After two days, match day finally arrived — SRH vs Punjab Kings.

It was the day he had been waiting for, the day he had been preparing for, the day that somehow felt personal.

Before the sun had even fully risen, Abhishek was already awake. While most of the city was still asleep, wrapped in blankets and dreams, he was quietly tying his shoelaces and heading out with his kit bag slung over his shoulder.

The air outside was cool and slightly misty, the kind of quiet morning that usually felt calm and still.

But inside him, there was no calm.

Only determination.

Today was not just another match. Today, he wanted something big. Something unforgettable. A century.

Not for the crowd. Not for the headlines. But for himself.

To prove that the last match had just been a bad day. To silence the tiny voice of doubt in his head. To show everyone — and maybe himself — what he was truly capable of.

"I have to do well today..." he murmured softly while entering the practice ground.

The nets were already set up. A few teammates were stretching nearby while the coaches discussed strategies among themselves. The quiet morning air was filled with the sharp sound of leather balls hitting bats.

Abhishek adjusted his gloves, tightened his grip, and stepped into the nets.

From the very first ball, his focus was sharp.

There were no distractions, no casual shots — every movement was precise.

The bowler ran in fast. The ball pitched short. Instantly, Abhishek pulled it hard.

Thak!

The ball slammed straight into the boundary net.

"Good one!" the coach called out.

The next ball was fuller. He leaned forward and played a perfect cover drive. Then another. And another.

Shot after shot.

His footwork felt quicker today. His timing cleaner. His confidence stronger.

Sweat dripped down his temples, but he didn't bother wiping it. He didn't pause.

"Again," he kept saying.

He practiced lofted shots. Practiced sixes. Practiced rotating strike. Even practiced defensive blocks.

Because today he didn't just want to score.

He wanted to stay.

Stay long enough to build an innings. Stay long enough to reach three digits.

At one point, the coach laughed lightly and said, "Bas kar, match mein bhi energy bacha ke rakh!"

But Abhishek only smiled faintly and replied, "Last ten balls aur."

Even after hours of practice, he still wasn't satisfied. Somewhere deep inside, that quiet voice kept whispering —

Do better.

Finally, when the sun rose higher and the heat grew stronger, practice ended.

His t-shirt was completely drenched in sweat. His hands were slightly sore. His body tired.

But his mind?

Clear.

Ready.

After practice, the team headed back together. Everyone seemed quieter than usual, conserving their energy and mentally preparing for the match.

By afternoon, they boarded the team bus and drove back to the hotel to rest and have some food before the game. Some players plugged in their earphones, some scrolled through their phones, and some leaned back and slept.

Abhishek sat by the window, watching the city rush past — crowded roads, traffic signals, people beginning their day like it was completely normal.

For them, it was just another day.

For him...

It was match day.

Without even realizing it, his hand slipped into his pocket and pulled out his phone. For a second, his eyes fell on one saved contact.

"Wrong Number Girl."

He stared at the name, and a small, unconscious smile appeared on his lips.

Her voice echoed in his mind again.

"Pressure mat lo..."
"Tum already enough ho..."

Strange.

How could a stranger's words feel so comforting?

He quickly locked his phone and shook his head.

"Focus, Abhishek," he whispered to himself.

Just then, the bus slowed down.

They had reached the hotel.

One by one, the team members stepped out. A few fans were already waiting near the entrance, holding jerseys and phones, excited to catch a glimpse.

"Abhi! Abhi! One photo please!" someone called out.

He smiled politely, signed a couple of autographs, clicked a few selfies, and then walked inside with the team.

The cool air-conditioned lobby felt refreshing after the heat outside. The players chatted lightly as they headed toward the lifts. Soon, everyone went to their respective rooms to freshen up and rest for a while.

After quick showers and a change of clothes, the team slowly gathered downstairs again in the dining area.

The entire team slowly gathered in the dining area to eat their food.

The hotel restaurant had been reserved specially for the SRH players, giving the place a calm, private atmosphere away from the outside noise. A long buffet table stretched across one side of the hall, neatly arranged with healthy options — grilled chicken, boiled vegetables, steamed rice, salads, fruits, protein shakes, juices — everything strictly planned according to their diet charts.

It looked clean.

Nutritious.

Balanced.

And extremely boring.

No oily food. No junk. No fun.

