Shami, bowling round the wicket, produced an absolute peach of a delivery—a perfect yorker tailing away late. Shahidi's bat came down a fraction too late, and the off-stump was flattened.
He walked off to a standing ovation from the Delhi crowd, dismissed for an incredible 109.
The lower order swung their bats wildly in the final three overs, managing to add a few crucial boundaries before Aarav and Bumrah cleaned up the tail.
As the umpire called the end of the innings, the giant screen flashed the final score.
Afghanistan: 288 All Out (49.4 Overs)
"Well, who would have predicted this at the toss?" Nasser Hussain summarized as the players walked off. "Afghanistan have posted a highly competitive 288. Shahidi was phenomenal with his 109. The Indian bowlers were brilliant in patches, with Aarav, Bumrah, and Kuldeep taking the crucial wickets, especially Shami taking Shahidi's wicket as crucial time, but they were made to work for every single run today."
Ravi Shastri nodded, concluding the broadcast segment. "The target is 289, ladies and gentlemen. It's a good pitch, but under the lights, with the pressure of a World Cup chase, nothing is guaranteed. The Men in Blue have a proper fight on their hands. Join us in 40 minutes for the chase!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The target was 289. In modern ODI cricket, especially on a track like the Arun Jaitley Stadium, it was considered a par score. But chasing under the lights in a World Cup always carried its own unique, suffocating pressure.
Inside the Indian dressing room, the atmosphere was a mix of intense focus and quiet anxiety. Shubman Gill sat near his kitbag, staring blankly at the floor. His leg bounced nervously. The memory of the golden duck against Australia edging bowler on his very first ball was playing on a loop in his mind.
This was the World Cup. A billion eyes were watching, and he felt like he had already let them down once.
Aarav, who was strapping on his pads at the other end of the room, noticed his friend's silence. He walked over, his face deadpan. He didn't offer a soft, comforting pat on the back. Instead, he grabbed Gill by the grill of his helmet and gave his head a firm, sudden shake.
Gill jolted, looking up.
"Look at me," Aarav commanded, his voice low but carrying absolute authority.
Gill met his eyes.
"Listen to me very carefully," Aarav said, his grip on the helmet tight. "You are not here because of luck. You are not here as a placeholder. You are opening for India in a World Cup because you are the absolute best opener in this country alongside Rohit bhai. You belong out there."
Gill swallowed hard, but the bouncing in his leg stopped.
"Did you forget what Sachin sir told you?" Aarav continued, purposely using the formal title rather than the familial 'Dad' they both used in private, maintaining professionalism in front of the squad. "He didn't give you that pep talk so you could sit here and doubt yourself. He gave it to you because you have the best technique in the world. You are a tiger, Shubi. You don't hide after one bad ball. You go out there and you show them exactly who you are. Show the world why you're here!"
The intensity in Aarav's eyes was contagious. Gill took a deep breath. The knot of anxiety in his chest loosened, replaced by a surge of pure, burning adrenaline.
"I'm ready," Gill said, his voice steady.
Aarav released the helmet and grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. "Go get them."
Rohit Sharma, who had been quietly observing the exchange from the captain's point of view, simply smiled. He grabbed his bat and nodded at Gill. "Let's go, kid."
The Delhi crowd erupted as the two Indian openers jogged out to the middle. The floodlights bounced off the pristine green outfield.
Fazalhaq Farooqi, Afghanistan's premier left-arm pacer, took the new ball. He marked his run-up, aiming to replicate Mitchell Starc's opening-over heroics from the previous match. Both Rohit and Gill had gotten ducks in Chennai. The pressure was immense.
Rohit Sharma took his guard at the striker's end. He casually adjusted his thigh pad. He didn't look like a man under pressure; he looked like a man who was about to go for a casual stroll in the park.
Farooqi steamed in. Ball 1. He pitched it short, angling it across the right-hander, hoping for a tentative prod.
