Clean Bowled - A story of two identical souls.

1.

Prithvi

Adrenaline rushed through me. A drop of sweat fell from my neck, dropping down on my spine and going to my hips. Hooting could be heard throughout the stadium. I can hear my beats rushing at top speed. My chest is tight.

This match is important; this double century is a necessity, and being the winner is always my forte. Wetting my lower lip, I pat the bat twice on the hard pitch and wait for the bowler to deliver.

India vs. Pakistan is never just a match. This playground is a war zone. Players are soldiers ready to bleed at any moment. This bat in my hand is a sword, and the ball is actually a cannonball. Viewers are the people of a country whose future depends on this match.

Irony aside, Prithvi, you should be a philosopher!

The score board shows India needs five runs for one ball to win. Gujaral 197 is not out, and Dhawan 19 is not out. Team score: 395 on 8 wickets.

The bowler took a run to the pitch and threw the ball. I close my eyes, admiring a shiny face and black hair tickling it.

"You are an achiever, and I believe in you," she whispers in my ear.

My bat hit the ball, and my eyes never left that round white ball. A shiver ran down my spine when the ball dived into the sky, reaching heights. Winning this match against Pakistan is more important than living another breath.

Blood runs to my ear with all anticipation of watching the ball fall and be caught by a fielder. But it never fell and flew high out of the stadium.

Fucking proud of yourself, bastard!

We win. She made me win again.

********

"Congratulations, bhai," Akhil said, taking me in a tight hug. "Another achievement, another record," he patted my bicep. I just nod in return. I am actually in a rush to reach the hotel as early as possible, but these morons are taking my time, wishing me again and again.

Each and every member of the team wished me, from the coach to the twelfth man, no one left. The dressing room is filled with team players. I know that this victory is big considering the last test with South Africa was the biggest loss of this year for the Indian team, but that doesn't mean we will sleep here in the fucking dressing room.

I sighed, throwing my t-shirt in my backpack. "Gujaral, what a performance, man," Bhalla uncle said, spreading his arms for me to hug. I return the favor. "You took my heart," he said, his fists patting the left side of his chest.

Bhalla uncle is a former batsman, or I would say he was the finest player of his time. Akhil, my best friend, is his son. Uncle has played a major role in my journey of becoming a player, batsman, and captain, but right now my mind is drifting back to the only person with whom I want to talk. Not a chance calling from here.

Babaji, throw me into my hotel room.

I took my facewash ready to take a quick shower and let all players pack for the hotel. "Thank you, uncle," I nod. He is a wonderful player and the most understanding father in the world.

Talking about fathers. Huh?

His attention diverted to his son, and I took a lungful of air before exhaling. Drinking a huge gulp of water, I try to calm my beats for a while. "You fucking gave me boner, Captain." That sip squirted out of my mouth.

"Prithvi, behave, man," Dhawan sulked behind me, taking two steps back.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "You fucking saying, I got you boner. Seriously, Dhawan," I sidestepped him, closing the bottle. Dhawan is a new player in the team who joined us on our last tour to SA, and trust me, for the sake of his name-the first one-I hate him.