Which, of course, automatically meant complaints.

One by one, the players picked up their plates and started serving themselves, their expressions slowly turning miserable as they stared at the healthy spread.

"Yaar, roz roz yahi ghaas-phoos, kabhi biryani bhi dikha diya karo."
(Man, every day it's just this grass-like healthy food... at least show us biryani sometimes.)

Another laughed.
"Century maar pehle, phir biryani milegi."
(Score a century first, then you'll get biryani.)

A third teammate added dramatically,
"Dietician ne zindagi barbaad kar di hai bhai."
(The dietician has ruined our lives, bro.)

Light laughter spread across the table.

Abhishek quietly served himself — extra grilled chicken, some rice, boiled veggies, and a protein shake. He didn't complain. He never did. Match days meant discipline mode automatically switched on.

But unfortunately for him, his teammates noticed everything.

One of them leaned over and peeked into his plate.

"Ohooo... Sharma ji, itna protein? Aaj lagta hai Punjab ki bowling todne ka plan hai."
(Ohhh... Sharma ji, so much protein? Looks like you're planning to destroy Punjab's bowling today.)

Another whistled teasingly.
"Bhai subah se nets mein bhi ruk hi nahi raha tha. Aaj pakka kuch bada karega."
(Bro hasn't stopped practicing in the nets since morning. He's definitely going to do something big today.)

Abhishek rolled his eyes.
"Bas normal food hai, over mat karo."
(It's just normal food, don't overreact.)

Someone scoffed.
"Normal? Bhai tu ek meal mein itna chicken kha raha hai jitna main teen din mein khaata hoon."
(Normal? Bro, you're eating in one meal what I eat in three days.)

Everyone chuckled.

From the other side of the table, a voice came,
"Aaj century pakki. Aur speech mein bolega — 'Thanks to boiled vegetables.'"
(A century is confirmed today. And in the speech he'll say — 'Thanks to boiled vegetables.')

The whole table burst out laughing.

Even Abhishek couldn't stop smiling.

For a few minutes, the pressure of match day eased. Plates clinked softly, chairs scraped lightly, and silly jokes floated around the room. For that moment, they didn't look like professional cricketers. They looked like hostel boys messing around in a mess hall.

One teammate leaned closer and said dramatically,
"Waise Abhishek... agar jaldi out ho gaya na... toh punishment mein extra salad milega."
(By the way Abhishek... if you get out early... your punishment will be extra salad.)

Another added,
"Double bowl."
(Double bowl.)

Abhishek smirked.
"Tum log bas water bottle ready rakhna... lambi batting karne wala hoon."
(Just keep the water bottles ready... I'm going to bat for long.)

A teammate laughed and added,
"Tu crease pe tik gaya na, hum log bas khade khade match dekh lenge."
(If you stay at the crease, we'll just stand and watch the match.)

They all laughed again.

These small conversations, these pointless teasings — they were normal. Comforting. Almost necessary before a big match. They made everything feel lighter.

But even while laughing with them...

Somewhere at the back of his mind...

A soft voice still echoed.

"Pressure mat lo..."
(Don't take pressure...)

For a moment, he paused.

That unknown call.

That girl's voice.

Calm. Warm. Different.

He didn't even know her name... yet somehow he remembered the way she spoke.

Strange.

Why was he thinking about her again?

He shook his head lightly, almost scolding himself.

Focus.

Match first.

Everything else later.

He quietly returned to his food.

On the other side of the city, Sayali's day was going completely differently.

She had finally sent her blog to the SRH digital team.

The moment she pressed the "send" button, her heart started racing uncontrollably.

What if they didn't like it?

What if it sounded childish?

What if they rejected it?

She couldn't sit still.

She kept refreshing her phone every two minutes like a nervous student waiting for exam results.

Walking around the house.

Sitting.

Standing again.

Checking notifications.

"Why are they not replyinggg..." she muttered dramatically.

Minutes felt like hours.

And then suddenly—

Her phone buzzed.

She froze.

Slowly opened the message.

Her eyes widened.

They loved it.

They actually loved it.

The message said her blog was amazing, well-written, emotional, and perfect for their page. They even said they would post it after today's match.

For two seconds she just stared at the screen.

Processing.

Then suddenly—

She jumped.

"Yessssss!"