Rohit didn't prod. He didn't even move his feet much. He simply swiveled on his back foot, picked up the length incredibly early, and unleashed a ferocious pull shot.
CRACK!
The sound of the bat was like a thunderclap.
"OH, HE HAS DEPOSITED THAT!" Ravi Shastri's voice immediately hit a fever pitch in the commentary box. "First ball of the innings! First ball of the run chase! And Rohit Sharma says, 'I am here to entertain!' He pulls it miles into the stands over deep square leg! What a statement of intent!"
"That is just arrogant, Ravi!" Nasser Hussain chuckled on the mic. "A man coming off a duck in the previous game, facing the first ball of a World Cup chase, and he nonchalantly hits it for a massive six. It completely destroys the bowler's confidence."
Rohit's template was clear. He was going to attack relentlessly.
For Shubman Gill at the non-striker's end, it was the perfect scenario. He didn't need to force the issue. He could take his time, feel the pace of the pitch, and simply enjoy the carnage from the best seat in the house.
Over the next ten overs, Rohit Sharma unleashed an absolute hurricane upon the Afghan bowlers. He was a man possessed. He treated the powerplay like a T20 match.
In the third over, he stepped out to Naveen-ul-Haq and hit him straight over the sightscreen. In the fifth over, again he slashed Naveen-ul-Haq for three consecutive boundaries through the off-side.
Gill, meanwhile, played exactly as Aarav had advised. He trusted his technique. When Farooqi pitched it up in the fourth over, Gill leaned forward and played a sublime, textbook cover drive that raced to the fence. The rust was gone. The confidence was back.
By the end of the Powerplay, India was a staggering 94/0.
Rohit Sharma was batting on 72. He was making a mockery of the 289-run target.
"This is not a run chase, this is an execution," Ricky Ponting analyzed in the commentary box as the field spread out. "Hashmatullah Shahidi has absolutely no answers. Wherever he places a fielder, Rohit Sharma hits it over them. It's breathtaking batting."
The Afghan spinners, Rashid Khan and Mohammad Nabi, were introduced to try and stem the bleeding. But Rohit was in the zone. He swept, he pulled, and he lofted with arrogant ease.
In the 17th over, Mohammad Nabi tossed the ball up, hoping for some turn.
Rohit didn't wait. He danced down the track, got to the pitch of the ball, and swung his bat with a beautiful, fluid arc.
"He's gone big again! He's gone massive!" Shastri roared as the camera tracked the ball flying high into the Delhi night sky. "That is out of the stadium! It's a 103-meter monster! And with that, ladies and gentlemen, the Hitman brings up a spectacular, jaw-dropping World Cup century!"
The Arun Jaitley stadium completely lost its mind. Thousands of people were on their feet, bowing to the Indian captain.
"Take a bow, Rohit Sharma!" Nasser Hussain applauded. "A hundred off just 63 balls! He has absolutely shattered the Afghan bowling attack today. Look at the dressing room!"
The camera panned to the Indian balcony. Aarav, Kohli, and the entire squad were standing, clapping furiously.
But Rohit wasn't done. On the very next delivery from Nabi, he rocked back and cut the ball fiercely past point for a scorching four.
Ball 3: Rohit pushed it to long-off for a single, rotating the strike.
Gill, who had been quietly accumulating runs and building his confidence, was now on strike. He was batting on 42. He watched Rohit's century and decided it was time to join the party.
Nabi bowled a flatter trajectory. Gill quickly went back in his crease and pulled the ball viciously through mid-wicket for a boundary. Ball 5: Nabi overcompensated, pitching it full. Gill gracefully stepped out and lofted it over extra cover for another gorgeous one-bounce four.
"Now Shubman Gill is getting in on the act!" Ponting noted. "This is getting very, very ugly for Afghanistan. They are leaking boundaries from both ends."
