Freed By Love - KaneBar

The First Spark

2019 ICC Cricket World Cup, England.

The stadium was alive with energy, a sea of cheers, flags waving high as crowds roared for their teams. Amidst the chaos, Babar Azam felt strangely calm. For a player known for his steady hands and composure under pressure, the tension of a World Cup match was nothing new. He had his focus, his drive, his game. But today, something was different.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Kane Williamson, the soft-spoken captain of New Zealand, standing at the boundary ropes, talking to one of his teammates. Babar had known Kane since the 2017 Champions Trophy, but their interactions had always been brief—polite nods and the occasional handshake. Professional courtesy. Nothing more.

But as the tournament progressed, their encounters became more frequent—post-match ceremonies, practice sessions, media events. Each time their eyes met, Babar couldn’t shake a feeling he couldn’t quite name. Kane's quiet demeanor had always been a mystery to him. There was a calmness, a grace, in how he carried himself. Even under the weight of captaincy, Kane had an ease about him that intrigued Babar.

And then came the match—the one where Pakistan and New Zealand clashed in a nail-biting showdown. It was intense, every ball a game-changer, and Babar had felt the pressure mount. After securing a hard-fought victory for Pakistan, Babar left the field to the deafening sound of applause. But as he walked past the New Zealand team, his eyes caught Kane’s again—this time, lingering just a second longer.

There was no bitterness in Kane’s expression, no frustration despite the loss. Instead, there was admiration. Quiet, but unmistakable.

"Well played," Kane said softly when Babar walked by, his voice carrying just enough for him to hear.

Babar, surprised by the compliment, nodded, trying to mask the sudden warmth creeping up his neck. "Thank you."

That night, Babar found himself thinking about Kane longer than he expected. It was strange how one compliment, one small moment, could make him feel so much. But he brushed it off, telling himself it was nothing more than mutual respect.

---

A few days later, the two teams crossed paths again, this time at a media day event for the semi-finalists. Babar, not much of a talker off the field, stood to the side, avoiding the media’s frenzy. But he wasn’t alone for long. Kane found him, slipping away from his own media obligations, and leaned against the wall beside him.

"These things can get a bit much," Kane remarked with a small smile.

Babar looked up, his heart skipping a beat when he realized who had joined him. "Yeah. Not really my thing."

Kane chuckled, a quiet sound that somehow made Babar feel at ease. "Same here."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world outside continued its buzzing chaos, but in that little corner, it was peaceful. Comfortable. Babar glanced sideways at Kane, studying the way his eyes softened when he smiled, how his presence was like a gentle balm in an otherwise hectic environment.

"You’ve been in great form," Kane said after a pause, his voice steady.

Babar shrugged, trying to downplay it. "Just trying to do my best."

Kane’s gaze lingered on him, as if he could see through the humble response. "You're more than just trying, Babar."

The sincerity in Kane’s words made Babar’s chest tighten. There was no flattery, no casual praise. It was a genuine observation, and it made Babar’s heart flutter in a way that confused him. He looked away, feeling a strange mix of pride and something else—something he wasn’t ready to confront.

---

As the tournament went on, their interactions became more frequent. During warm-ups, Babar would catch Kane watching him from the opposite side of the field, always with that quiet, admiring gaze. Sometimes their paths would cross during team events, where they would exchange a few words. The conversations were never long, but they left Babar feeling… different.

One day, after a particularly grueling training session, Kane approached Babar, offering him a bottle of water. They sat together on the edge of the practice pitch, shoulders almost touching as they watched the sunset over the empty stadium.

"Sometimes I think cricket’s the easy part," Kane said, his voice contemplative. "It’s everything around it that gets complicated."

Babar nodded, understanding more than he wanted to admit. "You handle it well," he said quietly, admiring the way Kane seemed to take everything in stride.

Kane looked over at him, his blue eyes reflecting the fading light. "You do too."

For a moment, they just sat there in silence, the world slowing down around them. It was in that quiet moment that Babar felt it—a pull, a connection deeper than anything he’d ever experienced. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew it was real.

Kane had become more than a fellow cricketer. More than a friend.

---

That night, as Babar lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t shake the feeling. His thoughts kept drifting back to Kane—to the way his smile felt like a secret shared between them, to the way his presence brought an inexplicable calm.

But he couldn’t entertain these thoughts. Not here. Not now. Not in this world.

And yet, as he closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something far bigger than either of them could have anticipated.

---