Soft golden sunlight slipped gently through the curtains, thin rays sneaking into the room like curious little fingers. The pale morning light painted soft patterns on the walls, dancing quietly across the floor before finally settling on the bed. 

Outside the window, birds chirped cheerfully, their sweet sounds blending with the distant noises of Mumbai slowly waking up for the day. Somewhere far away, a milkman's cycle bell rang, and from a nearby house, the sharp whistle of a pressure cooker echoed through the air.

Yet inside her room, everything felt slow, still, and peaceful.

A cool morning breeze drifted in through the half-open window, brushing softly against the curtains and making them sway lazily. The air carried a fresh, comforting warmth—the kind that made you want to stay wrapped in your blanket just a little longer.

On her bed, Sayali was sleeping like a baby, completely lost in her own little world. She was wrapped tightly in her blanket like a cocoon, as if the outside world didn't exist. Her hair was scattered messily across the pillow, one hand tucked under her cheek while the other clutched the edge of the blanket, refusing to let go. Her breathing was slow and steady, calm and unbothered.

A tiny smile rested on her lips—not wide or obvious, just a small, soft, secret smile. The kind that only appears when someone is dreaming something beautiful.

Because of course, madam was dreaming.

And obviously... the dream featured only one person.

Abhishek.

Who else?

Not friends.
Not studies.

Just him.

Clear as day.

In her dream, he stood confidently on the cricket field, bat in hand, jersey fluttering lightly with the wind. Bright stadium lights shone down on him while the crowd cheered loudly in the background. But somehow, all that noise slowly faded away. It was as if the entire stadium had blurred out, leaving only the two of them in focus.

Him batting—smooth, confident, effortless. Every shot perfectly timed. Every movement graceful. There was something so calm and natural about the way he played, like the pitch belonged to him.

And then he smiled.

That soft, quiet smile she liked the most.

The one that made her heart melt for no reason.

In her dream, he looked straight at her, as if he knew she was watching him. As if he was playing just for her.

The wind blew in slow motion, dramatically, like some over-the-top Bollywood movie scene. His hair shifted slightly, dust rising around his shoes, sunlight hitting his face at the perfect angle. Total hero-entry vibes. If there had been background music playing, it would've been absolutely cinematic.

Totally filmy.

Totally unrealistic.

Totally Sayali-coded.

She smiled in her sleep, the smile growing a little wider this time, almost like she was proud of him even inside her dream. She turned to the other side and hugged her pillow tighter, snuggling into it as if it were real.

And then, half-asleep, she murmured softly—

"Good shot..."

Like she was sitting in the stands, cheering only for him.

Like the entire stadium had disappeared and she was his only audience.

Completely unaware...

that in just a few minutes, her peaceful Bollywood dream morning was about to turn into full-on sibling disaster mode.

Suddenly—

SPLASHHHHH!

Ice-cold water hit her face without warning.

Within a second, the peaceful dream shattered.

The warm stadium lights, the slow-motion smile, the calm morning breeze—everything vanished.

Reality attacked her straight in the face.

Literally.

Sayali jolted upright in shock, gasping loudly. Her hair flew everywhere, blanket sliding off the bed, eyes wide open like she had just survived an earthquake.

"TSUNAMIII! TSUNAMIII!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, still half asleep and completely disoriented.

Her heart pounded as she looked around wildly, trying to understand what had just happened.

But there was no flood.

No disaster.

No natural calamity.

Just—

Her very annoying, very jobless brother.

Arush stood beside her bed holding an empty glass, laughing like an absolute maniac. He was bent over, clutching his stomach, unable to control himself. Tears almost formed in his eyes from laughing so hard.

"HAHAHAHA Taaiii! Uth na! 9 vajale !" he managed to say between laughs.
(Hahaha sister! Wake up! It's already 9!)

For a moment, Sayali simply stared at him.

Blank.

Silent.

Processing.

Then slowly... very slowly... her expression began to change.

Shock faded.

Confusion disappeared.

And something much more dangerous took its place.

Her eyebrows twitched.

Her eyes narrowed.

Her jaw tightened.

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Anger level rising.

Danger level: MAX.

She glared at him with a look that could have burned a hole through the wall.

"Aata tu gela beta," she said in a dangerously calm voice.
(Now you're dead, boy.)

Arush instantly froze.

He knew that tone.

He knew that look.

This wasn't normal sister anger.

This wasn't scolding.