The opening partnership crossed the 200-run mark in just the 24th over. It was a flawless display of batting.
However, in the 25th over, the magical innings came to an end. Facing the wizardry of Rashid Khan, Rohit tried to execute a premeditated sweep shot. The ball was a deceptive wrong'un that skidded through faster than expected, crashing into the leg stump.
Rohit Sharma b Rashid Khan 134 (85)
The stadium erupted into a deafening, prolonged standing ovation. It was one of the finest World Cup hundreds ever witnessed. Rohit raised his bat, waving to the crowd as he walked back, job well done.
India was 205/1. The target was just 84 runs away.
As Rohit walked up the pavilion steps, Virat Kohli walked down. The King was coming out to bat at number three.
The roar for Kohli was different—it was a visceral, guttural sound of pure adoration. He jogged to the middle, taking his guard.
"Well, if Afghanistan thought getting Rohit out would bring some relief, they just have to look at who is walking in next," Nasser Hussain chuckled. "The master of the chase, Virat Kohli, joins Shubman Gill, who is batting beautifully on 71."
With Rohit gone, Gill seamlessly took over the aggressor's role. He was flowing now. The technique that Sachin sir had praised was on full display. He drove Rashid Khan through the covers, pulled Naveen-ul-Haq with disdain, and rotated the strike effortlessly with Kohli.
Kohli, as always, was a busy player. He didn't need to hit massive sixes. He just nudged the ball into the massive gaps in the Delhi outfield, turning ones into twos with his legendary fitness.
In the 35th over, Gill tucked a ball to square leg and sprinted across for a double.
"There it is! A brilliant, redemptive century for Shubman Gill!" Ravi Shastri boomed. "He had a nightmare start to the tournament with a golden duck, but he has bounced back with pure class today!"
Gill took off his helmet, a massive smile of relief washing over his face. He pointed his bat toward the dressing room, specifically locking eyes with Aarav, who was giving him a standing ovation from the balcony.
A few overs later, Kohli pushed a ball to long-on for a single.
"And that brings up a half-century for Virat Kohli as well!" Ponting said. "He's just cruised to 50 off 35 balls. It's been a walk in the park for him."
With the scores level, Gill faced Naveen-ul-Haq. He didn't want to drag it out. He stepped out of his crease and elegantly drove the ball straight down the ground, past the bowler, for a boundary to finish the game.
"AND GILL FINISHES IT OFF IN STYLE!" Shastri roared. "India wins by 9 wickets! An absolute demolition job in Delhi! Rohit Sharma laid the explosive foundation, and Shubman Gill finishes it with a masterclass century, supported brilliantly by Virat Kohli!"
The Indian team poured out of the dugout, high-fiving and hugging. Aarav was the first to reach Gill, grabbing him in a massive bear hug.
"Told you, tiger," Aarav laughed in his ear. "Told you."
India had made it two wins out of two. They hadn't just beaten Afghanistan; they had ruthlessly crushed them, sending a terrifying warning to the rest of the teams.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Ladies and gentlemen, what an absolute spectacle we've witnessed tonight in Delhi!" Ravi Shastri's booming voice echoed across the stadium's PA system, signaling the start of the presentation. "A dominant, ruthless performance by the host nation, making it two wins out of two!"
After Hashmatullah Shahidi came up to collect his runner-up remarks, acknowledging his team's shortcomings against a world-class batting lineup, it was time for the main event.
"And now, for the Player of the Match," Shastri announced, dragging out the suspense even though everyone knew the answer. "For an explosive, breathtaking innings that completely killed the chase in the Powerplay itself... 134 runs off just 85 balls. Please put your hands together for the Hitman, the Indian Captain, Rohit Sharma!"
The stadium erupted into deafening cheers of "ROHIT! ROHIT!"
Rohit jogged up to the podium, a calm, satisfied smile on his face as he collected the trophy and the oversized cheque.
