Shuttles And Stars

Neeraj

The crowd was a living, breathing force. I could hear every chant, every shout—"Neeraj! Neeraj! Neeraj!"—echoing through the massive stadium. It felt like the entire world was watching, every eye in the arena glued to this single moment, every voice urging me on. The chants reverberated through the stands, bouncing off the concrete walls, creating an overwhelming symphony of encouragement. They were cheering for me, for this one final point. But despite the noise, despite the intensity of the moment, it all felt distant. It was as though the noise was muffled by an invisible barrier, separating me from the world around me.

The entire arena was on its feet, but I could barely notice it. My focus had narrowed to the tiny shuttlecock, to this one pivotal point. It was all that mattered. One more point. Just one point to claim victory. One point to etch my name in history. Everything I had trained for, every drop of sweat and every sacrifice, came down to this one final rally.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, each thud louder and more insistent than the roaring crowd. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. It felt like the sound of my own heartbeat was the only thing I could hear clearly. My hands were slick with sweat, the handle of the racket slipping slightly in my grip. I tightened my hold, wiping one palm quickly on my shorts, trying to steady myself. My breath was coming in quick, shallow bursts, and I forced myself to inhale deeply, willing my body to calm down, to relax, just enough to stay in control.

I looked across the net at my opponent. He was a great player, world-class. He had fought me hard all match, and there was no doubt in my mind that he wanted this victory just as badly as I did. But today, I knew this was my moment. I could feel it in every fiber of my being. I wasn’t just playing for myself today. I was playing for my family, for my coach, for everyone who had believed in me, and most importantly, for my country. India was behind me, and I could not let them down.

"One more point, Neeraj," I whispered to myself. "Just one more point."

I tossed the shuttlecock into the air and served. The shuttle arced through the air, a perfect delivery. My opponent returned it quickly, and just like that, we were locked in a rally. It was a short exchange, but in those few seconds, time seemed to stretch. Every second felt like an eternity, every movement of the shuttle in slow motion. My eyes followed its every flight, my body moving almost automatically, trained by years of relentless practice.

He tried to surprise me with a sharp drop shot. My legs moved instinctively, responding before my brain had even processed what was happening. I sprinted towards the net, pushing my body to the absolute limit. My muscles screamed in protest, but I ignored the pain. This was it. This was the moment. I reached for the shuttle, my racket connecting with it in a perfect, fluid motion. The shuttlecock sailed over the net, just out of my opponent's reach.

For a fraction of a second, there was silence. Absolute, perfect silence. I watched, wide-eyed, as the shuttlecock hit the ground on my opponent's side of the court. Time seemed to stop. I blinked once, twice, before the sound of the referee’s whistle broke the stillness, confirming what I already knew in my heart.

I’d won.

I had done it. I had won the gold.

The stadium erupted. The noise hit me like a physical wave, crashing into me with overwhelming force. "Neeraj! Neeraj!" The chants were louder than ever, filling the air with deafening roars of approval. The reality of the moment finally broke through the tunnel vision I had been in. It was real. I had actually won. The gold medal was mine.

My racket slipped from my sweaty hand, and without thinking, I grabbed it and hurled it into the crowd. I had no idea where it landed. I didn’t care. My legs suddenly felt like jelly, and they gave out beneath me. I collapsed onto the court, lying flat on my back, staring up at the bright lights of the stadium ceiling. The tears came, unbidden, welling up in my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. I had done it. After all these years, all the hard work, I had finally done it. I had made my country proud.

For a few moments, I just lay there, soaking it all in. The noise of the crowd, the chants of my name, the overwhelming sense of achievement—it all washed over me like a tidal wave. But I knew I couldn’t stay down forever. Slowly, I got to my feet, my legs still trembling from the effort and the adrenaline. I turned towards the sidelines, where my coach Iyer sir  was waiting, and I ran to him as fast as my exhausted body would allow.

He had tears in his eyes, just like I did. Without a word, I threw my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as I could. All the emotions of the past few years, all the sacrifices we had both made, came flooding to the surface.

"You did it, Neeraj," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You made history."

"I couldn’t have done it without you, coach," I replied, my voice shaking with gratitude and exhaustion. "This is our win."

We stood there for what felt like forever, just holding onto each other, not needing to say anything more. The moment spoke for itself. But soon enough, reality came crashing back in. I had a press conference to attend. My victory was no longer just mine; the world wanted to hear from me now.

Walking into the press room felt surreal. The flashes of cameras blinded me, and the barrage of journalists shouting my name overwhelmed me for a second. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, focused bubble I had just been in on the court. Now, I had to face the world.

The first question that caught my attention was from a reporter standing near the front. “Neeraj, you’ve just won the gold medal, and you’ve shot up from world rank 10 to world rank 5 in a single match. How does it feel?”

I smiled, still trying to wrap my head around it all. "It’s incredible," I said. "I’ve dreamed of this moment my entire life, and now that it’s here, now that it’s real... I just feel grateful. Grateful to my family, my coach, my fans, and my country. This win isn’t just mine. It’s for all of them."

The next question made me chuckle. A reporter asked, “Neeraj, you’ve become a national hero overnight. People are already talking about your personal life. Do you have a girlfriend?”

I grinned. "No, no girlfriend," I replied, still laughing. "I’m still single. Right now, my focus has been entirely on badminton. Who knows what the future holds, though?"

The room erupted in laughter, and I felt a little lighter. The nerves were fading, replaced by a deep sense of accomplishment and joy. But as the press conference went on, my phone started buzzing in my pocket. After everything wrapped up, I finally checked it. It was a call from my family. I stepped outside the room and answered quickly.

“Maa! Did you watch the match?” I asked, barely able to contain my excitement.

“Neeraj, we are so proud of you!” my mom’s voice trembled, filled with emotion. "Everyone here is celebrating! You’ve made the entire nation proud!"

Hearing her voice, I felt the tears well up again. "Thank you, Maa. I can’t wait to come home and celebrate with all of you."

But before I could say anything else, another call came in. This time, it was from my team manager. "Neeraj, you need to get ready quickly once you’re back in India. The Prime Minister wants to meet you in Delhi as soon as possible."

"The Prime Minister?" I repeated, stunned. My heart raced again, this time with excitement. "This is... unbelievable."

"Yes, it is. So get ready, champ. You’ve got quite the reception waiting for you in India."

As I hung up, I took a moment to look down at the gold medal hanging around my neck. It gleamed in the stadium lights, a tangible reminder of everything I had worked for. The realization finally hit me, fully and completely.

I had done it. I hadn’t just won a match. I had made history.

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Soon Neeraj and Sia will cross paths.......
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