The GOAT of Cricket

Harare, Zimbabwe — July 2016

The city of Harare woke slowly, brushing the sleep from its eyes. Beneath the pale gold sky, the streets exhaled morning mist. From his balcony at the Indian team hotel, Ishaan Verma stood barefoot, hoodie zipped, watching the capital stir to life — fruit vendors unrolling tarps, crows hopping across electric wires, a single bicycle trailing into the horizon.

The wind carried a soft chill, tinged with eucalyptus. On the table beside him, a copy of The Herald rustled gently. The front page was a mosaic of faded red ink and bold headlines:

"Century Boy: India's New King in Blue?"

His face — helmet off, bat raised, sweat-lit and skyward-eyed — was splashed across the fold.

He ran a hand through his hair and murmured, half to himself, "Already?"

A chime.

His phone lit up.

emmawatson liked ICC's post: "Ishaan Verma's fairytale debut!"

He blinked.

Stared.

Then locked the phone.

No screenshot. No forward to Rudra.

Just a smile. The kind that fades before you know it existed.

Match Day – 2nd ODI

The team bus hummed down the narrow roads of Harare, past rust-stained buildings and khaki-uniformed schoolboys. Inside, the mood was a little more grounded than before. Less euphoria. More awareness.

Coach Raman's voice cut through the banter. "They're going to fight harder today. Second match is always the punch-back. We don't blink first."

Rohit, sipping tea up front, turned slightly. "Let's bat first. Make them chase again under pressure."

Ishaan sat with KL Rahul near the rear window. He wasn't listening to music — just watching silent footage of Zimbabwe's spinners on loop.

He rewound. Replayed. Rewound again.

At Harare Sports Club, the light was gentle, clouds trailing like cotton across the sky. Schoolchildren with paper flags poured into the stands. One tiny boy held up a hand-drawn poster: "Welcome Back Century Boy!"

Ishaan smiled and stretched his gloves tighter.

Rohit won the toss. Elected to bat.

Opening Shadows

First ball: full and outside off. Ishaan leaned in — not full-blooded, not tentative. Four runs through cover point. A ripple of applause followed him.

Second over: a loose one. He pulled, not too hard, just enough. Another four.

KL Rahul chuckled. "Still glowing, I see."

But by the fifth over, the sky darkened.

Rohit Sharma mistimed a flick and was caught at short mid-wicket. Out for 9.

Ishaan glanced up. Exhaled.

Rahul joined him. A glove bump.

"Let's build," Rahul said.

And they did.

Cricket in Harmony

What unfolded wasn't a rampage.

It was a conversation between bat and ball — measured, thoughtful, respectful. Ishaan drove gently, then defended tighter. Rahul pulled out his backfoot punches and swept with flair.

They talked between overs. Shared drinks at breaks. Ran like sprinters between the wickets.

A 120-run stand bloomed. Beautiful. Unhurried. Unbreakable.

By the 27th over, the crowd was restless. Zimbabwe tried spin, variations, reverse swing. Ishaan's footwork sparkled. His wrists worked like they had memories of elegance passed down from Laxman and Rohit both.

He nudged to fine leg for two.

Score: 72* (61).

Then came the error.

29th over. Sean Williams bowling. A part-timer on a slow deck.

First ball: dot.

Second: tossed up outside off.

Ishaan shaped for the reverse sweep.

Premeditated. Wrong line.

The ball spun slower than expected. Caught his glove. Straight to slip.

Out.

Silence from the crowd. Audible gasp from the Indian dugout.

Ishaan stood there.

For just a second too long.

Then turned, head down, bat hanging loosely.

He was fuming.

Not at the bowler.

At himself.

Between Applause and Expectation

In the dugout, Dhoni handed him a bottle of water. "Champ… you don't need to prove anything. Just play your game."

Ishaan nodded once. No words.

In the dressing room, he changed in silence.

India posted 276/7, thanks to a late cameo by Pandey and Dhoni.

Zimbabwe came hard in reply — 57 in the powerplay. Sikandar Raza threatened with flair, but Axar Patel and Bumrah pulled it back with ice-cold spells.

The game swung.

Twice.

Then back again.

Axar bowled the final over. Defended 13 runs. A dot. A wicket. A scampered two. A near run-out. Finally, a six to seal it.

India won by 15 runs.

The Afterglow

The stadium emptied. Lights dimmed. Interviews came and went.

Ishaan sat on the floor of his room, staring at his kitbag.

The bat lay across his knees.

His phone buzzed. A voice message from Rudra.

"Saw the game. Good knock. Don't be so hard on yourself. You scored 74 — not 7.

But yeah… that reverse sweep? Next time just call me and I'll talk you out of it."

(pause)

"Also, bro… remember when we were 13 and you used to draw your name on fake India jerseys? Now it's real. Real pressure too.

Just don't lose the boy who started this dream. The one who played for love."

Ishaan closed his eyes.

Just breathed.

The Quiet of Night

Near midnight, he slipped out of the hotel. Hoodie up. Sneakers soft on the concrete.

Harare slept under a pale moon.

He walked alone. No security. No selfie hunters.

Past the gates. Past the empty stadium. Past a mural of Andy Flower painted on a crumbling wall.

He sat on a quiet bench beneath a lamp that flickered once every few seconds.

Took out a pen.

Opened his notebook.

Wrote:

"The century felt like sunlight.

But today was shadow.

I must learn to walk through both."

He closed the book. Pocketed the pen.

And looked up at the stars.

Next Up

Back in the hotel lobby, the lift doors closed slowly behind him.

The next match was in 36 hours.

No press yet.

No tweets.

Just the hum of a challenge on the horizon.

And in Ishaan's heart, one quiet thought:

"I'm still not done."