"Rohit, an absolute masterclass today," Shastri smiled, handing him the microphone. "You had a duck in the first game, but today, from ball one, you looked like a man on a mission."
"Yeah, Ravi, you know, it's just about backing your instincts," Rohit replied in his typical laid-back, nonchalant tone. "The pitch was really good to bat on. The ball was coming onto the bat nicely under the lights. I knew if I just trusted my timing and played my natural game, we could put them under pressure early. The bowlers did a fantastic job to restrict them to 288, and then Shubman and Virat finished it off beautifully. Just a great team win."
While Rohit was wrapping up his captain's duties on the podium, renowned broadcaster Harsha Bhogle was standing near the boundary ropes, microphone in hand, waiting to grab the other centurion of the night.
Shubman Gill, still wearing his batting pads and carrying his helmet under his arm, jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel. He was beaming.
"Shubman, thanks for joining us," Harsha smiled warmly as the cameras focused on them. "A massive night for you. Your first-ever century in a World Cup. The crowd is still chanting your name. How does it feel right now to soak all of this in?"
Gill took a deep breath, looking up at the stands for a moment. "It feels unreal, Harsha. Honestly, it's a dream come true. You grow up watching World Cups on TV, dreaming of just being in the squad one day. To be here, playing in front of this kind of home crowd, and to get a hundred... I'm just really happy and, to be honest, a little relieved."
Harsha nodded, understanding the subtext perfectly. "Let's talk about that relief. It's a high-pressure tournament. You had a golden duck against Australia in your very first world cup game. That can weigh heavily on a young player like you. What was going through your mind before you walked out to bat today?"
Gill let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, I was pretty nervous, I won't lie. Sitting in the dressing room before the chase, that duck in Patra city was definitely playing on a loop in my head. You don't want to start your first World Cup failing twice in a row. I was overthinking things, getting too tense."
Gill glanced over his shoulder toward the Indian dugout. The camera briefly cut to dugout then to Aarav, who was sitting with his legs stretched out, using his phone.
"But then Aarav came over to me," Gill continued, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "He could see I was stressing out. He just grabbed my helmet, shook me a bit, and gave me a massive motivational or a pep talk just before the chase. He reminded me why I was here, told me to just trust my technique and play like a tiger. He really woke me up. That pep talk completely shifted my mindset. It just boosted my confidence and wiped away all the anxiety. I walked out feeling ready."
"It certainly showed in your footwork today," Harsha observed. "But we have to talk about what was happening at the other end. While you were settling in, your captain was playing a completely different game. What were your thoughts watching Rohit Sharma's innings tonight?"
Gill threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, it was absolutely amazing! I mean, when Rohit bhai is in that kind of mood, the bowler doesn't matter, the field doesn't matter. He just makes a mockery of the bowling attack. I didn't have to do anything risky at all. I just kept giving him the strike."
Gill looked back up at the giant screen, which was replaying Rohit's monster 103-meter six.
"Honestly, I got the chance to watch one of the best innings from the best place in the world, the non-striker's end," Gill grinned, his eyes shining with admiration. "I absolutely loved every second of it."
"Well played today, Shubman. Go enjoy the victory with the boys," Harsha said, shaking his hand.
"Thank you, Harsha" Gill smiled, turning around and jogging back toward the dugout.
It was two wins out of two. The host nation was flying high, their top order was firing on all cylinders, and the dressing room was united like a fortress. The World Cup was well and truly theirs to lose.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Donate Power Stone pls and write review to increase the reach of the story!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's Note: - 5200+ Words
For More Future Chapters: -
My Patreon: -
https://www.patreon.com/c/Kynstra
Thank you very much for all the support and donate power stones!!
Do Comment, anything just comments and Donate Power stone!!
If you're enjoying the story, don't forget to leave a ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ rating! Your feedback means so much. And feel free to comment on where you think the story should go next—I'd love to hear your thoughts on the future direction!