June 1, 2017 | Heathrow Airport, London
The wheels touched down on the damp tarmac of Heathrow with a hiss and a jolt.
Outside the tinted aircraft windows, grey clouds sagged low, swollen with England's trademark drizzle. Inside, Ishaan Verma shifted the volume knob on his headphones and stared at his reflection in the cabin glass — face framed by a navy blue hoodie, eyes ringed with expectation, sleep deprived and hope-heavy.
Inner Monologue:
England. The land of Lords. Of legacy. Of the long shadow of dreams.
The flight attendant passed by offering a warm towel. Ishaan barely noticed. In his mind, the innings had already begun — not on a field, but in the mind. A billion eyes were now watching. This was no bilateral tour. This was the Champions Trophy. And he was no longer a debutant — he was now, officially, the face on every poster, every ad, and every mouth back home.
Arrival – Heathrow to Team Hotel
As the team exited the arrivals gate, the press was waiting — cameras blinking like electric locusts. Kohli walked ahead, shades on, headphones in. Dhoni smiled and waved, calm as ever. Rohit and Shikhar muttered jokes between themselves.
But it was Ishaan who drew the loudest clickstorms.
"Verma! Over here!"
"Ishaan! First ICC tournament! How's the pressure?"
"Emma watching from the stands again?"
"Can you be India's next big finisher?"
He tried to smile. Not nod. Not stumble.
Stump Mic of Real Life (Kohli, whispering):
"Don't stop. Never stop. Walk through them like they're smoke."
They boarded the team bus. As London's red buses passed and the skyline blurred behind rain-kissed windows, Ishaan leaned his forehead against the glass. In his duffle was the new India jersey — name stitched crisp across the back.
Verma.
In bold blue. ICC kit.
Team Hotel – Welcome and Whispers
The team checked in at the Mandarin Oriental near Hyde Park. Security surrounded them like a perimeter of nerves.
Ishaan's room had a welcome card that read:
"Dear Ishaan, welcome to England. Make it your stage. — BCCI"
He set the card aside. Looked out the balcony. Below, fans were already lining up for autographs.
A voice behind him.
Voice: "Poster boy's here."
It was Ravi Ashwin. Smiling, but not kindly.
Ishaan turned. Behind Ashwin stood a few others — Umesh, Rahane, and a quiet murmuring Suresh Raina.
Raina (softly):
"Heard the board already has you on four endorsements before your first ICC knock."
Ashwin shrugged.
"Hope the bat's louder than the ads, kid."
No malice. Just veteran skepticism. Just the old guard measuring the new.
Inner Monologue:
They don't know me yet. But they will. I'll let the ball talk.
BCCI XI Announcement – Press Conference Room, Oval
At the official launch, the BCCI unveiled India's XI for the tournament opener against Pakistan.
India XI:
Rohit Sharma
Shikhar Dhawan
Virat Kohli (C)
Ishaan Verma
MS Dhoni (wk)
Yuvraj Singh
Hardik Pandya
Jadeja
Bhuvneshwar
Umesh
Bumrah
The room buzzed. Ishaan at No. 4 — ahead of Dhoni, ahead of Yuvraj.
One reporter raised his hand.
"Isn't that a little… high for a boy with just one year of international cricket?"
Another:
"What message does this send to veterans?"
BCCI Official (bluntly):
"That Indian cricket backs performance, not age."
Kohli leaned toward Ishaan.
Kohli (softly):
"You're not here to please anyone. You're here to win us games. Don't let the noise in."
Evening Nets – The Oval, Under Cloud
The practice session was tight. Ishaan faced 30 minutes of Bumrah, then 20 of Ashwin. Edges flew, but so did the cover drives.
Dhoni stood at slip, silently watching.
At the end of the net, Ishaan was about to unstrap his pads when Dhoni walked over.
Dhoni (casual):
"ICC tournaments are not about flashy shots. They're about silence… and steel."
Ishaan nodded.
Dhoni (smiling):
"Show me you can bat with a nation on your shoulders. Then we'll talk legacy."
Dinner – Quiet Corners, Heavy Minds
At dinner, the team was boisterous. Pandya imitated Shoaib Akhtar's bowling action. Jadeja kept piling prawns on Kohli's plate. But Ishaan excused himself early.
Upstairs, in his room, he placed the blue jersey on the bed.
Touched the crest.
Ran his fingers across his name — the stitch smooth, the moment not.
He remembered Raghav's voice in his mind:
"One day, you'll wear blue. But don't forget — the colour is heavier than it looks."
He turned the lights off. London pulsed outside. Cold, grey, watchful.
He laid the jersey across his chest and closed his eyes.
Inner Monologue:
Let them call me hype. Let them doubt. I'm not here to trend. I'm here to stay.
Fade to black.