Playing the Field

The sun hadn't even fully risen when Team India's hotel floor came to life.

Match kits laid out. Bat grips adjusted. Playlists queued up. The Champions Trophy final - India vs England - was hours away, but the electricity in the air made everything hum louder.

In Room 802, Kavya sat cross-legged on the carpet, tightening the laces on her white sneakers. The same ones she wore on Day 1 of this ten-week madness. The same ones Shubman had teasingly called "a PR manager's lucky boots."

He walked out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel.

"You nervous?" she asked, not looking up.

"Only about the toss," he replied. "And about whether you're still wearing my hoodie under that jacket."

She glanced up - smiled. "Always."

He leaned down, forehead against hers. That now-familiar anchor. Quiet. Strong.

"You'll be watching from the dugout?"

"Right behind the media cameras," she said. "Where I can glare at you if you try anything reckless."

He smirked. "Noted."

---

Wankhede Stadium in Mumbai might've been bigger, but nothing compared to the roaring sea of fans flooding the Dubai International Stadium that night.

As the players lined up, anthem about to begin, Kavya stood in the designated team staff section, headset in one ear, hand clenched over her chest.

And when the camera panned over Shubman - tall, eyes closed, jaw tight - she didn't see India's opener.

She saw him. Her boy. Her partner.

And in that exact moment, he opened his eyes and found her in the crowd. One second. One look. One nod.

Everything said: You're my calm in the chaos.

---

India Bats First.

Shubman walks out under the lights. Pressure swirling like smoke.

The England bowlers come in hard - hostile spells, mind games, short balls aimed at ribs.

He takes hits. Misses a few. But then: crack.

A cover drive that splits the field like poetry.

From behind the lens, Kavya exhales for the first time in twenty minutes.

He steadies. Builds. Fifty runs up.

Then: he looks at the dugout, finds her again.

---

A Wicket Falls. Another. Then Two Quick Ones.

The dressing room shifts - murmurs, pacing.

Kavya's fingers tighten around her camera strap.

Tina whispers, "Don't worry, he's still there."

And he was.

Shubman stays. Grits through the next ten overs, anchors the innings. His 91 off 113 is slow-burning brilliance.

India posts 279/8.

Not impossible. Not easy.

---

As the innings break begins, Shubman walks into the dressing room and finds her waiting with water and a tight-lipped smile.

"You're okay?" she asks.

"You're here," he replies.

No one else hears it. No one else needs to.

---

England chases hard.

They need 30 off 18 balls.

Hardik bowls the 48th - a wicket and two dots. Crowd erupts.

Siraj bowls the 49th - one boundary, but keeps it tight.

Now: 10 needed off 6.

Shubman is at deep cover. Every muscle coiled. Every eye on the ball.

The final over goes: dot, 2, 1, WICKET, 2...

Last ball. 5 needed.

And it's a catch. Taken. India wins.

The stadium erupts. Flags wave. Chants shake the ground.

Shubman is swarmed by teammates, but his eyes still seek her.

She finds him. They don't kiss.
But he pulls her into the biggest hug of his life - arms wrapped, forehead buried into her shoulder.

"We did it," he breathes.

"You did," she says, tears in her eyes.

He pulls back, breathless, grinning like a boy.

"Next story caption: Not just India's hero... Kavya's boyfriend."

She laughs through tears. "I'll allow it."