"Unstoppable" - Sia

🎵"I'm unstoppable, I'm a Porsche with no brakes"

---

(A shift in perspective, a heartbeat away from Aashi's world...)

Somewhere else, beneath a sky of harsh floodlights, the crowd roared.

Aashi's world was quiet, structured, and silent.

Shubman's world was filled with thunder-echoing cheers and mounting pressure.

Yet both carried an ache they hadn't yet named.

Now, we delve into his story.

---

Melbourne Cricket Ground (MCG), Australia

They say stadiums are the loudest just before the storm.

I stepped onto the field beneath a thousand floodlights, the roar of the Melbourne crowd vibrating through my chest like a second heartbeat. The sea of blue jerseys... the chants... the anthem echoing in my skull.

India vs Australia.

A high-stakes one-day international.

The pressure was suffocating.

I touched the chain around my neck - a ritual before every innings. Beneath my jersey hung a small silver pendant. I don't know why I still wore it.

I never took it off. Maybe I should have. Maybe it was a weakness. Or maybe it was the only part of her I had left.

It had once belonged to her.

Aashi.

I remembered how her eyes smiled before her lips did, the tremor in her voice when she laughed - blurred memories, sure, but ones I clung to. She was there for hours. Then gone by morning - no goodbye. No closure.Leaving behind only that delicate piece of silver.

But tonight, there was no space for ghosts.

Australia had set a daunting target: 345 runs in 50 overs.

Now, in the 9th over, we stood at 38 for 3. Both openers were gone. The Australians had their tails up.

The pressure wasn't new. But this? This was different.

I raised my bat, focused.

The world called me "Captain Calm."

But even heroes had ghosts.

---

Holding the Line

I batted slowly at first, carefully. India didn't need aggression - it needed survival.

My partner and I began stitching together a partnership. 75 runs, slow and steady, rebuilding hope.

Rebuilding isn't glorious, but it's necessary.

And then came the delivery.

A brutal yorker - full, fast, unrelenting.

It shattered the stumps.

Josh Hazlewood had been probing away outside off all evening - this one tailed in late, faster than expected. A near-perfect yorker that dipped just beneath the bat.

The crowd groaned. The Australians celebrated like wolves.

My partner walked off, shoulders low. And I stood there for a second longer than I should have, staring at the mess like it might clean itself up.

Footsteps approached.

Dev - my best friend, my teammate - jogged over, his grin as reckless as ever, sweat glinting off his forehead.

"You just love dragging us into impossible situations, huh?" he said, breathless but light.

I didn't even look up. "I'm giving you a reason to be dramatic," I said, deadpan.

He chuckled, always needing the chaos to feel alive. I preferred control.

"The ball's gripping off-length," he said, scanning the pitch. "But the bounce is clean. We can work with this."

I nodded once. I'd already felt that in the first few deliveries.

"Five overs," I said. "Let's rebuild. After that, you start hitting."

He tilted his head. "And you?"

"I stay," I said. "Someone has to."

He didn't argue. Just thumped my shoulder with a glove and walked away, trusting me the way only someone who's shared years in the middle can.

I began to anchor the innings, absorbing pressure. Singles. Doubles. No rush.

Dev held back, following the plan. Until over by over, the rhythm returned.

By the 30th over, Dev began finding the boundaries. A flick here, a loft there.

I, calm at the other end, let him flourish.

Between overs, Dev leaned in, still catching his breath. "Feels like old times, doesn't it?" he grinned. "U-19 days - you absorb pressure, me stealing glory."

I glanced at him, smirking. Same Dev. Still needs the last word.

"You're welcome," I said dryly, tightening my grip on the bat.

Some things never changed - the field, the fire, and Dev pretending I wasn't the one keeping the innings alive.

But I let him have it. Let him feel like it was just another game, like we were just kids again.

The plan was simple.

Dev would attack.

I would hold the fort.

Funny how some partnerships feel less like strategy and more like memory.

But beneath all the rhythm, I knew the truth.

