The Right Wrong Number✨

♡ Chapter - 41 ♡

I sat curled on the edge of the couch, knees pulled to my chest, Pepsi long gone flat beside me, chips half-stale in their packet, untouched since the moment Arjun's stumps rattled. My body had been in the hall for hours, but my mind had been stuck at that one frame—him walking back to the pavilion, head lowered, helmet dangling from his hand like it weighed more than he did.

And while the scoreboard moved, while commentators filled the air with overanalysis and expert jargon, I wasn't really hearing them. I was watching him. Watching what others refused to see.

Because Arjun wasn't just numbers.

But the world? The headlines weren't kind.

"Rathee fails again—comeback in question."
"Hype or hope? Young talent under scrutiny."
"Fans disappointed: Was yesterday a fluke?"

Each notification pinged on my phone like a slap. Each headline had the same cruel undertone: that he wasn't enough. That his worth could be measured only in runs, in digits, in a single bad ball that made wood meet ball in the worst way possible.

They didn't see him.

Not the boy sitting silently in the pavilion, helmet resting on his knees, fingers tracing the seam of his gloves in restless circles. They didn't see the lips pressed tight, holding in all the words he'd never dare let out. They didn't see his eyes—dark, damp, shining with that storm he never let fall.

But I saw it.

I saw him the way only I could.

Because I knew how his mind worked. I knew how quickly he would replay that dismissal on a loop, frame by frame, until it wasn't just one mistake but a thousand layered on top of each other. I knew he'd already started imagining things he shouldn't: Maybe I don't deserve this spot. Maybe yesterday was just luck. Maybe I'm not cut out for this.

They didn't know that somewhere out here, his fans were still holding on. Still fighting his fight with him. They didn't know that memes, edits, messy collages, and grainy screenshots of him smiling were still flooding into my inbox, as if his people refused to let one failure erase what he had given them.

They didn't know that somewhere, a mother was still proud—glowing, in fact—because her son had reminded her yesterday what dreams look like when they come alive. They didn't know that a father somewhere was still standing taller, would have been telling the neighbors mera beta khelega aur naam banayega.

And they definitely didn't know me.

They didn't know that I was still here—posting, cheering, stubbornly loud on social media even when my throat was choked silent in my own living room. They didn't know I had spent the day resharing every fan edit I could find: Arjun's cover drive frozen mid-shot, Arjun's smile in candid locker room pictures, Arjun's raised bat from yesterday circled in glittery GIFs, even a badly cropped collage where his face was pasted onto Shahrukh Khan's body holding a cricket bat like a sword.

Because to me, Arjun Rathee wasn't just a cricketer.

He wasn't just a stat line waiting to be compared. He wasn't just a headline waiting to be written.

He was his father's Arjun. His mother's Arjun.

And in ways I could not admit out loud right now, or type out even in my most private drafts, he was my Arjun too.

That boy sitting on the bench with that about-to-cry face, shoulders caving under the weight of expectations, didn't know it yet. He didn't know that when he opened his phone later, he wouldn't just see cruel headlines—he'd see love. He'd see faith. He'd see people still believing in him. He'd see that no matter what the world said, he was still someone's pride, someone's heartbeat, someone's entire story.

He didn't know.

But I knew.

And I knew one more thing too.

He'll rise again. Maybe tomorrow, maybe not tomorrow, maybe in the way he imagined, maybe not the way he imagined, but he would. Because he wasn't built to stay down. Because this game wasn't bigger than him. Because no number could ever define the boy I knew—the boy with dreams carved into his veins and fire stitched into his heart.

And me? I'd be here. Watching. Praying. Posting. Fighting.

Always.

Because some truths don't need headlines to prove them.

Arjun Rathee will rise again. And when he does—the world will finally see him the way I already do.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Don't Forget to Vote and Comment! Varna last message padhlena😍

Hanji? How was it? I wrote my babies after a long long time... I want comments bhaii and votes bhi varna sahi mein I'll go back to my stubborn self backk.

And I've updated the story introduction wala blurb! Do check it out too and don't forget to tell me how it is too. Okayyyy?? Okayyyy!

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