This wasn't even shouting.

This...

This was red alert.

Life-in-danger level.

The kind of anger that meant—

Run. Immediately. No explanations. No arguments. Just run.

"Aaiii ga!" Arush yelped.
(Oh God!)

The moment those words left his mouth, survival instincts kicked in.

Before Sayali could even properly get up from the bed, he turned around and bolted out of the room at full speed. His slippers almost slipped off as he ran down the hallway like a thief escaping the crime scene.

Like his life depended on it.

Because honestly?

It did.

Behind him, Sayali quickly grabbed the nearest weapon she could find—her pillow—and jumped off the bed, still dripping wet, hair messy, face scrunched up in pure rage.

"Arussshhh! Thamb zara! pakadla na mi tula tar tu gela !" she shouted while chasing after him.
(Arush! Just wait! If I catch you today, you're done!)

Her voice echoed through the house as her angry footsteps followed him across the hall. Arush's loud laughter mixed with her threats, creating the usual morning chaos that their neighbors were probably very used to by now.

He ran around the sofa.

She chased him around the table.

He hid behind the chair.

She threw the pillow straight at his head.

"Stoppp taaiii!" he laughed, dodging her attacks.

But she wasn't in the mood to spare him today.

Completely dramatic and fed up with life, Sayali suddenly stopped in the middle of the hall, threw her hands in the air, and cried out toward the ceiling like some tragic movie heroine—

"Hey Bhagwan! Sabko mere aur mere pyaar ka dushman hi bana hai kyaaa!"
(Oh God! Has everyone become an enemy of me and my love or what!)

She made the most exaggerated crying face, as if the entire universe was plotting against her happiness.

First the dream broke.

Now water attack.

What next? Earthquake?

Arush, still laughing like crazy, held his stomach and pointed at her.

"Drama queen!" he teased.

And just like that, their house returned to its default setting—

Noise. Chaos. Fighting. Laughing.

Another normal day.

Another sibling war.

And within minutes, her soft, romantic, Bollywood-style dream morning had officially turned into complete madness.

____________________________________________________

After all the chasing, shouting, and mini war around the house, Sayali finally gave up.

Her energy bar was officially zero.

Grumbling under her breath, she dragged herself back to her room, still annoyed.

"Pagal mulga... sakal sakali dokyavar basla," she muttered.
(Crazy boy... ruined my morning itself.)

She lazily freshened up, brushed her teeth half-asleep, splashed some water on her face, and tied her messy hair into a loose bun. The cool water helped calm her down a little, but the irritation was still very much alive.

After a few minutes, she slowly made her way downstairs.

The delicious smell of breakfast filled the house—fresh poha, chai, and toasted bread.

Her stomach growled instantly.

But before sitting—

Her eyes landed on Arush.

And there he was.

Sitting at the dining table.

Eating like a literal monkey who hadn't seen food in days.

Poha in one hand.

Toast in the other.

Cheeks stuffed.

Crumbs everywhere.

Zero manners.

Sayali stopped mid-step and gave him the deadliest glare possible.

The type of glare that clearly said: Your time will come.

Arush noticed.

Still chewing.

Still shameless.

He just grinned at her.

That grin irritated her even more.

Rolling her eyes, she pulled a chair and sat down at the dining table, grabbed a plate, and started serving herself breakfast.

Just then, their mother came and sat beside them.

"Kay re, donhi shant ka aahat aaj?" she asked casually.
(What's this, why are both of you so quiet today?)

Sayali immediately turned towards her with the most dramatic complaining face ever.

Like a five-year-old reporting injustice.

"Aaiii," she whined, pointing at Arush, "ha vedyaane majhya tondavar paani takla! Thanda paani! Sakali sakali!"
(Mom, this idiot threw water on my face! Cold water! Early in the morning!)

She even pouted for extra effect.

Arush froze mid-bite.

Uh oh.

Wrong move.

Their mother slowly turned toward him with that dangerous mom look.

Without saying a single word—

THAPPP!

She smacked the back of his head.

"Arush! Tai la asa traas detos ka re?"
(Arush! Is this how you trouble your sister?)

"Ouchhh! Aaiii!" he complained, rubbing his head.

Meanwhile—

Sayali sat there with the most satisfied expression ever.

She slowly looked at him...

Raised her eyebrows...

And gave him a proud little victory smile.

Mission successful.

Justice served.

