Saturday night, just as I was about to fall into a glorious Maggi-fueled coma, my phone buzzed.
Aman.
I answered on autopilot.
"Broooo!" he yelled into the speaker. "Match tomorrow! Parking lot gully cricket! Full team confirmed! You coming?"
I grunted, half-asleep. "Yeah yeah. Usual time?"
"Morning. Nine sharp. Bring your hot roomie too!"
That woke me up.
"WHAT?" I croaked.
"You heard me, bro! Bring Eira! Full vibe scene! Everyone wants to see her!"
Before I could argue, he hung up.
I groaned, flopping back.
Then I realized —
Eira was standing behind me, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.
"I heard," she said simply.
Of course. Freaking elf hearing.
"Do you wish me to accompany?" she asked.
I hesitated.Crowds. Staring boys. Chaos.
But then — Eira smiling. Eira discovering new things. Eira living.
"Why not?" I grinned. "You’re basically an all-rounder anyway."
She tilted her head. "Expin cricket."
I pulled out my phone, still grinning.
Thank God for the IPL.
In five minutes ft, I showed her:
How batting worked.
How bowling worked.
How runs, overs, and wickets functioned.
Sixes, fours, no-balls.
The magic of MS Dhoni finishing matches with helicopter shots.
Eira nodded along seriously, absorbing everything like a tactical pn.
"Simple," she said finally. "Strike the ball. Defend the target."
"Exactly," I said, impressed. "You're a natural."
Sunday morning, we set out early.
The Splendor roared to life under us, and we zipped toward the old parking lot where Aman had promised everyone would gather.
Sure enough —the lot was mostly empty of cars, but packed with about twenty guys, a couple of pstic chairs, two water coolers, and random cricket equipment thrown everywhere.
Tennis balls, taped bats, makeshift stumps.
Proper gully cricket energy.
The moment we pulled up, everyone turned.
And stared.
Hard.
Eira, in pin jeans, sneakers, and a sky-blue polo shirt, looked like a walking ad for some "Tourist in India" catalog.
I cleared my throat.
"Friend from the US," I said loudly. "Visiting India. Wanted to try local cricket."
Murmurs spread instantly.
"Foreign return?""Bro, she's model yaar.""Set hai, Karan bhai!"
I ignored them heroically.
Teams were divided quickly — and thank the cricket gods, Eira and I ended up on the same side.
I patted her shoulder. "No pressure."
She smiled faintly. "I will destroy them."
God help us all.
The Match Begins:
Toss won.
We batted first.
Aman, being Aman, immediately said, "Ladies first!" and shoved Eira toward the crease.
Boys hooted.Some cpped mockingly.
Big mistake.
Eira walked calmly to the batting crease, bat resting lightly on her shoulder.
First ball: slow underarm delivery, probably thinking she'd miss.
CRACK.
The ball soared into the air like a missile, clearing three parked scooters and bouncing off the boundary wall.
Six.
Dead silence.
Then a slow murmur.
Second ball: bowler tightened up. Proper overarm this time.
Eira stepped forward and drilled it straight down the ground, clean four runs.
Third ball: full toss.
Another six.
By the third over, Eira had smashed 35 runs alone.
The other team was panicking hard.Fielders scattered.Everyone shouting positions.
"KEEP IT FULLER!""BOWL SPIN YAAAR!""NO SHORT BALLS!"
Didn’t matter.
Eira, calm as a gcier, dismantled everything.
Drive. Pull. Lofted shots over midwicket.Each shot textbook perfect.
At one point, she even pyed a no-look shot — just a casual flick behind square leg for four runs — and I swear some guys nearly fainted.
By the time she retired (after politely agreeing not to bat forever), she had scored 70 runs off 28 balls.
Seventy.
Seventy.
I padded up next, trying not to die of shame in comparison.
Managed a shaky 12 runs before getting bowled by Aman’s lucky yorker.
Final total: 123 runs in 10 overs.
A freaking mountain in gully cricket terms.
We high-fived walking back.
"You," I said, ughing breathlessly, "are terrifying."
She tilted her head. "Good?"
"VERY good," I said.
Second Innings: Bowling
Now, it was time to defend.
I opened the bowling — because if anyone was blowing this match, it was gonna be me.
First ball: clean, fast, good length.
Batsman swung hard — edge — caught behind.
Wicket.
Cheers erupted.
I grinned, heart hammering.
Eira cpped once — small, approving.
Second over: Aman’s turn to bowl.
He bowled wide — they stole a cheeky four.
Groans everywhere.
Third over: Sanjay bowled slow medium-pace — got smashed for a six.
Fourth over: My turn again.
I breathed deep, focused.
Bowled a slower ball — batsman mistimed it badly — high catch to mid-off.
Another wicket.
We were rolling now.
The boys kept fighting — hitting occasional boundaries — but the run rate kept climbing.
Need: 40 runs off 3 overs.
Pressure mounting.
Fifth over: Eira bowled for the first time.
Soft medium pace — but insanely accurate.
Dot ball.Dot ball.One run.Dot ball.Bowled him out on the fifth ball.
The boys were shouting, ughing, cursing in Hindi and Punjabi.
I was sweating bullets but smiling like an idiot.
Last over: 15 runs needed.
I bowled it.
First ball: single.
Second ball: dot.
Third ball: two runs.
Fourth ball: wicket — bowled middle stump.
Fifth ball: wide — nerves!
Fifth ball again: dot.
Last ball: six needed.
I ran in.
Short ball.
Batsman pulled.
Ball soared high...
And Aman, who somehow managed to NOT mess up for once, caught it.
Victory.
Team rushed onto the field, yelling and hugging.
Aftermath:
Eira was crowned MVP. (Obviously.)
Aman tried to propose on one knee. (She ignored him.)
Sanjay begged for a selfie. (Denied.)
I sat down on the ground, exhausted and beaming.
Eira sat next to me, sipping water calmly.
"You were amazing," I said.
She shrugged lightly. "Calcuted. Simple physics."
I ughed.
"You made cricket boys cry physics tears."
She tilted her head, amused.
I y back, staring at the blue sky.
For the first time in a long time —I wasn't worrying about work, or money, or secrets, or survival.
Just sunshine, ughter, cricket dust in the air.
And the strange, beautiful girl sitting beside me.
Maybe, just maybe,life was finally bowling me a good over.
