The first thing Aarav Singh saw every morning was the ceiling fan spinning above his bed — and the second was his phone lighting up with notifications he’d probably never open.

Hundreds of messages.

“Great innings, champ!”

“Century king 🔥🔥”

“Marry me, Aarav!”

He smiled faintly. It was all part of the job now — the fame, the praise, the chaos. But behind the spotlight, there was just him — a 24-year-old boy from Delhi who still woke up to his mother yelling, “Aarav, breakfast thanda ho gaya!”

“Coming, Maa!” he shouted back, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

His muscles ached slightly — a reminder of yesterday’s intense practice. But he didn’t mind. Cricket had always been more than a career for him. It was home.

Every bruise, every early morning run, every dropped catch — it all meant something.

He got out of bed, stretched, and looked at his reflection in the mirror.

Honey-brown skin. Tired eyes. Slight stubble.

He still looked like the same boy who used to play street cricket in Delhi lanes with a plastic bat — except now, the stadiums were bigger, the pressure heavier, and the cheers louder.

“Arrey bhai, superstar saab uthe kya?” a teasing voice came from the doorway.

Aarav turned, already smiling. “Aryan, tu kab aaya?”

His younger brother, Aryan Singh, grinned as he leaned against the door. “Bas, thought I’ll check if you still remember your family between all your endorsements.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Aarav said, throwing a pillow at him. “And you? Still surviving engineering?”

“Barely,” Aryan groaned dramatically. “But you’re not the only hardworking Singh in this house, okay?”

Aarav laughed, shaking his head. “Sure, sure. Now go eat before Maa kills both of us.”

---

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled of parathas and ghee.

Mrs. Sunita Singh was already packing a tiffin for him, while Mr. Vikram Singh sat reading the newspaper — same ritual, every morning.

“Beta, you’ve got practice at Wankhede today, right?” his father asked without looking up.

“Yes, Papa. Big ODI tomorrow. Need to stay sharp.”

“Good,” his father said with a nod. “Remember — talent gets you fame, discipline keeps it.”

“I know, Papa,” Aarav said, smiling. He’d heard those words since he was ten.

His mom handed him a steel plate piled with parathas. “Eat properly, Aarav. You look thinner than last week.”

“Maa, I’m fine,” he said, taking a bite anyway. “You feed me like I’m going to war.”

“You are,” Aryan said with a grin. “Against fast bowlers!”

Everyone laughed, and for a few minutes, it was easy — just a family breakfast.

No pressure. No cameras. No expectations.

Just love.

---

Later that day, Aarav reached the stadium for team practice. The Mumbai sun was harsh, the air buzzing with anticipation. India vs Australia — it wasn’t just another match. It was the match. Every fan in the country would be watching.

As he tied his shoes, his best friend and teammate, Rohan, jogged up beside him. “Ready to break another record tomorrow, superstar?”

Aarav chuckled. “Let’s just win first.”

“Bro, stop being so humble,” Rohan teased. “You’ve been in top form! Half the crowd only comes to see you bat.”

“Crowd comes for the team, not me.”

“Yeah, right,” Rohan said, grinning. “Tell that to the hundred girls wearing your jersey.”

Aarav shook his head, laughing softly. “Fans are sweet, yaar. I just don’t want to disappoint them.”

“You won’t,” Rohan said, slapping his shoulder. “But maybe it’s time you get a life beyond cricket too, hmm? You ever thought about—”

“—a girlfriend?” Aarav finished for him, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly!” Rohan said. “You’re 24, dude! At least try dating someone. Aryan was telling me even your mom keeps asking when she’ll get a daughter-in-law.”

Aarav smirked. “Maybe when someone hits me harder than a Yorker.”

“Ha! That’ll be the day,” Rohan said with a laugh. “Anyway, get ready. Nets in ten minutes.”

---

Once practice started, everything else disappeared.

The noise, the heat, the world — all faded when Aarav picked up his bat.

He faced one ball after another, each hit clean and powerful. The sound of leather meeting willow was his favorite thing in the world. It was the rhythm of his life — familiar, grounding, perfect.

But somewhere deep down, there was a small emptiness he couldn’t quite name.

He had everything — fame, money, fans, family — yet, sometimes after a match, when the crowd left and the lights dimmed, he felt… alone.

He never said it out loud. Not even to Rohan.

But lately, that emptiness had started feeling louder.

---

After practice, he sat in the dugout, drinking water and scrolling through his phone.

Hundreds of fan messages filled his DMs — praise, love, memes. He smiled, scrolling absently.

And then he saw a post.

A girl had uploaded a fan edit of his last century — perfectly timed, captioned:

“There’s magic in the way he bats — like poetry in motion.”

Her name flashed on the post: Aanya Sharma.

He paused for a second, not sure why it caught his eye.

Maybe it was the caption. Maybe it was how she’d written about cricket like it was art, not just a game.

Something about that innocent excitement made him smile too. It felt… real.

But as he put his phone away, her words echoed in his head.

“Poetry in motion.”

For the first time in a long time, a fan’s compliment didn’t feel like noise — it felt like a connection.

---

That night, back home, Aarav sat on the balcony, scrolling mindlessly through his playlist. Aryan came out with two mugs of coffee and handed him one.

“Big match tomorrow,” Aryan said. “Feeling nervous?”

Aarav smiled faintly. “Not nervous. Just… focused.”

Aryan looked at him carefully. “You’ve been quieter lately.”

“Maybe I just need a break.”

“Or maybe you need someone who makes you smile for no reason,” Aryan said with a teasing grin.

Aarav smirked. “You sound like Maa.”

“Good. She’s smart,” Aryan replied. “Anyway, go sleep, bhai. Tomorrow, all eyes on you.”

As Aryan walked back inside, Aarav looked out at the city lights below.

The air smelled of night rain and fresh grass — the calm before the storm.

He didn’t know it yet, but somewhere in Mumbai, a girl named Aanya Sharma was falling asleep with the same match on her mind…

the s

ame excitement in her chest…

and tomorrow, in a stadium full of thousands, their worlds were about to collide.

---

✨ End of Chapter 2 ✨