Shubman Gill, a young cricketer who just started his cricket debut faces a lot of humiliation during the initial days.
He feels solace in his best friend Avni Jadhav, a Marathi who shifts to Punjab with her parents and becomes the neighbour of Shub...
Shubman's heart raced as the first rays of dawn filtered through his window. Today was the day—the day he'd been dreaming about, practicing for, and working toward for years. The black tracksuit he'd laid out the night before seemed to hum with anticipation, its white stripes like lightning bolts promising speed and agility.
He slipped into the tracksuit, the fabric cool against his skin. The Indian Cricket Team Logo adorned the left side of his chest, a badge of honor that made his heart swell. The black sneakers he laced up were his trusted companions, their white soles ready to carry him to victory.
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As he descended the stairs, the living room came alive. His family sat there, their eyes filled with a mix of pride and sadness. Abhishek, his elder brother, couldn't contain his curiosity. "When did you get this jersey?" he asked, pointing at Shubman's chest.
"Yesterday," Shubman replied, his voice steady despite the butterflies in his stomach. Abhishek enveloped him in a bear hug, and Keart, his mother, wiped away a tear. "Maa, why are you crying?" Shubman asked, his own voice catching.
Keart smiled through her tears. "My baccha is going to New Zealand for months," she said. Shubman hugged her tightly. "I'll call you every day," he promised.
Lakwinder, his father, patted his back. "Make us proud," he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
Outside, Anvi waited. She was his anchor, his confidante. As she hugged him, Shubman whispered, "I'll be back, and I'll call you every day."
"But New Zealand is 6 hours and 30 minutes ahead," Anvi said, worry creasing her forehead.
"We'll make arrangements," Shubman assured her. He kissed her, and she kissed him back, their love bridging the time zones.
The cab arrived, and Anvi hugged him once more. Shubman waved to his parents, his heart heavy yet soaring. The airport beckoned, and soon he was on a flight to Mumbai.
In the bustling city, the Indian Cricket Team (ICT) heads welcomed him. Rohit Sharma, the captain, opened the door to the ICT apartment. Shubman's nerves jangled as he stepped inside.
"Hello, Shubman," Rohit said, his smile warm. "Don't call me Sir; you can call me bhai. That's what everyone does on the team."
Shubman nodded, relieved. Rohit continued, "You'll be sharing a room with Harry—Hardik Pandya. He's in New Zealand too. First room on the right, second floor."
Shubman knocked on the designated door. Hardik, known as Harry, greeted him with a grin. The room was neat, and Shubman stowed his suitcase and cricket kit. "You played well in the IPL," Hardik said.
"Thanks, Hardik Bhai," Shubman replied. "Call me Harry," Hardik insisted.
They bonded over lunch, and Shubman felt the camaraderie of the team. He called Keart. "Reached Mumbai. We're flying to New Zealand tonight."