Breakfast tasted extra delicious today

After the little morning drama and victory moment, the rest of the breakfast passed peacefully.

Sayali finished her poha while scrolling through her phone.

Arush kept stealing extra toast when their mother wasn't looking.

Typical.

Soon, their mother stood up, checking the time.

"Chala, mala office la late hotay," she said, quickly packing her bag.
(Okay, I'm getting late for the office.)

She looked at both of them.

"Donhi jaga bhaandu naka ha divasbhar."
(Don't fight the whole day, both of you.)

Both siblings nodded innocently.

As if they were the most well-behaved children in the world.

The moment she left—

They glared at each other again.

Temporary truce over.

A few minutes later, Arush also grabbed his bag.

"Tai, mi nighato college la. Darwaza lock kar."
(Sister, I'm leaving for college. Lock the door.)

"Haan haan ja, ani aaj konachya dokyat paani nako takus," she said sarcastically.
(Yeah yeah go, and don't throw water on anyone's head today.)

"Very funny," he rolled his eyes and left.

And just like that—

The house became quiet.

Too quiet.

Only the ticking clock and the soft ceiling fan sounds remained.

Sayali stretched her arms lazily.

Finally.

Peace.

Her favorite time of the day.

No noise.

No disturbance.

No irritating brother.

Just her... and her thoughts.

She quickly cleaned the table, made herself a cup of chai, and went to her room with her laptop.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she opened her document.

Writing mode: ON.

Her fingers started flying over the keyboard.

She continued her story first—adding emotions, dialogues, twists.

Lost in her fictional world.

Sometimes smiling at her own scenes.

Sometimes frowning while thinking of the next plot.

Then she switched to the blog she had promised to write.

The blog about Abhishek Sharma.

Her expression softened instantly.

She wrote carefully.

Every word thoughtfully.

Describing his journey, his struggles, his performance, his dedication.

There was admiration hidden in every sentence.

A small, invisible smile stayed on her face the entire time.

"Kay re Sayali... professional blog aahe ha... control kar thoda fangirling," she muttered to herself.
(Hey Sayali... this is a professional blog... control your fangirling a little.)

Still—

Her heart refused to listen.

Time flew without her realizing.

When she finally looked at the clock—

"Arre baapre! 1 vajla?!"
(Oh God! It's already 1?!)

Lunch time.

Right on cue—

The door opened.

Arush was back.

He dumped his bag on the sofa dramatically.

"Taiii, bhook lagli aahe khup!" he shouted from downstairs.
(Sister, I'm very hungry!)

"Mi hotel wali diste ka tula?" she shouted back.
(Do I look like a hotel owner to you?)

"Ho, gharacha hotel!"
(Yes, home hotel!)

"Chup re!" she laughed.

After freshening up, Arush came down wearing comfy clothes.

She had already served the food.

Both of them sat at the dining table with their plates.

For a few minutes, only spoon sounds were heard.

Because hunger > talking.

Then Arush looked at her suspiciously.

"Aaj khup shant ahes tu... kay chalay?"
(You're very quiet today... what's going on?)

"Kahi nahi. Writing kart hoti."
(Nothing. I was writing.)

"Story ki punha tyacha blog?" he smirked.

She glared.

"Tyacha nahi, Abhishek Sharma cha. Respect de zara."
(Not 'that guy', it's Abhishek Sharma. Show some respect.)

"Ohooo... nav ghetaach smile aali bagh!"
(Ohhh... you smiled just by taking his name!)

"Arush, kha chup chap."
(Arush, just eat quietly.)

"Fan girl..." he teased.

She kicked his leg under the table.

"Ouch! Violence ka kartes?"
(Ouch! Why are you being violent?)

"Majha mood kharab kelas tar ajun marel."
(If you spoil my mood, I'll hit you more.)

Both stared at each other for two seconds...

Then suddenly burst out laughing.

Normal siblings.

Fighting.

Teasing.

But always together.

Lunch continued with small jokes, random talks, and playful arguments.

A simple afternoon.

A normal day.

Completely unaware...

That somewhere else in the same city—

Someone named Abhishek might also be thinking about a certain unknown girl.

____________________________________________________

On the other side of the city, while Sayali was busy arguing with her brother and finishing lunch at home, Abhishek's day looked completely different.

There were no lazy mornings for him. No peaceful sleep. No sibling chaos or slow starts to the day.

His mornings always began with discipline — strict, focused, and almost unforgiving.