She did a full mini happy dance in the middle of the hall, spinning around like a kid who just got full marks.

"Let's goooo!" she whispered excitedly, hugging her phone to her chest.

Her hard work had actually paid off.

After calming down, she sat on the sofa, still smiling to herself.

But then...

A dangerous thought entered her mind.

Wait.

If SRH posts it...

Then...

Players might read it too?

Her heart skipped.

"...Will Abhishek read my blog?"

She covered her face with both hands.

"If he reads it... will he like it?"

Her brain started overthinking at lightning speed.

What if he finds it cringe?

What if he thinks she's weird?

What if he actually likes it?

"Omg... I am going to get mad for sure."

She fell back dramatically on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

Half excited.

Half embarrassed.

Full pagal.

Completely unaware...

That the same boy she was overthinking about...

Was sitting in a hotel dining hall...

Unknowingly thinking about her too.

Two different places.

Same thoughts.

Same nervous hearts.

And the match hadn't even started yet.

Evening — Match Day

Time had flown, and now the evening sky was painted with shades of orange and purple. The stadium lights had turned on one by one, shimmering brighter than the stars above. It was match time.

Abhishek stood in the dressing room, fully geared up — pads on, gloves tight, helmet polished, bat flanked beside him. Everyone else chatted casually, checking their phones or listening to music, but Abhishek was quiet. He sat on the bench, staring at the floor, deep in thought.

He wasn't nervous.

He was serious.

Focused.

And a little doubtful.

Thoughts circled in his mind like relentless waves.

Will I perform well today?
Will I make up for the last match?
Can I silence that one bad innings?
Can I do it today?

His chest felt heavy with doubt for a moment.

Then — out of nowhere — a soft voice echoed in his mind.

Her voice.

The unknown girl's words — the same words she spoke on that accidental call:

"Aapne apna 100% diya hai. Kabhi kabhi luck bhi saath nahi deta... aur woh hum control nahi kar sakte. Ek match se koi player chhota nahi ho jaata... aur ek bad day se koi talent kam nahi hota."
(You gave your 100%. Sometimes luck doesn't support you — and that's not in your control. One match doesn't make a player small... and one bad day doesn't reduce someone's talent.)

"Pressure mat lo itna... mummy dekhne aayi thi na... unhe tum pe proud hi hoga. Runs ho ya na ho... beta toh unka same hi hai."
(Don't take so much pressure... your mom came to watch you — she must already be proud of you. Whether you score runs or not... you're still her son.)

"Bas khush raho... healthy raho... baaki sab ho jaayega. Tum already enough ho."
(Just stay happy... stay healthy... everything else will fall into place. You are already enough.)

His heart loosened just a little.

He blinked.

Took a deep breath.

And walked toward the field.

Match Begins — Punjab Kings Bat First

Punjab Kings won the toss and chose to bat first.

The field was buzzing.

Crowds roaring.

Cheerleaders waving flags.

Cameras flashing.

The match had started.

Punjab Kings' opening batsmen walked confidently to the crease, putting on a brave face against the SRH bowling attack. Their shots were a mixture of elegant drives and powerful hits.

Some shots raced to the boundary.

Some disappeared into the crowd.

But SRH bowlers were sharp too, mixing swing with pace.

Wickets fell here and there.

Catches were taken in spectacular style.

Every now and then, fans from both sides cheered loudly — making the atmosphere electric.

Soon enough, the innings concluded with Punjab Kings finishing their 20 overs with a respectable total of 176 runs on the board. It was a competitive score.

SRH had taken 6 wickets in that innings — a decent effort, but they knew the chase wouldn't be easy.

On the Other Side — Sayali's Match Setup

Just like always, Sayali had made her special match-watching corner at home.

Laptop positioned perfectly.
Chips, snacks, and water ready.
Phone tucked beside her.
Blanket neatly folded behind.

Today was different though.

Instead of casual excitement, there was concern and prayer.

After that disappointing match where Abhishek seemed sad, she didn't want him to struggle again.

So today she prayed with all her heart.

"Please... he should play well today..."

Her brows knitted softly, lips whispering silent prayers.

As the innings progressed, she had also been chatting with her online author friends to pass the time:

Friend 1: "Sayu! SRH chase dekhne ka plan pakka? Abhishek toh must perform karega aaj."
(Sayu! Definitely watching the SRH chase? Abhishek will surely perform well today.)

