Boundaries Of The Heart ??

The days after the India–Pakistan clash felt like a dream stretched wide across Dubai’s sky. The win had given the boys wings, but the air was still thick with routine—practice sessions in the morning, strategy meetings in the evenings, and the endless cycle of gym, nets, and recovery.

For Vanya, work didn’t slow either. Her clipboard was back in her hands, her headset perched, her focus on schedules and logistics. But something had shifted. Every time she walked onto the ground, there was a quiet hum in her chest, a pull she couldn’t ignore.

And for Shubman, it was impossible to ignore. The win had lit up the headlines, but what had stayed with him most wasn’t the applause, or even his innings. It was the look in her eyes when she mouthed “I told you.” It was that smile—proud, unguarded—that had burrowed into his chest.

It was then he decided: he wouldn’t wait anymore. Her birthday was coming, and he would tell here.

---

The first morning after, the team bus was unusually loud. Abhishek was in high spirits, singing badly out of tune, while Hardik threatened to throw him out of the window if he didn’t stop.

“Gill!” Abhishek shouted from the back seat. “Don’t act like you don’t hear me. Sing along!”

Shubman gave him a flat look. “I’d rather face Shaheen again.”

The bus erupted in laughter, Vanya covering her mouth to hide her giggles. Abhishek pouted dramatically. “Betrayal from my own brother!”

Vanya leaned forward from her seat behind them. “Maybe spare us, Abhi. Focus on batting instead.”

“Arre wah,” he gasped, clutching his chest. “Madam manager, now you too? Gill, see this. She bullies me more than you.”

Shubman smirked, glancing at her reflection in the window. “She has good taste then.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she rolled her eyes quickly, pretending to focus on her notes.

---

That evening, practice under the floodlights was intense. The Oman match loomed, less glamorous than Pakistan but no less important. The coaches drilled hard, players running sprints, bowlers hitting lengths again and again.

From the sidelines, Vanya watched Shubman in the nets. His focus was unshakable, strokes clean, footwork sharp. She scribbled notes, but her eyes lingered longer than necessary. Every time he glanced toward her between deliveries, her chest tightened, though she looked away quickly.

Later, when practice wrapped up, Abhishek bounded over to her. “Vanya, tell me honestly. Who’s looking sharper in nets, me or Gill?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do you want the truth or a polite lie?”

“Truth, obviously.”

She smirked. “Then it’s Gill.”

Shubman, overhearing, tried to hide his smile as Abhishek groaned. “Bas. Sab mile hue ho. This is emotional torture.”

“You ask too many questions,” Vanya teased.

“And you give too many harsh answers!” Abhishek complained, though his grin betrayed him.

Shubman, towel slung around his shoulders, joined them. “You walked into that again.”

“Shut up,” Abhishek muttered. “One day, she’ll admit I’m the better one.”

Vanya laughed. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Her laughter lingered in Shubman’s mind long after.