The sun was already high in the sky, shining brightly over the practice ground. The cricket stadium nets were alive with noise. The sharp thak of the bat hitting the ball echoed repeatedly, followed by the swift whoosh of the ball slicing through the air. Players shouted to each other, coaches gave constant instructions, and the sound of shoes scraping against the pitch mixed with the dry smell of dust and sweat.

It was hot. Exhausting. Intense.

But this was his world.

Abhishek adjusted his gloves and tightened his grip on the bat. His jaw was set firmly, eyes sharp and focused, his entire expression serious. Today's practice mattered.

Actually... every practice mattered.

But this one felt personal.

Because the next match was against Punjab Kings.

And after the last match, he wasn't satisfied. Not even a little.

He had replayed that innings in his mind a hundred times already — that one wrong shot, that one moment of hesitation, that one small mistake that cost him everything. The disappointment still lingered.

Not from the crowd.
Not from the media.
But from himself.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

"I should've stayed longer at the crease..." he muttered quietly under his breath.

The coach threw another ball — fast and short.

Instinctively, Abhishek pulled it cleanly. The bat connected perfectly, and the ball raced toward the boundary.

"Good shot!" someone shouted from behind.

But he didn't smile.

Not yet.

"Again," he said simply.

And practice continued.

Ball after ball. Shot after shot.

Cover drives. Pull shots. Straight drives.

Sweat dripped down his forehead and slid down his neck. His t-shirt clung uncomfortably to his back. His palms were sore, muscles aching slightly.

Still, he didn't stop.

Didn't slow down.

He wanted to be better. Stronger. Sharper.

He wanted the next match to be different.

He wanted his mother and sister to sit in the stands and feel proud watching him play.

He wanted no regrets this time.

After almost two exhausting hours, he finally stepped aside, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Removing his helmet, he sat down on the bench and took a long sip of water. Closing his eyes for just a moment, he tried to calm his racing heartbeat.

And that's when—

Without any warning—

A voice echoed inside his head.

Soft. Dramatic. Cute.

"Waise kuch bhi ho... handsome toh bohot lag raha tha woh..."

He blinked and opened his eyes.

"...main vaari jaaun."

He almost choked on his water.

"What the hell..." he whispered to himself.

That girl again.

That unknown caller.

He didn't even know her name. Didn't know how she looked. Didn't know where she lived.

Nothing.

And still, her voice kept replaying in his mind.

Her concern. Her words. Her innocence.

"Usne bohot practice ki hogi..."
"Bas din sahi nahi tha..."
"Aapne apna 100% diya hai..."

No one had ever spoken to him like that before.

People usually talked about stats, runs, strike rate, and performance.

But she...

She talked about his feelings.

His effort.

His sadness.

Like she genuinely cared.

For him.

Not the cricketer.

Just... him.

A small smile slowly appeared on his lips, completely without permission or control.

"She's weird..." he muttered.

Then after a pause, softer—

"...but cute."

Leaning back against the bench, he stared up at the bright sky.

Why did listening to her feel so comforting?

Why did his heart feel lighter just remembering her words?

Why did her tiny, dramatic voice make him forget his bad match so easily?

He shook his head lightly.

"Pagal ho gaya hai kya, Abhishek?"
(Have you gone crazy, Abhishek?)

"It was just a wrong number call."

Just a stranger.

Then why had he secretly saved her number yesterday?

Why hadn't he deleted it?

Why was he secretly hoping...

Maybe she calls again?

He glanced at his phone. That unknown number was still there. Saved. Untouched.

Without even realizing it, his fingers brushed over the contact name.

He had saved it as—

"Wrong Number Girl."

A soft chuckle escaped his lips.

"Focus," he told himself, standing up.

"Match pe dhyaan de."

But even as he walked back to the nets, that soft voice followed him in his mind, cheering quietly.

"Good shot..."

And somehow, for the first time since the last match, his shots felt lighter. Cleaner. More confident.

As if someone invisible was sitting in the stands, clapping only for him.

Unknowingly—

Miles away—

A certain girl had already become his silent strength.

To be Continued....

____________________________________________________

 Author's Note ✨

From Sayali's dreamy filmy morning to Arush's water attack chaos... and Abhishek secretly smiling remembering "Wrong Number Girl" 🥹

Both are unknowingly thinking about each other already. Destiny really said slow burn, huh? 👀💛

-Withlove your author✨🧚