Sayali: "Haan yaar, feel acha lagta hai... hope woh confidently khelta hai."
(Yes, I feel good... hope he plays confidently.)

During the innings break, Sayali picked up her phone and opened her authors' group chat to distract herself a little.

Messages were already flooding in.

Friend 1: "Sayuuuu! Aaj match dekh rahi hai kya?"
(Sayu! Are you watching the match today?)

Sayali: "Haan yaar... obviously. SRH ka match miss thodi na karungi."
(Of course... I'm not going to miss an SRH match.)

Friend 2: "Madam writer ji, aaj kal busy lag rahi ho. Naya chapter likh rahi kya?"
(Miss writer, you seem busy these days. Writing a new chapter?)

Sayali bit her lip.

If only they knew.

Not just a chapter.

An entire cricket blog.

But she decided to keep it to herself for now.

Sayali: "Haan thoda writing chal raha hai... kuch special try kar rahi hoon."
(Yeah, I'm writing something... trying something a little special.)

Friend 3: "Ohooo mysterious! Publish hoga toh pehle hume bhejna."
(Ohhh mysterious! Send it to us first when you publish it.)

Sayali (laughing): "Pakka. Tum log first readers ho hamesha."
(Of course. You guys are always my first readers.)

They continued joking for a few more minutes, but her eyes kept drifting back to the TV screen every few seconds.

Because honestly...

No matter what they talked about...

Her full focus was only on one person walking toward the field.

Abhishek.

As soon as the break ended, she quickly kept her phone aside, hugged her cushion, and crossed her fingers tightly.

"Please acha khelna..." she whispered softly.

____________________________________________________

SRH Comes to Bat

The break ended.

SRH was ready.

Abhishek and Travis Head walked out to bat together — cheers erupting in the stadium and online.

The chase began.

Strike was taken by Abhishek.

Ball after ball, his confidence showed.

Timing was crisp.

Footwork quick.

And soon his bat started speaking loudly.

From the very first few deliveries, Abhishek looked completely different today.

Calm.

Focused.

Confident.

There was no hesitation in his movements, no rush — just pure control.

The bowler ran in and delivered a full-length ball outside off.

Abhishek leaned forward gracefully and timed it to perfection.

The bat made a crisp sound as the ball raced through the covers, splitting the fielders effortlessly and rushing toward the boundary ropes.

Four runs.

A beautiful cover drive.

Class written all over it.

The crowd clapped loudly.

Next ball — slightly short.

This time, Abhishek was ready.

He quickly shifted his weight back and pulled it hard toward square leg.

The ball sped across the ground before the fielder could even react.

Another four.

Back-to-back boundaries.

Now the stadium noise started rising.

The bowler tried to intimidate him with pace.

Short again.

But Abhishek wasn't backing down today.

He stepped into the shot confidently and swung with full power.

The ball sailed high into the air, flying over mid-wicket and disappearing straight into the stands.

Six.

A clean, powerful strike.

The crowd erupted.

Cheers echoing everywhere.

And he wasn't done yet.

On the very next delivery, he guided the ball neatly along the ground, threading it perfectly between two fielders.

It rolled smoothly to the boundary line once again.

Another four.

Effortless.

Controlled.

Dominant.

With every shot, the scoreboard kept moving faster and faster.

Numbers climbing.

Runs adding up.

And slowly—

The giant screen started flashing one name again and again.

ABHISHEK.

Because today...

He wasn't just batting.

He was owning the crease..

Match after match, ball after ball, he kept accumulating runs.

The stadium buzzed different.

His rhythm was sublime.

The crowd began sensing something special.

And before long...

The scoreboard showed 94.

Just six runs away.

The entire stadium could feel it now.

That quiet tension.

That silent excitement.

Everyone knew something big was coming.

Fielders spread out.

Captain adjusting placements.

Bowlers whispering plans.

But Abhishek?

He looked strangely calm.

No panic.

No rush.

Just steady breaths.

Bat tapping lightly on the pitch.

Thak... thak... thak...

From the stands, chants slowly started rising.

"Abhi... Abhi... Abhi..."

The bowler ran in.

Full length delivery outside off.

Abhishek stepped forward and drove it cleanly through covers.

Perfect timing.

The ball raced to the boundary.

FOUR.

