The Right Wrong Number✨

♡ Chapter - 41 ♡

He was taking guard now.

My heart did that weird flippy thing again. Not butterflies. More like popcorn—warm, scattered, slightly chaotic. I sipped Pepsi and let the fizz numb the roof of my mouth.

Arjun was on the screen. And he wasn't just a name anymore.

He was mine. Kind of. Almost. Not officially, not in any way that would survive a courtroom. But in that irrational corner of my heart that saved screenshots and remembered his high scores like anniversaries?

Totally mine.

I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until the first ball came flying in. Fast. Too fast. No run. He defended it perfectly, sending it straight back to the bowler.

I exhaled.

Okay. Game on.

----

There's something cruel about silence that follows after noise. The TV was still blaring, commentary rushing in like waves, but inside me? It felt like everything had just... stopped.

Dot balls. More dot balls.

Every passing second felt like it stretched into minutes, like time itself was holding its breath along with me. The chips in my mouth suddenly turned to dry cement, lodging somewhere in my throat. I tried to swallow, coughed, even reached for my Pepsi—but it was useless. My throat had closed up. My stomach twisted into tighter and tighter knots, like some invisible rope pulling hard against me. Why was the air so thin all of a sudden? Why did it feel like the room was shrinking, caving in on me, suffocating me under a weight only I seemed to notice?

"Bhagwaan ji..." The whisper barely left my lips, like my voice itself was scared to break the tension. My eyes flickered towards the small temple tucked neatly into the corner of the living room. The brass diya there had burned all night, and its flame now wavered, faint and fragile, almost mocking how flimsy my faith felt in this moment. 

The marigold garland I'd hung yesterday had already wilted, petals falling silently onto the granite slab below. My chest ached as I stared at them. "Please sambhaal lo na... keep him calm. Please."

I pressed my palms together, not in some perfect, temple-like posture, but loosely, desperately, the way a child prays when they don't know if anyone's really listening but they beg anyway. My head dipped down for just a second. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, the image of Arjun from yesterday flashing across the insides of my lids—the smile in his voice when he'd called me after his innings, the thrill that had rolled off him in waves, his laugh spilling into the receiver like sunlight after weeks of rain.

And then, when I lifted my eyes back to the TV—

It happened.

The bowler came charging in. Fast. Sharp. My heart picked up, drumming against my ribs as if trying to warn me. Arjun shifted slightly, opening up just enough, his bat angling to meet the ball. And for one heartbeat, I thought—yes, yes, he's fine, he's still him.

But the contact was wrong. Off. A dull, ugly sound instead of the crisp one I knew too well. The ball slowed down immediately, rolling like some cruel joke, finding that impossible gap between his feet.

And then—tch.

The stumps rattled.

The red bails popped off, almost in slow motion, falling to the ground like pieces of my heart.

For a second, my brain refused to register it. No. No, no, no. Not like this. Not after yesterday. Not after that joy, that pride. Not after I'd heard his voice brimming with hope again, not after he'd told me, "Mira, lagta hai main wapas aa raha hoon... ab main unko reason de sakta hoon khush hone ka."