Got it 🫶
I learned he loved cricket without him ever telling me.
It was the bat first.
Resting casually near the stairs. Old, a little scratched, clearly loved. Then the conversations—half-heard, unfinished—about matches, scores, who should've been out, who deserved more chances. His voice always changed when he talked about it. Lighter. Certain.
Like the world made sense when a ball was involved.
On holidays, the terrace turned into a battlefield of sound. Laughter. Shouting. The sharp thud of a ball hitting concrete. I'd sit at a distance, pretending to be busy on my phone, pretending my heart wasn't racing every time he looked up.
He played as if he belonged there.
Not flashy. Not loud. Just steady. Focused. When he ran, it felt effortless. When he smiled—rare, brief—it stayed with me longer than it should have.
I told myself it was just a crush.
That everyone my age had one.
But mine felt quieter. Heavier. Like something I had to protect.
His sister ran around them, cheering for no one in particular, clapping at the wrong moments. He'd pause mid-game just to check on her, hand resting briefly on her head before returning to play. That tiny gesture did something to me.
It made him real.
I leaned against the terrace wall, watching from above.
That's when I remembered.
I wasn't alone.
The feeling crept in slowly, unwelcome and familiar. I didn't turn this time. I didn't need to. I could sense him on the neighboring terrace, standing exactly where he always stood on holidays.
Watching.
Not the game.
Me.
I shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus back on the sound of the ball, on the way my crush laughed when he missed a catch, on the way his friends teased him. I wanted to stay there—in that harmless moment—just a girl with a silly crush.
But the weight of being observed pressed harder.
My phone buzzed.
My chest tightened.
It wasn't jealousy.
It wasn't teasing.
I stepped back immediately, pulse racing, suddenly embarrassedbyr feelings I hadn't even confessed out loud. I glanced once—just once—toward the neighboring terrace.
He was already looking at me.
Expression unreadable.
Like he'd confirmed something.
I went downstairs after that, heart pounding, cheeks warm, thoughts tangled. From my window, I could still hear the game. Still hear him. That sound grounded me. Reminded me that not everything was twisted or dangerous.
Some things were simple.
That evening, I replayed the day in my head. The way he held the bat. The way he cared for his sister. The way I felt visible and seen at the same time—but by the wrong person.
I wondered if he'd ever notice me.
Not like that.
Just… notice.
The next holiday was already waiting.
And I knew I'd go back to the terrace.
For cricket.
For him.
And even though I hated to admit it—
I was starting to plan my exits as carefully as my excuses.