The crowd exploded.

Score: 98

Just two more.

He walked back to the crease, adjusting his gloves.

Heartbeat slightly faster now.

Not because of pressure.

Because of hunger.

He didn't want a single.

He wanted to finish it properly.

Like a statement.

The bowler came again.

Short of length.

Abhishek rocked back instantly.

Eyes locked on the ball.

And then—

CRACK.

A powerful pull shot.

The sound echoed across the stadium.

The ball soared high.

Higher.

Over mid-wicket.

Over the ropes.

Straight into the crowd.

SIX.

For a split second—

Silence.

Then—

The entire stadium ROARED.

Deafening cheers.

People on their feet.

Flags waving.

Commentators shouting.

"THAT'S A HUNDRED FOR ABHISHEK SHARMA!"

"A SENSATIONAL CENTURY!"

"A KNOCK TO REMEMBER!"

He stood there for a moment.

Processing.

Bat still in the air.

Chest rising fast.

Sweat dripping.

Eyes slightly moist.

Then slowly...

A small smile appeared.

Relief.

Pride.

Satisfaction.

Everything at once.

He removed his helmet.

Ran his fingers through his hair.

Looked up at the sky for a second — like a silent thank you.

Then raised his bat high.

Turning toward all sides of the stadium.

Acknowledging the crowd.

The cheers grew louder.

His teammates in the dugout stood up, clapping and whistling.

Some banging the boundary boards.

Coach smiling proudly.

And then—

He did something unexpected.

He walked toward his kit bag near the boundary rope.

Pulled out a small folded chit he had kept safely inside.

Unfolded it.

Held it up toward the cameras.

The message written in bold:

"THIS IS FOR ORANGE ARMY"

His eyes searched the stands.

Found his mom and sister.

Both standing.

Clapping.

Tears in their eyes.

Proud smiles.

That moment alone made everything worth it.

Back in her house—

Sayali jumped up from the sofa.

"CENTURYYYYYY!"

She clapped like a kid, almost dropping the remote.

Her eyes shining.

Heart racing.

A huge smile refusing to leave her face.

"HE DID IT... HE ACTUALLY DID IT..."

She felt ridiculously proud.

Like it was her own achievement.

Like someone close to her had won.

She didn't even realize she was smiling continuously.

Watching him celebrate.

Watching him laugh.

Watching him finally happy.

And for some strange reason—

Her chest felt lighter too.

Because the sadness she saw in his eyes last match...

Was completely gone today.

Today—

He looked like a hero.

Confident.

Glowing.

Alive.

And somewhere on that loud, cheering ground...

Without knowing why...

Abhishek suddenly remembered a soft voice in his head—

"Next match mein na... tum pakka dhamaka karoge. Mujhe full trust hai tumpe."

("In the next match... you'll definitely create a blast (perform amazingly). I have complete trust in you.")

A small smile touched his lips again.

As if someone invisible had believed in him before anyone else did.

The first of its kind in this match.

But that wasn't it.

He wasn't stopping.

He kept going.

As if his bat had its own determination now.

By the time his innings reached its peak...

He had scored an unbelievable 141 runs in that match.

But every great story has a twist.

A slightly slower delivery came from the bowler.

Abhishek danced down the pitch...

Went for a big shot...

And the ball took the tiniest edge.

A short third-man fielder leapt and caught it perfectly.

Out.

The stadium held its breath.

But the applause didn't stop.

Not even for a second.

Abhishek walked off the ground with a proud smile.

Because even in defeat...

He had conquered hearts.

He wasn't just another player today.

He was a legend.

Sayali's Happiness

At home, Sayali watched every moment with wide eyes.

Every six.

Every four.

Every confident stride.

When he completed his century, she smiled constantly — pure, genuine, proud.

She cheered aloud.

Her heart beat fast.

Tears of joy gathered around her eyes.

"Wow," she whispered, "he did it..."

He was the first Indian to make this many runs in an IPL match today.

Sayali couldn't stop smiling.

Her eyes never left the screen.

Even after he was out at 141 runs, she sat there stunned.

Because he had played not just well...

He had played spectacularly.

Her heart swelled with pride.

That silent strength she felt during his practice — it had turned into this beautiful reality.

And she was there for every bit of it.

"That's my hero..." she whispered softly.