If I fell now - it wouldn't just be a wicket.

It would collapse.

So I stayed. For the scoreboard. For the team. And because... losing today would feel like losing her again.

---

Post-Match Presentation - On-Field Interview

They called my name and I stepped forward.

Applause, flashes, cheers. I smiled. Politely. Detached.

This part always felt like theatre. You learn to perform long after the innings are over.

"121 off 134 - talk us through your mindset," the presenter asked.

I gave the usual answer - patience, clarity, one ball at a time. All true. Just incomplete.

He asked if it felt special tonight. I said yes. MCG. Chasing under lights. Of course it was.

Then came the "Captain Calm" label.

I smiled.

"Cricket teaches you that nothing is permanent - not applause, not setbacks."

I meant every word. And none of it.

The final question - about leadership, legacy, the future.

I paused. Just long enough.

"I prefer to let the bat talk. Right now, I play for the team."

I turned to walk away. But instinctively, my fingers went to the chain beneath my collar.

Still there.

Always there.

---

Later That Night -Hotel room

Back in my hotel room in central Melbourne, I unlocked the door with a strange detachment.

The place was spotless. Modern. Impersonal.

My kit bag slumped by the door. I didn't unpack it.

The trophy from tonight already sat on the table - like it had always been there. All shine. No warmth.

I tossed my bag onto the couch and stood there for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of nothing.

I microwaved a pre-packed dinner but didn't taste it.

I turned the TV on, muting the sports channel. Highlight played. My own face on loop.

The anchor was talking about my century.

I didn't listen.

I didn't need to.

"He lives in the noise of stadiums because silence reminds him of everything he doesn't have."

I sat on the couch, alone, still wearing my jersey. Still taped up. Still somewhere between performance and exhaustion.

My fingers brushed the silver pendant beneath my shirt. I hadn't known her. In one meeting the shape of her name still lived on the inside of my ribs.

The doorbell rang. It didn't.

It was just in my head.

I sighed.

Then my phone buzzed.

---

The Call

Incoming Video Call: "Maa ❤️"

I hesitated. Then answered.

Maa's face lit up the screen - soft eyes, hair tied neatly, glowing with pride.

"There's my star. My God, what a knock, Shub! You made it look so easy."

I smiled. For real this time.

"It wasn't. But I'm glad you watched."

"Of course we did. Your Papa was taking notes like he's still your coach."

I chuckled softly.

She leaned closer to the screen.

"You've been sleeping okay?"

"Yeah. Fine."

"You don't look it."

She always saw through me. She had that superpower.

"You know... sometimes memories are just that. You don't have to carry them forever, beta."

I knew who she meant. She didn't have to say the name.

Before I could answer, the screen split.

Dad joined the call.

Sharp eyes. Even sharper tone.

"Well played."

"Thanks."

No pleasantries. Just business.

"The media's already picking up whispers - that photo with the actress outside the studio last week. You need to be more careful. The headlines are watching."

He didn't ask how I was. He never did.

"Cricket comes first. Always. Don't let gossip write your story." his tone sharpens slightly.

I nodded through the warning. But it wasn't the actress's face that flashed in my mind - it was another. Quieter. Vanished. A name he still whispered sometimes in sleep.

Aashi.

Papa's voice cut through again.

"You've built an empire, Shubman. Don't let it crumble over sentiment. Make the right decisions."

And there it was.

The weight. The unspoken instruction.

"Noted," I said quietly.

He vanished from the screen.

Maa stayed a moment longer.

"Goodnight, beta. Dream of cricket. Not the past."

"Goodnight, Maa."

The screen went black.

So did my smile.

---

So,

What did you feel while reading this chapter?

Who stood out more to you - Shubman or Dev?

Did the pendant moment touch you?

Do you think Shubman is truly okay?

Which part felt the most emotional?

Should Aashi return... or stay a memory?

“Next update next Tuesday at 8:30 PM! Don’t forget to vote + comment 💛”

With all my love,

-the_stellarflower