Zaid Khan : A billion Dreams

The field was silent.

Zaid's shot had left everyone stunned.

Even Rohan, who had been full of arrogance minutes ago, now looked at him with something close to disbelief.

Zoha grinned from the sidelines, arms crossed.

"You should see your face right now," she teased Rohan.

Rohan's jaw clenched.

He wasn't used to this.

He wasn't used to someone like Zaid standing up to him.

"Fine," he muttered, gripping the ball harder. "Let's see how long you last."

Zaid just adjusted his gloves, his body calm, his mind clear.

The self-doubt from before? Gone.

Now, he was playing for something bigger than just proving himself.

He was playing because he belonged here.

Rohan sprinted in, his anger making his pace even faster.

The ball zipped toward the stumps—a deadly inswinging delivery.

But Zaid saw it.

He stepped forward, his bat coming down at the perfect moment—and drove it past cover with effortless grace.

Another four.

Gasps echoed around the field.

Zoha's eyes flickered with something new—pride.

Zaid met Rohan's glare and tilted his head.

"Still think I don't belong here?"

Rohan said nothing.

But his face said everything.

He knew.

Zaid wasn't just some street kid.

He was a player.

And this?

This was just the beginning.

The rich kids on the sidelines were no longer laughing.

They were watching. Really watching.

Because this wasn't just a casual game anymore.

This was a battle.

Rohan wasn't just another rich brat playing for fun.

He was a real cricketer. Trained. Polished. Experienced.

But Zaid?

Zaid was playing like he had nothing to lose.

And that made him dangerous.

Rohan exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders.

"Alright," he muttered. "No more holding back."

Zaid adjusted his stance, tapping his bat on the ground.

"Good," he said. "I was getting bored."

Zoha let out a laugh from the side.

"You two are ridiculous," she called out. "Just kiss already."

Zaid choked.

Rohan scowled. "Shut up, Zoha!"

She just winked.

But Zaid noticed something.

She was looking at him.

Her expression wasn't just teasing.

There was something else there.

Something warm.

Something that made his stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with cricket.

Before he could think about it, Rohan ran in again.

The ball came faster than ever.

A deadly bouncer—aimed right at Zaid's head.

But Zaid didn't flinch.

He moved back, adjusted his grip—and hooked it.

CRACK!

The ball soared over fine leg—six.

Zoha let out a low whistle.

The rich kids were speechless.

And Rohan?

He just stood there, staring.

Because now, there was no denying it.

Zaid Khan was better than him.

The ball sailed over the boundary, landing beyond the ropes.

A perfect six.

Zaid exhaled, his heart pounding—but not from nerves.

From exhilaration.

He had felt it in his hands, in his bat—the sweet, clean connection.

The field was silent.

Then, suddenly—

Clap.

A single clap.

Then another.

And another.

Zaid turned, blinking in surprise.

The same rich kids who had looked down on him at the start?

They were applauding.

Zoha grinned, leaning against the fence.

"Took them long enough."

Rohan's jaw was tight, his fingers curled around the ball.

But the fire in his eyes had changed.

The anger had shifted into something else—respect.

He walked forward, tossing the ball up once before catching it.

"You're good," he admitted, his voice quieter now.

Zaid smirked. "I know."

Rohan rolled his eyes. "Cocky bastard."

But there was no malice in his voice this time.

Just acknowledgment.

Zaid took his stance again, ready.

But then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Zoha watching him—really watching him.

And for the first time since this game started, his chest tightened.

Because this wasn't just about cricket anymore.

This was about him.

About proving to the world that he belonged.

And maybe—just maybe—about proving it to her, too.

Zaid had played countless matches.

On the streets. In rundown parks. On dusty maidans.

But today?

Today felt different.

Not because of Rohan. Not because of the rich kids watching.

But because of her.

Zoha.

She hadn't stopped looking at him.

Not with pity.

Not with amusement.

But with something else—something he couldn't quite place.

And it was messing with him.

He shook his head, gripping the bat tighter.

"Focus, idiot."

Rohan ran in again, his expression more relaxed now, but his pace was still fierce.

The ball came skidding in—full and straight.

Zaid's instincts kicked in.

His bat swung down—perfect timing.

CRACK!

The ball shot past mid-off—racing to the boundary.

Another four.

But this time, when he turned back, his eyes automatically went to Zoha.

And that's when he saw it.

The small smile playing on her lips.

The way her arms were still crossed, but her fingers were tapping lightly against her arm—like she was holding back from clapping.

Zaid's heart did a weird little flip.

He quickly looked away, swallowing.

"What the hell was that?"

He had been through so much.

Pain. Hunger. Humiliation.

But this?

This was dangerous.

Because cricket was something he could control.

But Zoha?

He wasn't so sure anymore.