That silent strength she had felt during his practice...

That unknown confidence she always had in him...

It had turned into this beautiful reality.

And she was there for every single moment of it.

Watching.

Smiling.

Proud.

Completely, hopelessly happy.

____________________________________________________

After the Match – Dressing Room

The noise of the stadium slowly faded as the players made their way back to the dressing room. The loud cheers, flashing cameras, and chants of his name stayed outside with the crowd, as if the door itself separated two different worlds. Inside, everything felt quieter and calmer. Only the tired sounds of footsteps dragging across the floor, kit bags dropping onto benches, and water bottles opening filled the air. The chaos of the match had finally settled into silence.

Abhishek walked to his usual corner and sat down heavily, slowly peeling off his gloves. His fingers ached from gripping the bat for so long, and his shoulders felt sore from the endless shots he had played. His whole body screamed exhaustion, but strangely, his heart felt light. So unbelievably light.

 A century. One hundred and forty-one runs. He had actually done it. Exactly what he had promised himself two days ago during those early morning practice sessions. For the first time in days, there was no disappointment weighing on his chest, no regret replaying in his mind. Only satisfaction. 

A small, peaceful smile rested on his lips as he leaned back against the locker, closing his eyes for a second.

After a moment, he casually slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, telling himself he was just checking messages like everyone else. But before he could unlock it, his thumb froze midway. Without even realizing, his mind drifted somewhere else entirely. A soft, familiar voice echoed in his head.

"Pressure mat lo..."

("Don't take so much pressure...)

"Tum already enough ho..."

("You are already enough...")

"Next match mein tum pakka dhamaka karoge... mujhe full trust hai tumpe..."

("In the next match, you'll definitely play amazingly... I have complete trust in you.")

He exhaled slowly, almost laughing at himself. That girl again. That unknown caller. Why did her words still affect him this much? Why did simply remembering her make his chest feel calmer, lighter? He didn't even know her name, didn't know how she looked, didn't know where she lived—nothing. And still, somehow, she felt closer than most people around him.

He rubbed his forehead lightly, confused at his own thoughts. All he knew was that he suddenly wanted to hear her voice again. Just once. Just for a second. Maybe to say thank you. Maybe to talk. Or maybe just to listen. He didn't even understand what he wanted anymore.

Unlocking his phone, his eyes automatically fell on one saved contact. The name made him chuckle under his breath.

"Wrong Number Girl."

"Pagal ho gaya hai tu..." he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

(You've gone mad...)

Still, after a few seconds of hesitation, before his brain could stop him or overthink again, his finger moved on its own and pressed the call button. He stared at the screen as the phone started ringing, his heartbeat matching the rhythm.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three—

And somewhere on the other side of the city, completely unaware of what was coming next, Sayali's phone began to vibrate.

____________________________________________________

At Sayali's home

 she was still sitting cross-legged on her bed with her laptop open in front of her, the match highlights replaying for what felt like the hundredth time. The soft glow of the screen lit up her face as the same shots played again and again — his sixes soaring into the stands, those clean cover drives, that confident celebration after the century.

 And there she was, smiling like an absolute idiot at the screen, as if he could somehow see her happiness through it. No matter how many times she watched, her heart simply refused to calm down. Every replay made her chest tighten with excitement all over again.

Just as she was lost in yet another highlight, her phone suddenly vibrated beside her, breaking her thoughts. She glanced at the screen casually, barely paying attention. Unknown number. She shrugged instantly. "Meher hogi," she muttered to herself. Who else would call her randomly at this hour? Without thinking twice, and without even checking properly, she picked up the call.

 Her brain didn't bother to process anything because she was already prepared to talk nonsense, already ready to overreact, already ready to start her usual dramatic fangirl rant like she always did with Meher. Embarrassing herself had basically become her talent at this point.

Little did she know, this time fate had planned something very different for her. And maybe... just maybe... the person on the other side of the call wasn't Meher at all.

To be continued...

____________________________________________________

Author's Note

So what do you think will happen when she opens her mouth this time? Will she once again start her dramatic speech without thinking? Or will she finally realize who is actually listening to her voice? And what about Abhishek — what will he say? Or will he simply stay silent, smiling softly, just listening to her talk?

Looks like someone is about to embarrass herself once again... but maybe... just maybe... this one call might change everything.

-With love your Author