WICKETS AND WIDGETS

He's Your What?

"Well, you're getting it whether you like it or not. Oh, and if you suddenly become famous tomorrow, don't forget to give my travelogue channel a shoutout, okay?" she said, her voice tinged with exhaustion.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hang up already. I've got things to do," I replied, ending the call with a grumble.

Natasha leaned in, her eyes fixing on my troubled expression. "Who was on the line?" she asked.

"Just my old friend from childhood," I grumbled.

"And what was the gossip?" she inquired further.

"Oh, the usual. She couldn't resist teasing me about that camera blunder during the match. Apparently, she had front-row seats from her living room," I muttered irritably.

Natasha nodded knowingly, a smile playing at her lips. "Look at it this way, this unexpected attention could actually work in your favor," she suggested optimistically.

"Yeah, like how?" I questioned skeptically.

"Well, who knows? You might score some collaborations with big-time YouTubers, land a gig in a commercial, or even get invited onto a cricket talk show. Fame has its perks, you know, especially when it lands on your lap unexpectedly," she said with a grin.

"Nah, social media's not my thing. I may be an extrovert, but I can't stand it. WhatsApp's about as close as I get," I shrugged.

Impressed, she remarked, "Well, you're definitely unique."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" I quipped.

She grinned mischievously. "You decide."

With that playful exchange, a comfortable silence settled between us, and we refocused on the match.

"Oh what's that? Kabir's out, given lbw, just 2 runs shy of his half-century. Back to the pavilion for 48 off 22. And now, the crowd's roar grows louder as the prince exits and the king enters."

"This is gonna be epic," I exclaimed, rubbing my hands together in anticipation.

"Looks like you've switched sides all of a sudden," Natasha remarked.

I scoffed and shrugged, "Eh, I'm flexible. A cricket match is all about entertainment for me. I couldn't care less about who actually wins."

Lie. Once again. Deep down, RCB better win because we've got a massive fandom but not a massive trophy collection, and we desperately need one.

As the commentary droned on and the players swung their bats, my eyelids grew heavier and heavier until they finally succumbed to sleep.

I must have dozed off for who knows how long because when I felt a gentle nudge on my shoulder, I jolted awake to find Natasha giving me a questioning look.

I shot up, scanning the surroundings only to realize that the match had ended, and they were already interviewing the man of the match, Faf du Plessis.

"How long was I out?" I asked, feeling sheepish.

"Long enough to miss Kolkata's loss," Natasha replied with a mock pout.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist the sweet lullaby of cricket commentary," I admitted sheepishly. "But seriously, why's Faf bagging the man of the match title?"

"Well, he knocked a solid 103 runs and basically carried his team to victory in the semi-final," Natasha explained.

I nodded, taking in the info.

"Ready to head home?" I asked, eager to move on from my impromptu nap.

She stood up, smoothing out her clothes. "Absolutely."