"No matter how unrealistic it seems,
it's going to happen."
Naman's P.O.V.
It's the semi-finals day today, India vs Pakistan.
I made four centuries and seven half centuries in the matches so far and saying that the public went bonkers would be an understatement.
The boys were doing so well, making me so proud, making the country so proud.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, took a deep breath, I was nervous. I was fucking nervous but the excitement and thrill of playing my first ever World Cup semi-finals was taking over.
The last time we played against Pakistan, it didn't go that well. The defeat was stinging and the pain was still there, we needed to get back at them.
With revenge and fire inside of me, I lead the team downstairs to the field. There was a different atmosphere today, India and Pakistan always feels this way.
The rivalry, strong and the excitement, high!
The toss happened and it turned out to be in the favour of Pakistan, they chose to bat. The toss loss didn't affect us as such because we were expecting to choose bowling, anyways.
The innings began with Babar Azam, the captain, opening for his team. He was, indeed, a great player.
The media often portrayed this competition between him and I, this rivalry. I mean sure, he is really good at his game but I am better. There's no competition there. I have immense respect for him as a player and he reciprocates the feelings. He is a good acquaintance.
He was hitting well, but it was getting too much. I called Siraj.
"Siraj, his wicket is yours to take. Pichli baar ka badla le le." (Take the revenge of the last time.) I told him.
I could see the fire in his eyes, "Ji, bhai." (Yes, brother.) He nodded and went to the pitch.
He had taken two wickets already in the game till now and I was well aware of the fact that he knows what Babar's weaknesses are and I know picking him for this over was the right decision.
The first three balls of his over, Siraj read Azam's form and the way he was hitting. And then for the fourth ball, Siraj did his run up and from the look in his eyes and the smirk on his face, I knew this ball was the one.
He bowled the ball with all his might in Babar's direction. My eyes were fixed on the captain, he bent a bit forward but misjudged the speed of the ball and moved his bat before time.
A common, petty mistake.
And as a result, the ball went ahead and hit the bails. The sexiest sound, after my wife's moans (obviously), reached my ears and I jumped in the air in delight.
I ran over the field to give the magician- Siraj, a hug. When I chose him in the World Cup squad, I had to face a lot of backlash from a lot of cricket fans. They believed that he wasn't the right pick.
I knew I was taking a risk with Siraj but I also knew that he has that potential in him, he can touch the sky if given a chance. As a captain, I wouldn't have let that spirit gone to waste.
I know how it feels to not get selected even when you have the talent and potential to do great things and trust me, it lowers your confidence to another level and you start to doubt your skills and then eventually, you fall into this pit from which it is tough to get out.
"Three wickets, you make me so proud." I said in between the hug.
"Sab aapki wajah se, bhai jaan." (All because of you, brother.) His voice held emotions, I knew he was getting the flashbacks from all the times he was left out.
"It's all you, mere bhai." (It's all you, my brother.) I patted his back, soon, the entire team joined to congratulate the guy and I was watching all of it with a smile on my face.
I am so fucking proud of these guys.
In no time, the first innings came to an end and Pakistan had set a good score for us to chase, 276-7.
After the second wicket went down for the Indian team, it was my time to go out there.
"Mehra is setting the field on fire!" The commentator said after ten minutes of ke batting.
I was having fun, my bat, indeed, was spitting fire and I was enjoying every moment of it.
The next ball, I hit it for a six. I looked up in the sky and the ball went up and up and up and eventually it went out of the stadium.
Oh, damn!
I laughed as I saw it leaving the premises as the crowd erupted in cheers.
"I think I am falling in love with you, warn Kriti." Hardik joked as we bumped our bats.
I chuckled in response, "The match is ours, don't worry."
"With you hitting the ball like this, worry is the last emotion on my mind, skipper." Hardik said and I nodded.
The match, eventually came down to the last two balls. The score was '265-5'. I was on the crease with Jaddu on the other end. To win, I had to hit two sixes consecutively.
Just a little pressure, but it was all good. The atmosphere around was tensed. I could feel it and one could cut the tension with a knife, not kidding.
Pakistan got Afridi to bowl the last over, great strategy, I must say.
He bowled the ball in my direction and I hit it with all my might towards the stands and it went for a six.
I didn't react, instead I got ready for the next and last ball.
This decided our fate.
Afridi did the run up, the ball flew towards me and I moved a step forward, eyes fixed on the ball, I moved my bat and it collided with the ball midway.
I put my strength and hit the ball in the air, it went really high.
The ball went straight up and then started to fall down, I gulped and my heart was racing a marathon!
There was pin drop silence in the stadium, all eyes of the ball.
Finally, the ball hit the stands and I closed my eyes I relief.
I felt footsteps near me and I opened my eyes to Jaddu crushing me in a hug. A smile cracked upon my face as I patted him back.
The entire team came running as we engaged in a group hug. Our serotonin level was on an all time high and our face held this wide, genuine smile.
The one that was contagious.
We're in the fucking finals, ah, what a feeling this is!
After our celebration paused, we shook hands with the Pakistani team.
A few minutes later, I was talking to my team mates when the captain of the Pakistani cricket team, Babar Azam, walked towards me.
I shook hands with him and patted him on the back.
"All well, Naman?" He asked me with a smile on his face.
I nodded, "You?" I asked.
"Badhiya, bhaijaan." (Good, brother.) He replied, the smile still there.
"Behertareen khela, aaj, Babar." (You played really well today, Babar.) I praised him.
"Shukriya, bhai. Aapke liye toh kya hi kahoon!" (Thanks, brother. I don't have words for your performance!) I thanked him.
"Agla World Cup India host kar raha hai, ghar pe khaane pe zaroor aana." (India's hosting the next World Cup, come home for lunch then.) I invited him.
"Zaroor, bhai. Jeet mubarak." (Sure, brother. Congratulations on the win.) I gave him a side hug.
"Milte hain." (See you.) He smiled in response.
"Aur bhai, finals ke liye all the best!" (And brother, all the best for the finals.) He said.
"The Cup is ours, thanks, Babar." I replied and then walked away.
I meant it, the World Cup was ours.
Author's note:
Follow the fucking gram, @kaysslibrary . And comment, please, *makes puppy eyes*.